I was accosted by a Storm Trooper last weekend. I’m not talking about the Germans with the pointy hats, but the guys in the white plastic uniforms from a certain, low profile film you may have heard of. And for those of you who are always on the lookout for sexual context, that’s “accosted,” not “molested.” The former involves being bothersome. The later involves an after-school special.

I think this is the second time this has happened; both in similar locations for similar reasons, but each incident over a year apart. This time, I was at the Granite State Comic Book Convention; a great place to meet single women.

I arrived in the morning, intending to meet my friend Jason inside. After walking among the vendors a bit, I still hadn’t spotted him, so I tried to reach him via cell phone. That’s when the Storm Trooper got all up in my grill. He was being funny, though for some reason he wasn’t speaking. He was giving me hand signals that I eventually interpreted as, “The Empire has imposed a 50% tax on all cell phone minutes.”

I tried to play along as best I could. As I waited for Jason to pick up, I waved the cell phone in his face and said, “This is not the droid you’re looking for.”

However, it suddenly occurred to me that Jason had a Storm Trooper outfit too. I looked at the solider and said, “Am I calling you? Jason?” The trooper remained still, and speechless. If it was Jason, he was laughing under that helmet. If it wasn’t, he was probably confused (“Why the hell is he calling me Jason?”).

Before Jason finally picked up, the Storm Trooper waved me off, dismissing me as a mental case (me, the one not dressed up like a fictional foot soldier).

I wasn’t annoyed by it. In fact, I can usually get some laughs by telling the story of trying to make a cell phone call while a Storm Trooper was giving me shit.

The fundamental complaint I have about this “DinnerDate4Eight” service is that they seem to be having trouble finding seven other people. Granted, I don’t know how the system works; maybe they don’t accept just any old loser. But, that would be ignoring the fact that they have accepted me.

The concept is cool. Four men and four women are put together for dinner. Although all parties are single, there is no pretense of dating or romance; it’s just a social gathering and whatever happens happens. We might discuss the merits of economic reform. We might have a staring contest. Some of us might exchange numbers. There may be a fist fight. Whatever.

But the fatal flaw of this casually entertaining plan is the absence of eight people.

There was a brief questionnaire when I signed up. The questions were basic and broad; “How old are you?” “What are a few of your hobbies?” “Are you Anna Nicole Smith?” I might have made up that last one, it’s been several weeks since I filled it out and I can’t remember what all the questions were. Anyway, it was noted that they would try to group us with people of similar age / interests / species.

Over the weeks I sent the occasional e-mail asking the 4Eight people how the search was going, and letting them know that I’d settle for a DinnerDate4Six. I’m considering asking them to cut corners, maybe just set me up with two women at a Taco Bell, but I’m not sure if they’ve got some motto or policy or some shit.

They’ve responded with kindness, and maybe a subtext of pity, telling me that it’s impossible to know exactly when they’ll get the right people together. Which is funny when you think about it: that’s the reason I signed up in the first place.

I’m not getting much attention through my personal ad. I’m thinking of changing the headline to something more engaging. What do you think of “12-Inch Stud Seeks Plank to Nail” ?

How does that strike you? Do you think you’d click it just to see what kind of jerk I was? I’d have to follow it up with an equally engaging description:

“YOU: a woman (or women) with tight clothing, loose morals, long legs, and low standards.

ME: arrogant and insensitive, but I can stir your drink from across the room, if you know what I mean. I’m usually the life of the party, especially once I start showing everyone the gun that I brought. Thanks to DNA testing, it has been proven several times in a court of law that I do not, legally, have any children; but I would like to start a family one day. I’m just out of prison for punching an elderly nun, but in my defense, the nun was being kind of a douchebag. I’m now happily working part time in the telephone marketing industry. I’m hoping to find a girl who doesn’t do drugs because I don’t like anyone dipping into my stash. I still drink on occasion; that occasion being any day that starts with a consonant. I drive like I have nothing to live for and I give the finger more than I wave. Oh, and I’m a Pisces. Call me.”

This is an ACTUAL line about an ACTUAL movie:

"The theatrical version has scenes that were removed or severely truncated for broadcast on American TV, due to nudity, sex, the use of real life dwarfs, mutilated and otherwise deformed people, and allegedly profane references to the Catholic Church."

Now, how does that sound out of context? It sounds like a fun Friday night to me.

Actually, the movie was pretty weird, in case you hadn't guessed. It's called "The Sentinel." I would be hard pressed to compare it to anything other than the movies that "inspired" it (as I understand it, The Sentinel was kind of a bandwagon horror film following the Exorcist and the Omen). It's absurdly bad at some points, and remarkably good at others, so I really don't know what my overall impression is.

The other mind boggling thing about the film is the number of small roles by actors who would go on to bigger things. The photographer with the unbuttoned shirt and the slight European accent? Jeff Goldblum. The detective's assistant who has three words in the whole movie? Christopher Walken. The TV commercial director with the Hitler moustache? Jerry Orbach. The demonic lesbian who never speaks? Beverly D'Angelo...

Speaking of which, how's this for great dialogue?
Alison: "So what do you both do for a living?"
Gerde: "We fondle each other."

Classic! I just don't know what to say about this one. It is equal parts "so bad it's funny," "so bad it's bad," "slightly interesting," "freaking scary," and "a little bit sexy" (Christina Raines, where have you been all my life? Oh, you're like, 55 now? Yea, um, sorry to bother you). So if you have a stomach for blood and bad dialog, you might want to rent this one. It should may you laugh, cringe, cover your eyes, and make you go, "Um... riiiiiiight."

P.S. - OK, even if it's 1977 and the apartment is sitting on the gate to hell, there is no freaking way that she could get it, fully furnished, for ony $400 a month. That's bullshit.

There’s a contest on Sobe bottles to win something. It does not state anywhere on the bottles what you could win. All I know is that I haven’t won it yet. Basically I'm getting bottle caps that tell me I'm a loser for no reason.

Sometimes when I’m awake at night, I think of funny ways to start a story. I don’t even think about what the story would be about; just a catchy intro paragraph that would give the reader a laugh and make them want to hear more. Intro’s like this:

“During lovemaking she called out six different names. None of them were mine. I got Steve, Bill, Dave, two Mikes (I would later find out that they were two different Mikes), and a fictional character that I will not name, so as to avoid tarnishing any childhood memories. What had begun as a suspicion that she wasn’t thinking about me had grown into speculation that she was thinking about something entirely out of the current context; like the phone book.”

I should write a book full of intros like that. I got a bunch. Maybe one of these days I’ll actually develop a whole story to go with these introductions.