Robb Pearlman - Live Like a Vulcan, Love Like a Wookiee, Laugh Like a Hobbit: Life Lessons from Pop Culture

Contents

Live Like a Vulcan,
Love Like a Wookiee,
Laugh Like a Hobbit

LIFE LESSONS from POP CULTURE

Robb Pearlman

Smart Pop Books

An Imprint of BenBella Books, Inc.

Dallas, TX

THIS PUBLICATION IS UNOFFICIAL AND UNAUTHORIZED. IT HAS NOT BEEN PREPARED, APPROVED, AUTHORIZED, LICENSED, OR ENDORSED BY ANY ENTITY THAT CREATED OR PRODUCED THE WELL-KNOWN POP CULTURE PROPERTIES FEATURED IN THIS BOOK.

Live Like a Vulcan, Love Like a Wookiee, Laugh Like a Hobbit 2021 by BenBella Books

Cover Illustrations 2021 by Jason Kayser

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

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First E-Book Edition: October 2021

Library of Congress Control Number: 2021020408

ISBN 9781953295828

eISBN 9781637740118

Editing by Rachel Phares

Copyediting by Michael Fedison

Proofreading by Jenny Bridges and Sarah Vostok

Text design and composition by Aaron Edmiston

Cover design and illustration by Jason Kayser

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For Linda Kaplan and David Harmon

Main Menu

The Wizard of Oz

I pushed against the taverns massive oak door, but it would not yield. I shook off the disappointment and pushed again. Harder. Stiffening my arms, leaning over, and pressing both hands firmly against the doors splintering, worn facade. Nothing.

I was as frustrated as I was exhausted. It had been a long day, and as much as I wanted to sleep, I knew I wouldnt restcouldnt restuntil I was able to rid myself of the hunger that had walked with me these last few hours. The dim, gaslit corridor was just bright enough for me to find a placard written in English, Spanish, and grammatically incorrect Elvish, indicating that the pub would be open all night to accommodate weary travelers.

I looked around the doorway for a latch or lock that would reveal the source of the blockade. Finding none, I peered through the square of glass at the top of the door and saw no one but an Elder, his head bowed in quiet contemplation, sitting at a small table, which, like nearly every table in the room, was piled high with glasses, plates, and soiled napkins. I spotted a bar beyond the Elder and the tables where I could quickly eat before making my way to my room for a much-needed rest.

I took a step back, a deep breath, and threw my shoulder into the door. Again, I failed to move the door an inch, but the thudding sound was loud enough to garner the Elders attention. I watched him look up. I held my breath, steeling myself for whatever the consequences would be for disturbing the old mans meditation.

PULL! he shouted.

I stepped back again and followed his instructions. The door swung toward me and brought the faint sounds of John Williamss Superman score and the overpowering aroma of fried foods with it. I stepped over the threshold. The physical exertion of trying to open the door, the heavy load Id been carrying all day, my hunger, and the surprisingly harsh overhead fluorescent lighting all conspired to make me feel even more off-balance and awkward than I usually did. How would I make my way through the labyrinth of chairs and tables, around the Elder, and to the bar without knocking into anything and everything?

As usual, I was traveling solo, with only a book for company. It was neither the kind of book I would particularly recommend to anyone, nor was it bad enough to warrant a one-star review, but it was small and lightweight, and sufficiently interesting to keep me occupied while I sat alone. In fact, Id traveled with this particular booka novelization of a film Id seen as a childfor years. Its spine was broken enough for me to fold over and hold in one hand while I ate with the other, and its pages stained enough that the ketchup I would inevitably spill on it wouldnt warrant too much gnashing of teeth. Like an old friend who kept repeating the same stories, it was comfortingly familiar and pleasant, reliable company.

As expected, I bumped my way through the taverns closely set tables and chairs. As I approached the Elderstill the one human impediment between me and the barI couldnt help but admire the degree to which he was able to regain his composure and restart his meditation after being disturbed by my door-banging. I didnt want to trouble him again, but my fear of offending people overrides my fear of engaging with them, so I was compelled to acknowledge his kindness.

Thanks for your help with the door. I would have been out there all night, I said. I noticed that his head was bowed not in silent contemplation, but to better see the game of Tetris playing on the phone he held in his lap.

I couldnt let you suffer out there, the Elder said without looking up. But now that youre inside, prepare for a bit of a wait. The waiters in the back, either crying or drinking. Probably both. I wasnt offended by the Elders lack of eye contactI could see that he was a microsecond away from maneuvering a long green rectangle between two blocks. The poor fellows been the only person working this whole place. Im surprised he didnt lock the door hours ago. The Elder paused his game and finally looked at me. His eyes were bright blue and kinder than Id imagined they would be. You might as well take a seat here and wait for him. The old man pocketed his phone into a hidden fold of his flowing gray-and-white robes. He leaned over and pulled up a chair from a nearby table. He patted the seat, inviting me to join him.

Oh, I dont want to interrupt, I said, pointing to the three empty seats already surrounding the table.

Its no bother at all. My friends and I were just talking about... well, all manner of things. Big things and small things. Theres always room for one more. The Elder seemed to sense my hesitancy. Had the tavern been crowded, I could have easily let myself get lost, alone, in the crowd; but emptiness offered no camouflage. I felt ripples of social anxiety lapping against my chest.

I insist, he said. I mumbled thanks and sat in the chair. As I let my backpack slip off my shoulders and drop to the floor behind me, I flinched at the thought of having accidentally bent the autographed poster Id bought earlier in the day. I inspected the poster tube and, finding it still in pristine condition, turned my attention toward a special menu posted on the wall. The taverns offerings were limited to burgers, pizza, and nachosthe kinds of things a kitchen could get out quickly and in large enough quantities to accommodate the larger-than-normal crowds in town for the event.