Girl Meets Trek

On December 4, a bright sunny day in Hawaii, I awoke. Brushing aside the looming due dates, ideas for term paper rewrites, the forty or so ungraded literary analysis papers, I donned my only Star Trek tee that read: I’m with illogical. A giant arrow pointed left. The direction of ill-logic. In the midst of the end-of-semester hustle-bustle, nervous breakdowns, and cryers (students who procrastinate the entire semester then come to your office in tears), I made time to enjoy the 45^th Annual Star Trek Convention, my first convention. My memory of the day, incomplete at best, stands against the backdrop of reality, of teaching and writing, of grad school and jobs. Even now, the images converge on one another, threaten to fall into oblivion. Hence this blog: to preserve the memories, to take note of the trek.

I avoided conventions for only one reason up until this point. They broke the continuity and the reality of the Star Trek universe. The Red Hot Chili Peppers said it best: Space may be the final frontier, but it’s made in a Hollywood basement. For me, I’ve always hated “the end.” The end of a book, the end of a series; the end felt so much like the end of a life. I worried that a convention might reinforce this end, remind me of the quickness of life, it’s illusory nature. Also, it might reinforce the geek within for there is power in numbers.

We (yes, my best friend came along, though she’s no Trekkie; Thanks, Sam!) arrived at the Sheraton in time to catch Weyoun (DS9), that is, Jeffrey Combs, pontificate. Armin Shimmerman (Quark, DS9), J.G. Hertzler (Martok, DS9), Max Grodenchik (Rom, DS9), and Casey Biggs (Damar, DS9) took turns asking and answering questions. The large convention room was barely a quarter filled, but I still could not help but feel an attachment to the people around me. When does that ever happen? To my right, a middle aged Japanese couple wore Next Generation science uniforms. To my left, a man in his seventies adjusted his Vulcan ears and ceremonial robe.

If ever I belonged anywhere…I bumped into J.G. Hertzler in the hallway. He played a Klingon and a General to boot. When I looked at him I saw a six foot, 200 lb. Klingon weilding a bat’leth. He looked down at me and said: “Haha, I love your shirt.”

In the vendors room, I purchased a DS9 post-production script from Max Grodenchik’s personal collection. For those of you who watch the show, this guy is just like his character. A bit slow to process, mouth usually open, stuttering through sentence fragments; he took my email in case he missed his script and wanted it back. Five minutes later, I was still waiting for him to sign the script. He appeared lost in thought. Or maybe just lost. I tried to help. “Just sign your name.” “Oh…Where?” “Wherever you’d like.” “Oh. Ok.” Pause. He points to a spot on the cover “Do you want me to sign it here?” “Wherever is fine.” “Oh.” Pause. “Do you want me to address it to you?” “No need.” “How do you spell your name?” My turn: “Oh.” Gratefully, his wife was there watching the both of us stammer at each other. She clarified my request and Max finally signed the script. Sam watched our interaction (I could see her laughing) while she snapped pictures on her iPhone. Awkward sums it up.

At some point during the convention, I reverted. I lost the ability to articulate myself in clear and complex ways. I forgot about my two term papers that needed hours of research, reading, and work to complete. I forgot about my students and the forty-seven emails waiting in my inbox. I forgot I was a twenty-seven year old with an unpaid mortgage. I became a little girl with a debit card on a mission to purchase any and every piece of Trek history I could find. I also giggled (ugh, yes, giggled) as the actors walked by. And yes, they saw me. No longer able to form complex sentences, I walked up to Armin Shimmerman (Quark; one of my favorite characters; also appeared on Buffy as Principal Snider) for an autograph. As I stood in line, I thought: What should I say to him? Perhaps compliment him on his ability to channel an alien character on such human terms? Articulate that his character and the show was the very reason I was a PhD candidate and a writer? That the show and the humor he brought to it helped me through some dark and hormonal teenage years? But I was continually interrupted by my fifteen year old self: Oh, my god. Oh, my god. It’s Quark! It’s Quark! In the end, I said nothing at all. I stood in front of him with the geekiest grin you can imagine and held out the script. Thankfully, he had some experience with this geeky inarticulateness and shared a story about the script with me. As I turned away, my voice returned. I said softly: thanks. It’s really great to finally meet you. And shuffled away as quickly as I could, giggling.

