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.

Tsunkatse

"The borg wouldn't know fun if they assimilated an amusement park." -- B'ELanna Torres.

For those of you who've seen this episode, I think it's quite obvious what the writers/producers were trying to do: appeal to the masses. At this point in Trek history, Voyager's ratings were falling, viewers were moving on to shows like MTV's "Cribs" and other assorted less-than-meaningful programming. All I could think when I first saw it: I can't believe they got The Rock to dress up in those tight spandex pants and as an alien no less. Suffice it to say, this episode was Trek at its not so best. Which leads me to believe that Star Trek is best when left un-manipulated and far and away from the masses and their "pop" culture.

I've wracked my brain to come up with something meaningful and intelligent to say about this episode. And perhaps, if I stretch my imagination, I arrive at something almost useful to me. I used to fight competitively as a kid. I studied Tae Kwan Doo and enjoyed competing in tournaments. I enjoyed it--not for the violence, but for the art. With the advent of UFC and the popularization of MMA, critics are quick to drop the moral/ethical gavel on this "blood sport." Me? Not so much. Fighting can be a powerful tool. Especially in real life. Each day, we wake up. Our brain reloads the information from the past. We remember who we are and what we are supposed to do. We go to work. We come home. Details, details in between. It can get tedious. Obstacles pop up. Conflicts and problems assault us daily. What's the big? I suppose I've kept some of my fighting instincts from childhood because problems to me just need to be knocked down, tackled, and conquered. Of course, I don't have a catchy line like: "Do you smell what the Rock is cooking?" But maybe I could do the eyebrow lift when I encounter my problems to intimidate them. Or, maybe not.

The point being that each day I encounter people (students, friends, family) and each day brings a new set of problems for each to deal with. Some complain, avoid, and hope that if they put it off, the problem will go away in the morning. Others fret, worry, procrastinate, but eventually deal. If we can learn anything meaningful from Seven of Nine's ordeal in the ring with the Rock, it's that we choose. We choose to fight or we choose not to. We choose to be a hunter or we choose to be the prey. My dad once told me that life is war. It's a series of skirmishes, large battles, forays and it's how people react to this war that matters. (My dad wasn't much for barbies and sensitivity, by the way.) Character, as good ol' pop says, is forged in battle. You don't really know someone until you've seen them face hardship, trials and tribulations. My best friends are those who I have suffered, bled, and fought with on the soccer field, the basketball court, and in life.

I can't say I understood my dad's metaphor at the time, but I get it now. Just as Seven had to, we each face the decision daily. Fight or flight? Basic instincts here. Personally, and this is just my opinion here, I'd like to see more fighting.

End Transmission.

Episode #6: Voyager's "Timeless"

If Wishes Were Horses...

Reference: The first variation of this appeared in 1605—“If wishes were thrushes, beggars would eat birds.” No doubt this is meaningless unless you know what “thrushes” are (they’re migratory songbirds, by the way). The term is now widely known, so one need only say “If wishes were horses,” and the rest is implied.

This is the modern version:

“If wishes were horses

Beggars would ride:

If turnips were watches

I would wear one by my side.”

Or perhaps you’ve heard: “Wish in one hand and shit in another and see which one fills up quicker.” That’s the Americanized version of the old English proverb. Sweet, no? The point is shit is more tangible than a wish. But wishing, for this blog at least, is where it all began. For those of you just tuning in, I started this project to explore a personal obsession: Star Trek. I’m hoping (not wishing) to find something tangible in the imaginary world of Trek that I can apply to my life. So far, I think we’ve made progress. We’ve got the baseball-as-life analogy, the not-so-logical logic of the Looking Glass, and a fair amount of Babel. I think (and feel free to weigh in here) we’re making progress. 3-0. Good. I like winning.

