I guess one of the things that made the original Star Wars movies so compelling, and one of the gross failings of the current crop of films, is the larger-than-life conflict between obvious good and obvious evil. The rebels were good. The Emperor, and his minions, were evil. We knew who to cheer for and who to boo and hiss at. Ah, how simple life was back in the seventies. Now, sadly, nothing seems quite so clear. You see, now I know how the Emperor felt in Star Wars Episode IV and knowing that, it's hard not to feel a twinge of regret for his glorious plans whenever I watch original Death Star go up in flames.
You see, I've realized that not everything is so black and white. Sometime, you just need to step on troublemakers and crack a few skulls. It's like this: you try to make the world (or galaxy) a better place. You try to bring a little order into everyday life. You want this, not for your own good, but for the good of others. You give and you give and you give, and ultimately betrayal, destruction and failure are your rewards.
It's hard to have a vision. It's hard to see a better way, especially when the world doesn't want to co-operate.
And I know. You see, I have a lawn.
I don't ask much of this lawn. I just want a little order. I want grass where the grass should be and nowhere else. I don't want it to stand up and applaud whenever I walk out the door. I don't expect the little leafy growths to sway back and forth and spell out my name as token of the gratitude for the water I pour on them every other day. (Water that is by no means free, I may add.) No. I just want them to stay in line and do what they're told.
And this little empire of grass, how does it respond to the tender love and gentle warmth of my guidance? With willful, malicious, and downright traitorous growth. Bare patches in the lawn. Not just thin, you see, but actual *bare* patches. Naked, unrepentant soil. Now, I admit, the reason it's bare is that there was a great pile of topsoil dumped on it not long ago, to 'level' the ground. But has the grass grown back? No. Petulant little buggers are refusing to grow through the soil. Instead, the grass is hurling itself, like some kind of Chlorophyll-crazed lemming across the barren wastes of my drive-way.
Look, it's *concrete.* How hard is that to understand? You can't grow on *concrete.* Grow on the damn soil. That's why it's there.
Oh no. This grass has to do its own thing. It has to send out its little runners in the direction *it* likes.
So, I resorted to the only sensible, reasonable course that any galactic emperor / gardener would use. Brute, remorseless technology. Or, as it also known, the Black and Decker electric Edge-Hog / Deathstar Mark 1.
It uses a large, heavy, tempered steel blade to gouge out the ground and slice off any errant grass, leaving a neat, orderly edge to our paths and driveway. Much the same way that the Deathstar uses, well, that light-beam thingy to gouge out errant worlds and leave a neat orderly empire behind.
And did the Emperor get thanks for it? Does the grass learn its lesson? No sir. Everyday, I see the grass creeping back towards the driveway. It moves with the same relentless determination as your average Sci Fi fan closing in for close encounter with Natalie Portman. If the grass would behave, then there wouldn't need to be any gougings. So you see, it really brings it on itself.
Some people you just can't reason with, and that's why you have to resort to turning their planet into so much smoking rubble, or, tearing up the ground and flinging their little leafy corpses into the trash. It's all the same in the end, because when you're that close to the ground you just can't see the bigger picture.
So, I've resigned myself to a lifetime of what Ra refers to as the Iron Fist Of Botany. I didn't want it this way. Truly I didn't. I, like the Galactic Emperor, only sought to bring peace, tranquility and order to an imperfect world. Still, if there have to be 'gougings' then I won't shirk my moral duty. What worries me is that I could have sworn I saw a little pile of grass cuttings hanging around the garage door long after I'd swept up the other night. And that tiny little voice I heard, carried on the gentle evening breeze.... 'Help me Obi-Wan, you're my only hope....'
Damn rebel scum.