The day stands out as one of the best of 2010. It arrived in the midst of such stress and apprehension, where the future was uncertain and the responsibility, mounting. I almost didn’t go for these reasons; I didn’t have a whole day to waste on childhood fantasies. I didn’t even have an hour, evidenced by the fact I hadn’t seen a Trek episode in months, since my last posting. I was finally, wonderfully, reminded of what my life is all about. Stories. Writing. Some of my first pieces were Star Trek fan fiction. If you don’t know what fan fic is, you are probably too cool to be reading this anyway. Some writers, like Stephen King, hate television. He writes, “turn off the tv” as advice to writers. I couldn’t disagree more. TV, simply another medium for the transmission of stories, brought Trek to my home every Sunday at 8pm. While I spent entire days reading Trek novels and other books, seeing the show on TV reminded me that this was a shared world. Books can be so private. They only speak to the reader at the time. But millions watched Trek. Millions. And maybe, because of that, I didn’t feel quite so alone.

Next episode: Star Trek: Voyager’s “Good Shepherd”

Here's the preview: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SutVhjR0Isk

Infinite Regression

-Dear reader, something strange your way comes. I borrow style from a brilliant poetry professor. Her blog is here. She writes about her mother’s dementia. Sometimes I can relate. I haven’t watched Star Trek since the last blog. Sometimes it’s hard to believe in the imaginary, especially when the money men knock on your doors, tie up your lines, and threaten to repo your cats. This blog is pseudo-blog-poem-experience to demonstrate (document?) life without Star Trek and how broken and mixed up it seems.

-Infinite regression. The act of regressing infinitely. The US can relate. So can our wallets. There was a point I wanted to make about that episode, but I couldn’t find the time to finish watching it. Interruptions: cross-talk compositional theory readings, subsequent practice exercises, emails from students (What is upload? And how do I do it?), texts from friends (someone I knew died; even though I did not know her I felt it anyway). I am 27 now, but am/have been stuck at 23 for four years now. Nothing changes, even though everything else does.

-I sat down to write the blog twice. The first resulted in an amalgamation of an almost. I almost got the thought out. I almost made the connection. I almost posted what I wrote. Soon, I tired of almost and deleted the document from e-existence. At 3am one day I awoke. There is no money in my account, yet hundreds of dollars vanish anyway. Why a minus and in red—the red is enough. It tells me “danger. danger.” I make a second attempt to write you. The heft of reality is cumbersome and blocks me. Star Trek can’t help me now, I think. Then, feel bad for pushing the blame off.

-I spoke with my friends this week. There are only two people I talk to regularly. I sometimes miss facebook. It said I had 76 friends. Where did they go? He says: I need a drink. She says: I can’t make it. My bank account is zero too. Sam says: You think too much. Most likely. I keep looking for answers. I searched my rhet/comp theory text. Found none. My classmates have none either. Are they locked away somewhere? Do you have the key?

-I learned about Henrietta Lacks. Her HeLa cells cured polio. Might cure cancer too. These HeLa cells also destroyed her and her family. As I read, all I could think: what if that was me?

-I have no great desire to seek out new life. Could not even muster the energy to turn the DVD player on and “insert disc.” I suppose even Star Trek can let you down—just pressing play is difficult. But not insurmountable. In lieu of comments, please leave answers.

End transmissions.

Takei takes on Equal Rights

New blog coming soon. I promise.