Out of curiosity, I googled “wishing.” Wikipedia popped up immediately with a definition (thanks for nothing, Merriam-Webster). Second link, Wishing.com—For a Better life – penis enlargement. Third hit, “a wish could be a curse. Is the wish close to the curse. The wish, as far as I know, must not be said outloud.” I have no idea what the latter is about. Me? I’ve always believed that wishing never changed a damn thing. I don't need google to tell me that everyone is just as skeptical. In this week’s episode, wishing changes everything. Aliens (of course!) come to DS9 masquerading as the crew’s wishes. Our good Dr. Bashir, ever fantasizing and fawning over Dax, finds himself with a Dax who cannot keep her hands of him. It’s an entertaining episode really, but I’m not sure of what substance it’s made. Perhaps that’s the point though. Perhaps it’s not the fact that wishing is futile and pointless. Perhaps wishing is an imaginative exercise that provides a way of thinking outside our boxes. For example, I wish…no, wait. Wishes aren’t meant to be shared, so you’ll have to finish that sentence for yourself. And no, I did not wish for Star Trek to be continued in a 6^th series or for Robert Greene to go back in time and stop that US goal (though I am still dwelling on it, to be honest).

Wishing is worth more than a handful of shit. We wish to imagine alternate realities for ourselves. For a few moments, our wish relieves the every day dirge and we are far and away in a reality we can control and isn’t that what we all want? If this week’s episode proved anything, it’s that wishing can alter your present reality in profound and incalculable ways. I read an article (which I’m not going to provide a link to and thereby break blogging/tech-cult etiquette) about how people stop wishing as they grow older. Yeah, we wish the line wasn’t so long at the bank or for a big gob of money, but the big wishes, the I-wish-I-had-cool-super-powers type wishes or the I-wish-I-could-explore-the-stars, these are the stuff of imagination, the stuff of childhood. Maybe this episode is encouraging us to imagine more. Wish like a kid. I do. Or, if you lack imagination and need some suggestions, you can always check out Skee-Lo’s “I Wish” music video (1995) for ideas.

Next up: Star Trek: Voyager’s “Tsunkatse” feat. The Rock (yes, The Rock). Check out this snippet with The Rock vs. Seven of Nine:

Hailing frequencies closed.

Take Me Out to the Holosuite

References: “Take Me Out to the Ball Game.” Written by Jack Norworth, 1908.

Episode Synopsis

“Take me out to the ball game, take me out with the crowd. Buy me some peanuts and cracker jacks, I don’t care if I never get back. Let me root, root, root for the home team, if they don’t win it’s a shame. For it’s one, two, three strikes, you’re out at the old ball game.”

When I was [insert some random childhood age here], I played on The Braves with my brother. I pitched and played 1st base. I’m not sure what he did—my only memory is of him in his baseball uniform sitting in the dug out reading. Sports really weren’t my brother’s thing, though I couldn’t blame him. He was practically blind and we didn’t realize he needed glasses until he was 13. Suffice it to say, he wasn’t the greatest baseball player.

It is the bottom of the 9th. We’re down by a run and the pitcher just struck out the second batter (a kid who spent more time digging his nose than anything else). I’m on 3rd base where I’ve been waiting, desperately hoping for a hit to give me my ticket home. To my horror, my brother stands and grabs a bat and a helmet. He’s up. This sounds awful, I know—but even then, I was competitive and losing felt so much like the end of the world. I remember watching him, mouth open, as he approached the plate. He could’ve been taking an afternoon stroll for all the urgency he showed. I yell something encouraging to him to remind him of what’s at stake. He looks at me as if to say: “it’s only a game.” I close my eyes. The pitcher checks his bases, then let’s one fly. Strike one. I’m not sure my brother even saw the ball whiz by. More words of encouragement (or maybe I said: just close your eyes and swing!). The pitcher looks my way as I take my lead. He throws a curve ball low but inside. Strike two. Oh god, I think, we’re going to lose. My brother calmly takes a practice swing as the crowd cheers. This is it. The pitcher smirks, he smells blood in the water. He winds up and let’s one go. A fastball right down the middle. I close my eyes waiting to hear the ump yell “strike three!” Instead, I hear the bat connect and the ball sails over our heads to the outfield. Even my brother looks surprised. I run and slide into home. We win. This is the first time I realize the importance of teamwork. This is when I fell in love with sports.

