A job interview.
A vacation. With the kids.
Sex?
There have been many other times in my life where I have desperately waited for something to begin (for what felt life forever), only to find myself minutes later, adamantly begging for its immediate conclusion.
I know they can't hear you scream in space, but can they hear you snore?
Maybe The Last Jedi wasn't boring top-to-bottom, but holy shit did I lose interest quickly. In a f--king Star Wars movie, for f--k's sake. After patiently waiting since J.J. Abrams dropped the charmingly nostalgic The Force Awakens [review] a couple years back, I found myself (surprisingly) quite antsy in the weeks and days leading up to Episode VIII. Now, I don't have Chewbacca's face tattooed above my johnson, nor Jar Jar's bisected across my buttcheeks, but I'm a thirty-eight year old man with an eight year old son. I hold the galaxy far, far away close, close to my heart.
Turns out I like my space operas with a little more space, and a lot less opera.
The Force Awakens, however you felt about it, at the very least set the stage. A new cast of interesting characters was introduced, and each was given enough cool shit to do that we actually cared about them, you know? There was intrigue, mystery and even a few laughs, as Rey, Finn and Poe fought the good fight with Han, Chewie and Leia. Sure, killing off one of the best characters in the history of the written word was an epic dick-punch, but it felt like it mattered, and more importantly, I actually gave a shit. Like, a really big shit. Maybe even too big of a shit.