For now, check out this article on George Takei, formerly Sulu from the original series. Years after the series that pushed for racial and gender equality in a time of mixed emotions and bitter disputes over civil rights between Whites and Blacks, Takei takes on civil rights for the LGBTQ community in reality here in Hawaii. How friggin' cool is that?

http://www.staradvertiser.com/tgif/tgifstories/20100910_Fighting_for_rights.html

The Enterprise

After two and half weeks, I return to the trek. Let me first apologize, as I know you all sit around on Mondays waiting with baited breath for my newest blog. For those of you who don’t know me, that was sarcasm. To be honest, in the past few weeks I almost quit. Partially because I watched Star Trek: Enterprise for the first time and it made the Enterprise seem like the ill-fated Titanic. And partially because between two jobs and graduate school, finding time to sit down and write to you folks is difficult. But in the end I decided that I love to write and my primary objective has yet to be accomplished. That is, to find connections between my passion, Star Trek, and my life (i.e. reality).

I watched Seasons 1-4ish (emphasis on “ish”) of Star Trek: Enterprise. Thank you, Hulu. It was a painful, trying experience. Like watching the ball glide over your goalkeeper’s hands in the WAC final in the last 30 seconds of overtime and knowing your athletic career had come to a dismal and abrupt end. But that’s another story. So, today, I figure I’d write to you about Star Trek. Not the episodes. Not the people. Not even the cool ships. But that which makes Star Trek, Star Trek.

1. Honor. For whatever reason, this term doesn’t come up seriously in every day life. At KS, we had an “Honor Code”—but I’m fairly certain that meant “I promise not to cheat on quizzes.” Star Trek has defined honor for me and it has become a code by which I live my life. The Klingons have a saying: Death before dishonor. While quirky, this is actually how I feel. This is why Star Trek: Enterprise was such an abysmal failure—it did not adhere to this code. It featured questionable ethical and moral decisions and failed in every way to meet the cliché. When I turn on Star Trek, I expect to see the ideal, if I wanted to watch people make questionable moral and ethical decisions, I’d turn on the news.

2. Exploration. For the non-Trekkies among us, ST’s primary concern is exploration. Of humanity. Of space. While space may be the final frontier, ST continually explores the only frontier that is ever-changing: humanity. Ever ask yourself what it means to be human? Many think that writers write because we are pompous and think we “know” what we are talking about. In truth, we writers write because we don’t know. Our writing is our exploration of ourselves, of our humanity. As much as I would love to explore space, I doubt it will ever be possible. First, because I succumb to motion sickness and would most likely vomit before I reached the transporter room doors. Second, because I could spend my entire life exploring my humanity and that still wouldn’t be enough time.

3. Questions & Answers. Great literature always leaves me with more questions than answers. ST is no different. Both mega-texts (literature and ST) ask the most important questions: Why are we here? What is life? What are we supposed to do? Each of us, I suppose, explores these questions in our own way. ST is set in the 24^th century, three hundred years in the future. Humanity has evolved past World Wars, past greed, and finds itself with room to grow and expand. They deal in the none-trivial. You see, once we brush aside our unpaid bills, our two jobs, our faceplace updates, our graduate school readings that are yet unread, we can begin thinking of the bigger questions. ST isn’t about finding answers to these questions, rather knowing these questions are important, exploring the questions from different angles, and understanding that there is no one answer—that is the crux. And each time I watch an episode, I’m reminded of what is important and what is not.

4. Difference. People don’t deal well with difference. See: slavery, women’s suffrage, gay rights, the Civil War, the Nazis, World War I & II, the Republican party, some organized religions, present-day terrorists…The list goes on and on. It’s incredible to me that we can’t deal with difference. We segregate, separate, and subjugate minorities. We expect other people to look like us, act like us, talk like us and when they don’t, we fear them. And because of our fear, we push them down. We limit their rights. We judge them. In ST, difference is celebrated and explored. We are introduced to aliens, not just the green, bulbous head guys, but non-corporeal aliens. Aliens that exist in different dimensions, different realms, outside of space and time. And in the Trek universe, not only are we aware of them, but we learn to work with them, understand them, and hopefully form a friendship. Difference is merely the unknown. Explore it. Celebrate it. Learn from it. These are ST’s greatest points.

