Archive for December, 2015

Trek Wars

December 14, 2015

Well, if you haven’t seen it, a trailer for the next Star Trek movie has hit. Now, I wasn’t a fan of the first Abrams helmed Trek movie, but it did what it was supposed to: strip Trek of anything that really mattered, gloss over a lot of bad writing with a lot of pretty pictures, and make a ton of money. The second one largely succeeded at this, too, except Abrams had a more difficult time covering for the guys handing him the script.

Well, now Abrams is filming the scifi series he wanted to be filming all along, we’re still stuck with a crappy writer, and we get the heroin fueled editing and screen shots of The Fast and the Furious.

Please, just take Star Trek out behind the lot and put a bullet in its head. They are just raping the corpse of the scifi series created by Gene Roddenberry, removing anything remotely Trek beyond the character names and cramming as much Michael Bay wanna be fluff in it as humanly possible, hoping enough people go to it by mistake or as a second (or third) choice when what they wanted to see was sold out, that they can make their money back.

If you truly enjoy Trek, go and support Star Trek Renegades. It isn’t as sharp and shiny as these movies, but they’re unlikely to be half as hollow and soulless.

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It’s What We’re Built For

December 13, 2015

I have a 14 month old daughter who every day finds some way in her small, squirmy power to set a light to my existence. A laugh, a look, pounding after the cat across the dining room floor, or eliciting instant smiles and waves from strangers in line at the supermarket. She is joy embodied. She is life. So small, so fragile, so wholly dependent on my big dumbness that I’m thankful she’s too young to understand just how reckless such a proposition is.

I’m also 35 years old, which isn’t old, but it’s not young. And I can do simple arithmetic. 17 years. Push comes to shove, and I’m sort of surprised I’m still going moderately well at this age. I never really took care of myself, and I never really considered the future. I just sort of expected to disappear, I guess. I don’t know. It’s nebulous for me now.

But 18 more years? I would have been happy with the first 28 of them. Now I feel as if I’d kill and maim to get 17 more. I want to see my little girl grow up, at least a little bit, as much as anyone can grow up in the first 18 years of their life, and I want to see her graduate high school. Get some idea of the future, of her future, of what lies beyond that.

Can I get 18 more years? We are not meant to live forever, and I’ve seen more than a few folks I went to school with already find their way to their graves,a ¬†few even in grades below me. Life is like that. It cuts you down. It ends. From the moment we are born, we are built to die.

I know this is my future. Someday. But as I pick up my little girl, as I give her a piece of ice cream off the tip of my finger, I don’t want it to be tomorrow. I don’t want it to be a month from now. I need just 17 more years. I need to see my little girl grow up.