My whole life, I’ve played sports: soccer mostly, basketball at times, but I’ve tried them all. After playing four years of soccer in college, I found myself at a loss with what to do with my life now that soccer was over. I got used to having a team around me, sharing my wins, my losses, with a bunch of my closest friends. Now, all of a sudden, I was out on the pitch—team-less. I meandered through a Master’s degree and two or three mind-numbing, wouldn’t-wish-it-on-my-worst-enemy jobs. But there was no satisfaction. No duende or sense of flight. Soccer provided stability, purpose. A goal to work toward.

This week’s episode, “Take Me Out to the Holosuite,” features the lighter side of Star Trek and speaks to every weekend warrior, the winners, and the losers. The senior staff must come together and learn how to play baseball in order to beat an old Academy rival, Captain Sovok—a Vulcan with an all-Vulcan team. For two weeks, I thought about baseball, about sports and about life. I watched the World Cup, delved through my best and worst sports memories, searching for a theme for this week’s blog. And I kept coming back to this idea of teamwork.

Life is so much easier with teammates. People who are vested in your successes and failures. People willing to throw down for you. I finally realized what this episode meant to me. As adults, we build our own teams. We pick our friends; we hold on to the good ones and let go of the not-so-good ones. This applies to our families as well. Some of us may go it alone (I think these are the golfers and tennis singles players) and some of us may substitute teammates frequently and fall into one crowd or another searching for just the right fit. But the strongest teams are the ones that stick together regardless of skill level. The teams that endure are those that accept the not-so-great players (like my brother), the players who make mistakes (like Green—England’s goalkeeper who dropped the ball into the goal for the US), and the goal scorers. I realized it’s not so much the score at the end of this game, but the experience of playing and who you choose to play with.

As I continue this blogging project, I keep expecting grandiose realizations about Star Trek and about life. Instead, I am constantly reminded of the simple lessons. You would think at this point in my life I’d have figured out the so-called simple stuff. Turns out a reminder every now and then works wonders.

Episode #4: If Wishes were Horses.

Check out the trailer here. The entire episode is on youtube in five parts as well.

Oh, and all you loyal followers—try not to leave so many comments on my page. It’s crowding my blog posts.

End Transmission.

An Aside on Trek-nology

For those of you not in-the-know, Star Trek technology is created now by researchers and scientists. This is the latest, greatest example. Other Trek-nology includes the hypospray (a replacement for the needle, this device actually pushes molecules of the medication through the skin without damaging it, so: no pain) and the cell phone (doubtful? Check out the communicators used by the original Star Trek crew).

Star Trek Tech meets world: http://www.zdnet.com/blog/perlow/apple-ipad-weve-reached-star-trek-nology/12305

Through the Looking Glass

Episode Synopsis: Click Here.

References:

1. a looking glass: a mirror, or more specifically, a ladies' dressing mirror

2. Through the Looking-Glass and What Alice Found There (1871) by Lewis Carroll. The sequel to Alice in Wonderland.

"Contrariwise," continued Tweedledee, "if it was so, it might be; and if it were so, it would be; but as it isn't, it ain't. That's logic" (Carroll 1871). Spock and Tuvok might have some Vulcan sentiment to challenge Tweedledee's un-apparent logic. But so it goes, through the looking glass: The rules of reality shift left, down, backwards and we arrive in a different world with the same players in an entirely different game with entirely different rules and the experience begs the question--if we change the reality, will we be the same?

This week's episode featured Commander Sisko (Avery Brooks) and the alternate universe (one that comes up a few times over the course of the show). The alternate universe is the Star Trek Universe flipped upside down. The Bajorans (with help from the Klingons and the Cardassians) enslave the Terrans (that's us). This reality is about survival. This changes people, fundamentally. So, this week I spent a lot of time thinking about coincidences, opportunities, and what-if's. Let me illustrate.