5. Imagination. Finally, the best of the best of ST. “Space: the final frontier. These are the voyages of the Starship Enterprise. It’s continuing mission: to explore strange new worlds, to seek out new life and new civilizations, to boldly go where no one has gone before.” Right at the start, I knew this show was going to push the limits of imagination. I knew I could see and experience that which is otherwise impossible. Star Trek is less about space and more about us (in case you’re just tuning in now). It asks: what can you imagine? And where can you go? I’ve found these questions useful as a writer and as a kid trapped in a 27-year old body. Could it be possible that if we can imagine it, we can achieve it? That someone, say Gene Rodenberry, thought, if I can imagine a space ship exploring the galaxy, might it one day lead to men and women exploring space? If such exploration were possible, perhaps it might mean humanity was finally able to set aside trivial differences and unimportant questions, and adhere to a code of being that defined us as a people. That we could finally focus on the important questions and set about, for once, improving ourselves as individuals and as a people. Hmm. Imagine that.

Next week’s episode: Voyager’s “Infinite Regress.”

Close hailing frequencies.

Someone to Watch Over Me

References: "Someone to Watch Over Me," a song from a 1926 musical Oh, Kay! written by George and Ira Gershwin. The song has been used numerous times in television shows, musicals, and is included in the Great American Songbook.

In this episode of Voyager, love is in the life support system. Seven, a rescued Borg drone who is more Borg than human conducts a study of our capacity to love and be loved. She is helped by the Doctor, a hologram (essentially, he is made up of photons and force fields--a projection of life)--thus, we have a blind leading a blind. At 27, the topic of love comes up frequently, particularly in after hour conversations over a pitcher of beer at a dive bar. This episode is a reminder that even in the 24th century, love is at best as difficult to grasp as a time paradox.

I won’t succumb to the diatribe I prepared, but with all this talk of equal rights and love and protest, I feel it necessary to point out the Doctor’s predicament. He is in love with Seven. Strange, huh, for a hologram to love a former-Borg-turned-human? It’s funny and strange that we believe love must fit into certain boundaries, that there are guidelines and criteria two people must meet for society to qualify their feelings as love (see eharmony or marriage in general). Only in a Star Trek can we see good come out of difference. Though he doesn’t have the courage to admit his feelings to Seven, he leaves us with a reminder: “Won’t you tell her to put on some speed? Oh, how I need someone to watch over me.” Even in the 24^th century, as a lonely hologram sits at a piano humming a century old tune, we all understand his predicament. Whether we’re brown or white, male or female, Bolian or Vulcan, we all need someone to watch over us.

For this blog, I could spill my guts to all ten of you and tell you what I think of the subject at hand. But then I thought that might be boring, or worse, preachy. So let me share instead a few poems on the subject and I'll leave this topic in your capable hands to work out.

Firefly

I always believed in you.

When you asked

about my firefly collection

sitting on the shelf,

I told you quietly

I could hear them breathe.

Illuminating the shadows in my room,

pulsating in rhythm to the beat

of your heart I held so,

just so, in my hands

You said, forever.

I replied, always.

At dawn I sat at your side,

as you dreamt a dreamer’s dream.

Free from the abscess of our love,

and you never told me why.

The jar hummed in place,

looking down on this scene.

The glow fading in twilight.

A sole firefly remained,

and as it spiraled to join its dead

your heart turned in my hands.

And I awoke alone,

the bed still warm,

and the room now dark.

After a Heavy Rain

This is how I thought it’d be:

your ring on the nightstand,

the warmth of your fingers

fading from the silver.

Small pieces of poems scattered about,

wrinkled in with the sheets, left

on the kitchen tiles,

like the droplets flecked careless

onto the porch

after a heavy rain,

drying in the afternoon sun.

Message in a Bottle

References: As early as the 4th century, a Greek Philosopher, in an attempt to prove the Atlantic Ocean connected to the Mediterranean Sea threw a message in a bottle in the hopes that it would prove his theory. Since then, doomed sailors throughout history (most notably, Christopher Columbus, though he survived) have thrown messages in a bottle out to sea in the hopes that their loved ones would one day receive the message.

