It was 12:01 a.m. on May 3. I was standing outside Toys R Us with my girlfriend, Joellyn, her friend Doug, and about 75 other people who ranged in age from their late teens to late 30s. What were we doing there on that crisp May night? Why, what else but waiting for the doors to open so that we could rush in and buy as many new "Star Wars: Episode I — The Phantom Menace" toys as possible.

The doors opened and we all moved ahead in a somewhat orderly fashion. A Toys R Us employee was walking past us asking if there were any kids because she had coupons to give them. Technically, there were no kids. At best, the youngest person there was 18. In reality, everyone in that line (well, except maybe Joellyn, who was doing a great job of putting up with me) was a kid at heart. Why else would we be standing outside a toy store at midnight? (Okay, maybe there were a couple of hated toy weasels, those disgusting low lifes who buy up as many toys as possible so that they can horde them and then sell them for jacked-up prices at conventions, flea markets, and their pathetic hole-in-the-wall stores where they live from day to day, burger to burger. The comics-shop guy on "The Simpsons" isn't far from that truth. Believe me, I've worked in the comics industry for over 10 years.)

So, excluding the above rant, why were we there? Well, lots of the people were big Star Wars fans, and many, I imagine, like me, were trying to recapture their youth. I loved the first Star Wars movie. I was second in line for its premiere in my hometown of Madison, Wisconsin. I saw it 21 times that summer, but I never had any of the original toys.

I was "too old" for toys at age 13. It was bad enough getting hassled in the lunchroom for having seen the movie that many times. My early-teen male ego wasn't willing to deal with more stupid stuff from the "cool" kids in school, so I skipped buying those Star Wars toys (I think my folks were relieved). Although, I did buy them for my niece, Denise. She was only a few years old, and she loved the toys. Her favorite was "Big Freepio." (I could embarrass her more, but seeing as she's a way-cool Web designer now, I'll refrain.) Other than buying some for Denise, I didn't buy any Star Wars toys until December, 1994, when the new "Star Wars: Power of the Force" toys came out.

Seventeen years after the release of the original movie and toys, I finally bought some toys for myself. It didn't matter that I was 30 and that the toys were now considered "cool." What mattered was that I had a chance to re-live part of my childhood. Sure, the toys weren't the same as the originals. Luke was now built like a pro wrestler, as was Leia, come to think of it, and a lightsaber didn't slide out of Obi-Wan's arm like it used to. Buying those toys (and spending way too much money) made me remember how I felt the first time I sat in the theater and watched the original movie. They let me re-live a special part of my childhood that was, and still is, very important to me.

So, when the toys for the new movie went on sale, I felt compelled to be among the first to get them. Sure, I knew that the toys would be there the next day, and the next week, and the next month. I wanted to be in that first group, and get some more of those childhood memories and emotions. Sure enough, it worked.

With Joellyn willingly guarding our shopping cart, Doug plunged into the fray surrounding the bins of action figures. He grabbed figures by the handful, not even looking at them, and handed them blindly over his shoulder to me. I took them and dumped them into the shopping cart. Now, wishing she was home in bed instead of presiding as the babysitter of such geeks, Joellyn eyed the growing pile in the cart fearfully. I swore we were going to sort them out, and that not all those toys were coming home with us. I said that I just wanted one of each character (reasonable enough). Oh, and several battle droids, since they have variant paint schemes (still reasonable). Oh, and a couple Darth Mauls, since the villains are always the toughest to find (who can argue with that logic?). At the end of the frenzy, we tossed back a few Senator Palpatines, figuring we were already buying enough to pay for all of George Lucas's great-great-great-grandchildren to attend the college of their dreams.

Of course, we also needed some vehicles and other assorted goodies, including the bizarre, and possibly obscene, Jar Jar Binx Tongue Candy. At around 1:00 a.m., we were finished shopping. Most of the other buyers had left. We straggled out, leaving the bewildered Toys R Us staffers, many wearing ill-fitting Star Wars costumes, wondering what they were going to do for the next seven hours until the next shift came in.

The next day, I brought my toys into Tripod. I set up a display of all the figures on the wall behind me, placed the vehicles on my desktop, and invited everyone in the company to stop by and check them out. Over the course of several days, a good cross-section of the company came to see them. The biggest hit, of course, was the Jar Jar Binx Tongue Candy. (What that says about my fellow Tripodians, I won't speculate upon.)

A little over two weeks later, the new movie opened on my birthday. Joellyn drove five hours round-trip earlier that week to score us tickets for opening night. Our friends, Chris (who was fortunate enough to have been young enough to get all of the original Star Wars toys) and Katy, joined us for a fine birthday dinner at La Cazuela before we drove down to West Springfield for the movie.

I was disappointed by the movie. Very. (See Jay's "Letter from Tripod" from last week for a more detailed dissection.) But, it was a great night with good friends. In the end, the fact that it was disappointing doesn't diminish my love of the original film, or the rush of childhood emotions that I got from standing in line to buy all the new toys. Money may not be able to buy you love, but it sure can buy you a lot of toys.

Cheers,
Jamie