Force Photos

I am no further beyond the realm of Star Wars this week than I was last week.

To whit:

1. A reader of this blog used precious moments of her life to track down General Grievous and update the rest of us as to his unique genesis. 

2. Even before this back story (thank you Helen, I am so much better off now that I know), a certain mini-DVD made its way into our home and on it was a 10 minute collection of light saber battles from all the Star Wars movies, including the animated Clone War features (which we have never seen).

(And I'm not sure I want to. . .  One of the battles featured all female characters, the good and the bad and they all looked very mean and kind of grotesque and I was thinking, "A chick fight?  In Star Wars?"

Then again, perhaps this is the answer to a certain woman I am related to who expressed her irritation with the franchise and disinterest in it because, in her words, "There were no good women in those movies."

"There was Princess Leia," I objected.

"But what did she ever do?"

"Well how about Queen Amadalla, the elected sovereign of Nabu?"  (And, hey Star Wars, how can a sovereign be 'elected'?)

But this relative was not going for it.)

Well.

On this mini-DVD of light saber battles was the moment where Obi Wan takes on General Grievous and, Josh was right, General Grievous does have 4 arms.  The battle ensues and Obi lances off one arm.  Joshua says, "Now he has three." 

Obe takes off another.  Josh says, "Now he has two." 

But before any more arms get cauterized off, the mini-DVD cuts off the scene with a "To Be Continued" heading.  Josh says, "But General Grievous does die."

Really, Josh?  How is that possible when General Grievous is just a cyborg?  Was he ever really living?

And why does he wield a light saber (or 4), I thought those were the weapons of Jedi Knights.

Bryan clarified, "He was trained by Count Duku."  Oh.. .  I guess I should have read Helen's research earlier.

(Gemma, this entire time, is kind of watching, but mostly she is making Valentines with pink paper and fancy-edged scissors.)

Where did this mini-DVD come from, anyway?  It was packaged with Joshua's light saber, which Daddy bought him a few weeks ago when they were out together. 


3. We did not watch the Superbowl last Sunday, but I did watch some of the commercials online the next day.  By far, this was the best of those I saw.  The kids heard it and came running.

Gemma laughed hardest at the doll part.

Joshua laughed hardest at the car part.

Bryan laughed hardest at the husband's eyebrows part.

I laughed throughout the whole thing.






It's not that I want to counter-act the Star Wars with "something other," but I do have some photos I've been meaning to share.


The morning of our first snow, which was back in late November or so. 

I took the kids to the "CandyLand" celebration that the MWR on Schreiver Air Force Bases hosts each year.  Joshua chose to get a 'knight' for his face paint.

Gemma picked little bunches of holly at the corner of her eyes, but it had gotten smudged by the time we arrived home.

Speaking of Christmas-time. . .  Here are Gemma and Joshua opening gifts that Aunt Helen and Uncle David sent down to them.  Upon seeing his Iron Man helmet, Joshua immediately felt fierce.  Upon seeing her master works set of Crayola art supplies, Gemma literally licked her lips.

Here is a photo of me and Bryan on Friday night, on our way to the Second Annual JFCC-IMD awards dinner.  Col. Putko is retiring in April (his wife, the other Col Putko, is as well), and he has been the driving force behind this event.  So who knows if it will continue in his absence.

But I looked forward to it, and enjoyed it through and through.  The people Bryan works with are nice and the food was, again, very good this year. 

Also new to this year was the Air Force Academy band, playing live.  Huh.  It included 5 members, all enlisted personnel.

What is their deal, exactly?  I wonder if they are part of the larger AFA Band, whose members are professional musicians for larger, full-concert performances.  And then maybe a few of them moonlight with these other instruments and form up little bands that do these little gigs?

It's mysterious. 

After dinner, they played a few pop songs, the first of which was Journey's Don't Stop Believin'.

The Major sitting next to me remarked upon the teenage boy at our table (e.g. the son of one of the guys Bryan works with--see?  a family-friendly command!) by saying, "He probably has no idea what this song is."

And I said, "Oh, I'm sure he knows it from Glee."

Both remarks this young man both heard and objected to.  "I grew up on the classics!" he insisted.  And I remembered feeling like him once: that it was an assault on one's aesthetic pride to be accused of knowing only contemporary music, or knowing it at all. 

He'll do OK, that one. . .

This was the dinner last year, long time readers may recall, when I met Esther, the woman who had participated in the Herceptin trials.  She was not there this year. 

Lisa, another b.c. champion was, though.  This time last year, she was suffering through her 9 months of "tissue expansion."  Her most notable comment was that she felt like she was "wearing hubcaps." 

She's all restored now!  And she looks lovely.  A very sweet gal and it was a pleasure to see her.

Last year, I remember looking at myself, all dressed up, and feeling like I really looked nice, what with that great wig and all.  Many of you saw the photos and said I looked great, too.  I believed you.

Then I looked at the photo about 6 months later and thought, "Yeesh!  I looked sick.  And that wig looked like a wig!"

This year, I did not feel sick and I did not look sick! 

My hair actually looked very nice in person, but in photos, it's so dark, it just looks like a helmet.  You'll have to believe me:  the short hair really works.

And after some deliberation, I decided not to wear any prosthetics, or socks, or other device to fill out the top of my dress. 

It wasn't noticeable.  Or maybe it was.  But if it was, then I guess the thought of someone noticing would have been, "That woman has no breasts."

True statement. 

But I'm pretty sure no one looked twice. 

Finally, what was nicest about this evening for me is that most of the co-workers who knew about the cancer have moved on to new jobs, and most of the people I met that night were new.  Presumably, no one even knew I was a breast cancer champion, and it was so nice to be, simply, Amy Ponce!, Superhero.