View the episode synopsis here.

This week's episode includes special guest star/comedian Andy Dick who acts as an EMH Mark-5, a step above Voyager's own EMH, a Mark-4. The two are thrown together on a Federation ship taken over by the Romulans. Witty dialogue and hilarity ensues. A good episode to watch, particularly for those non-Trekkies amongst us (which may be 9/10 followers). We've come full circle with this episode in the sense that it reminds me of why this project began in the first place.

With the advent of Faceplace and other social networking sites, self-publishing has reached a pinnacle. Never before have people been able to interact so casually, posting random thoughts, events, and (god forbid) hundreds of pictures of their kids and/or pets that only the truly nosy put the time and effort to sift through. I admit, I used to be a member of these sites, but each day I felt the pressure to say something, anything, meaningful that could be heard above the tumultuous posts, posts like (and these are real by the way): "Tom Jones hates Mondays" or "Jessica F. just had the most romantic date ever" or "Kary Jacobs is trying to pick a cup size for her ladies." Dear Tom, duh. Everyone hates Monday. That's nothing new. Jessica, really, the most romantic date...ever? Really? What does that even mean? Are you saying that of all the dates every single person throughout history has had, yours was the most romantic? If that's the case, then that is quite a feat. And Kary Jacobs, as much as you're interested in your pending boob job, I am considering un-friending you (which is a strange term that has popped up) in real life. But hopefully, my point is evident: most people don't have one.

The message in a bottle (taken as a metaphor or literally) leaves much to consider. Daily, we engage in small talk, whether it be by scrolling through a wall of posts or talking about small things to people we encounter. My job as an English instructor seems futile. I teach students how to eliminate meaningless sentences, phrases and/or words from their writing, but they live in a world where, daily, words are thrown around like errant bits of trash flying off a garbage truck. Ann Carson (a delightful, thoughtful writer and scholar) wrote about how words on a page create tension between the reader and the meaning the writer is trying to convey. So often, she points out, what we write (or what we say) does not come close to the actually meaning we are attempting to articulate. The reader, ever selfish, takes what s/he can from the words and moves on. In this sense then, perhaps we can think of readers taking the meanings (from these words) for themselves, interpreting what they can, throwing away the useless parts, and hopefully recycling the meanings that incite a heart flutter and re-gifting these to others.

Crafting words on a page should be a thoughtful process. Poetry is the essence of meaning. There are no superfluous words or extraneous fluff. Poets spend months, if not years, shaping a single poem. But poetry, unlike tweets, status updates, or posts, is an attempt to share an experience with a reader. Note the word choice: experience. Good writing does not consist of random emotion. It is not about how you feel or what you think. It's about life, about experiences, and about sharing these experiences in a way that is meaningful to readers.

This episode reminded me that writing (wherever it may be) is precious. Words are precious. Each time we open our mouths or our facespace accounts, we are preparing a message in a bottle. Just think: if each message you sent out were as meaningful as a message you would place in a bottle, perhaps we'd all know a little bit more about this thing we call life. This blog serves as my message in a bottle. I wonder if someone, somewhere will get my message.

Episode #8: ST: Voyager's "Someone to Watch Over Me." Check out a preview here.

End transmission.

Timeless

Definition

: the quality of being eternal, ageless, or immortal

: or the state of being unaffected by the passage of time

Would you speak, insipid Moon,

while I tug at your luminescent hair

nightly to believe. For millions return to

ashes as you spin about.

I plunder below. Mortality bends,

I conquer the Earth, amassing armies under the sun,

while you spin about, a firefly,

as Death sits on the horizon, brave from overuse.

The killing fields of Earth are filled;

I turn my sights above.

What would you pray for?

Would you speak as I close in on you?

Pray for immortality.

While you slip phases into shadow—

just as my daggers, cold steel glinting, arch high.

You always knew I might reach up and pluck you

Right out of the night sky.

Episode #7: Message in a Bottle (ST: Voyager). Here's the trailer:

End transmission.