Yesterday, my family came over to help move furniture. My new kitty, Dax, is terrified of strangers, so of course she took one look at my brother (6'0", 300 lbs.) and ran. She ended up on top of the kitchen cabinets. It took about an hour and a half to set up the new furniture and move the old stuff out. As we were about to leave, my roommate and I realized that we had left the door open and Dax may have ran out. This led to a search (and eventual rescue). After searching the apartment, I climbed onto the counter in the kitchen thinking she'd be on top the cabinets. She wasn't. Then, I noticed a small rectangular space behind the cabinets. Dax had wedged herself in and was stuck like a dead cockroach with her feet up on her back. It took another hour, a call to my brother for a drill and saw, and one completely ruined cabinet to free her. As if this weren't harrowing enough, the second I let her go she bolted out to the patio and jumped onto the balcony and proceeded (slow motion to me) to jump from the 6th floor. I managed to grab her back leg as she went over (and got scratched for my trouble). I locked her in a room for safety after that.

Now, many of you (maybe 6 of the 7 followers on this blog) are thinking: dumb cat. For me, it was a realization of what-if's. What if we walked out. And when we arrived home six hours later, I'd have a very dead, very squished kitty stuck behind my kitchen cabinets. OR. What if she leapt off the balcony and fallen six stories (in which case I'd have a very broken and most likely dead kitty).

There seem to be numerous opportunities for each of us to fall through the looking glass. My older brother deploys to Afghanistan in July for a year--his third deployment in this god-awful war. I don't imagine what reality is like there. I don't imagine the living conditions, the endless desert, the heat, the struggles of the Afghani people, the violence, the terrorists, the thousands of soldiers younger than I am sweating in the Afghani heat. I don't compare that to my life as I brush my teeth in my two-bedroom apartment, as I sip beer and watch the sunset over the Wai`anae mountain range, as I drive to and from work in my air-conditioned car, as I sit here free to write whatever I want. Don't they know the looking glass is fiction? It's not supposed to be real because it's a story.

I see the world and the people in it striving for the ideals of the Star Trek Universe. We all want to be free. We want to pursue our passions. We want to live in peace. But the damnable looking glass presents us with an alternate universe rife with IED's, executions (just last week the Taliban executed a 7-year old boy accused of spying), death, and suffering.

So what's the up side? That there are men and women like my brother, like Ben Sisko, willing to put it all on the line (to experience the looking glass and perhaps be changed forever) in the hopes that one day the Star Trek Universe will be the reality. And the alternate universe (i.e. our reality) and it’s Tweedledee logic and god-awful endings will be nothing but a bad TV show. Just like Alice, I hope to wake and find this looking glass universe nothing but a dream.

Episode #3: Take Me Out to the Holosuite (as requested by SamJam)

End Transmission.

Babel

Begin log.

Date: June 7, 2010.

This morning, I woke to babel. Coming from the apartment next door. Convenient for me, Episode #1 is all about this. Thanks for the segue loud, obnoxious neighbors. Note to self: move.

This week’s episode comes from Star Trek: Deep Space Nine—a show that aired in the 90s for seven years and the first Trek to deal with large-scale war. You see, Star Trek is all about peace and unity. Working together (yes, with aliens) towards a common goal. Obliteration isn’t normally one of those goals. Check out the brief episode synopsis here: http://www.trektoday.com/episodes/ds9/season1/babel.shtml

“Babel” references the Tower of Babel, a story from the Bible where mankind, united under one language, builds an enormous tower to commemorate our awesomeness and supreme coolness. God gets pissed. Have we no humility? Thunder, lightning and different languages for all. The point? Well, I’m no religious scholar, but I think the point is: communication is everything.

Each day I go out into the world and attempt (emphasis) to communicate. This is how awkward it is:

K. goes to a “business” seminar and runs into a classmate. K. is dressed like a writer with jeans, running shoes, and a grey jacket. Everyone else is dressed in business attire. She goes to sign in.

