When I was still (barely) in contact with what’s left of my family, one of my in-law step-somethings was a fat, hairy loser in his mid-twenties who collected Harley Davidson stuff. One particularly painful Christmas, he was bellowing about all the great Harley junk he’d received, and about all the other Harley stuff he already had or still needed to buy.
My fork hit the plate.
“Has it ever occurred to you,” I asked, “that if you’d saved all the money you spent on this crap, you could OWN a Harley Davidson by now?”
It’s true. He didn’t have a bike of his own. Or a car. Or even a bus pass.
With a few dozen additional I.Q. points, that’s your average Star Wars fan.
If they took all the time and money they’ve wasted obsessing over somebody else’s (boring) vision, they could probably be astronauts or champion fencers or costume designers by now.
(And no, I don’t mean “recreating someone else’s movie in my backyard,” either.)
He shared his brother’s passion for militaria, so since the 1960s, Andrew Mollo has worked as a historical consultant to the movies, with an expertise in military uniforms.
In other words: Andrew Mollo is a guy who has a lot in common with thousands of Star Wars fans, except his job does not require him to wear a name tag.
Successful, mature men do not play computer games, attend “cons,” and get excited about overrated science fiction movies from the 1970s.
Come on, all the conservative boys who’ve read this far:
Do you imagine Victor Davis Hanson is some kind of font of boring zombie lore?
Do you think Mark Steyn wastes his spare time playing World of Warcraft? (Trick question. Mark Steyn doesn’t have any spare time.)
No, these men have careers and families, here on planet earth.