Jackie Wells-Fauth
My cousin tagged me in a message concerning the fact that Sept. 8 is apparently Star Trek Fan Day. I found this to be a very exciting message—because after all, who doesn’t like Star Trek? Who hasn’t found some version of the franchise to love?
I admit it; I’ve always been a kind of a Trekkie. I don’t dress up like Uhura and attend conventions (I don’t have the legs for that tiny little skirt), but I am a huge fan of the Star Trek world anyway.
I take surveys which ask questions like: Which captain is better? Kirk or Picard? How ridiculous! They don’t even include Captain Janeway, who strode onto the bridge as the first of the female captains. The heck with those men, Kirk and Picard—the journey where no one has gone before got so much better when a woman was at the helm!
I love the imagination it took to create whole new species (all of them suspiciously humanoid). Who can beat Klingons as warriors in battle and who has the calm reason of a Vulcan, devoid of those pesky emotions?
I know my story lines too. I can tell you exactly the first time Spock held up his hand, fingers spread in a vee and told us to “live long and prosper.” I know the exact moment when the evil, mechanical Borg were introduced to cause havoc among all the “good races,” and I was there, front and center, the first time the Enterprise went into warp drive.
I absolutely love this vision of the future created by Gene Roddenberry. But you know who doesn’t like it? You guessed it! My husband. He is so misguided he would rather watch a football game than be thrilled by the discovery of a ship, floating in space, filled with people in frozen containers.
“Oh, the show’s going to be all about cryogenics,” I squeal, all set to immerse myself in the rigors of outer space.
“The Vikings are on in ten minutes,” he responds, sitting down and reaching for the remote.
“You have to be kidding!” I simply cannot believe it. “You would rather watch the Vikings…a bunch of football players, beating up on each other than watch another exciting episode where Captain Picard and Data save the world?”
“I’d rather have the Vikings beat up on ME than watch Picard and Data do anything,” he replied.
“Some people have no imagination,” I sniff. “Well, you’ll just have to record your Vikings, because I got to the television first.”
“No way! I need to watch the Vikings live. If I record it, someone will report on what happened before I can watch it first hand,” he protested. “No one is going to report on your Star Trek show. Besides, don’t you have every Star Trek episode from every series on DVD? You can watch it anytime.”
It’s a shame. I feel so responsible that he has not learned to love all the wonderful species and exotic places that Star Trek offers. “This is a show about a world where peace and harmony are treasured,” I pointed out.
“For people who believe in peace and harmony, they have some pretty impressive weapons,” he points out as a space battle, complete with exploding space ships, proceeds. “Now, take the Vikings playing football; they understand teamwork and dedication.”
“Oh, live long and prosper,” I snarl, holding up my hand.
“Aren’t you supposed to use more than one finger for that salute,” he asked. “What would Spock say?”
“Spock doesn’t have to live with you and the Vikings,” I grumble. “He wouldn’t be so calm and emotion-free if he did!”
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