Classmate: Hey! Long time no see! How have you been?

Mind you, I went to school with this person for six years and we never spoke. Not once.

K: Oh, hey. Good. How are you? (forcing the fake smile)

Classmate: Oh, you look, er, good. It’s nice to see you. Blah, blah. Blah. Blah and blah.

I’m not being smart, I really can’t remember what she said in our ten minute conversation. So, anyhow, we wrap up this oh-so-interesting conversation. She flips through the registration list to sign me in. Then:

Classmate: What was your name again?

Son of a—. Case and point. We babel a lot. We speak words to each other that don’t mean anything. We have entire conversations with people we don’t know (and probably never will).

I took this class as an undergrad about love and eros. We had to read a book by Anne Carson. She wrote about how words on a page create tension. I see her idea like this: words float on the surface of this deep lake (or ocean, whatever). We can only see the words, but beneath them there are mysteries, meanings, subtext, and depth. Some people can sense the tension. Sense that the words don’t truly represent what a person means.

See, in the episode, one by one, the crew looses the ability to communicate. They are stricken with aphasia. They would see a tricorder, but say “window”. In essence, this person would be cut of from the world. Lots of talkie, talkie. No meaning. Remind you of anything?

I thought this blog would be “easy” to research and write. Turns out: not so much. I spent the week communicating, but all I got back were mixed transmissions. (SamJam walks in at this point and says: I thought you were going to write less than that? Lol. I like to babel.) I’m always looking for the point. The final end-all-be-all message. For Star Trek, it’s easy-peasy. Space is dangerous. Avoid viruses that imitate aphasia. Should you be stricken, don’t worry. Someone will help. In real life, we create tension between us. We dabble in the niceties—the how-are-you’s, the I’m-good’s. (The angry neighbors are at it again. She says: Don’t you love me? He says: It’s complicated.) We send out transmission after transmission in the hopes that we will find someone who truly understands the signal.

And when no one does? We babel on.

Episode #2: Through the Looking Glass (Deep Space Nine). Here's the trailer (pls. ignore the dramatic voice over guy):

End Transmission.

The Opening

The Mission: Create a weekly blog that connects Star Trek with real life (i.e. mine) to find some semblance of meaning and order in this vast conundrum that is life. An experience of sorts.

When I was 13, I watched my first Star Trek episode. Being a teenager was rough, but being a Trekkie AND a teenager was something completely different. Add a writer to the mix and what you got was a awkward little girl who spent the majority of her time reading fan fiction and hanging out in the Star Trek chat rooms. I even designed my own website. As I grew up and out of adolescence, I thought I might let go of these childish dreams. Perhaps find something more...tangible...to believe in. At 27, I look in my mirror and see a struggling writer, a person who attempts to make connections with people around me, but can never quite seem to make sense of the transmission. I see me, 13, all over again.

My best friend (since we were both 13) encouraged me to start this blog. Writing has always been a way to breathe life into all this. I forget that sometimes. And as usual, when left with no specific recourse, I turn to Star Trek. I realize "space may be the final frontier, but it's made in a Hollywood basement," yet I can't let go. I can't believe that dreams such as these simply die.

This blog isn't for Trekkies or Trekkers. It isn't for me. It's for the stargazers, the dreamers. Those without vice need not read further. This is my exploration of this reality. Much as Star Trek was less about space and more about exploring the human condition, I hope to send this message out there into the void.

Each week, I'll announce the Trek episode I will watch and then spend the week thinking about--this will culminate in a weekly blog. I encourage you to join the search with me. Watch along. Think. React. Write. If you have episode suggestions, post 'em up and I'll get to it. Fair warning: your author can be sappy, idealistic, judgmental and critical. She also has a tendency to drink a bit too much. She may or may not believe that she is always right. And she will write under the influence of all these human flaws.

Episode #1: Deep Space Nine's "Babel" (Season 1, Episode 5)

End Transmission.