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For most of my life now, Mark Hamill has been following me around.
It started out innocently enough, when I was in 2nd grade and Star Wars came out. While I was more a Han Solo fan, myself, there up on the screen, 20 feet high, through seven full viewings of the film, towered the face of Mark Hamill. The following years were a blur of lunchboxes adorned with Hamill; posters sporting the visage of Hamill; Hamill 3-inch figures (at least several of which faced off against my precious Blue Snaggletooth, which somehow survived an adolescent phase of figure-burning to now hold a place of prestige in my living room display case); and, later, Hamill on videotape.
Right about the time Hamill finally arrived not only on videotape, but in letterbox format, I had just graduated from college with--despite my parents’ apprehensions--an art degree, and luckily found myself working at Origin as a game artist (incidentally, if you’re thinking of becoming an artist, despite several bits of luck that have transpired to keep me fed, my parents were right. I should’ve been something respectable, like a doctor or a programmer or a carpenter. But frankly I’m bad with numbers and dangerous with sharp things, and when you think about it that really limits one’s options)
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