THE GLOWY SCREEN OF DISTRACTION
Last week I had the most wretched of colds. Due to the Imuran and immunosuppression I’m usually the illness bellwether for our household, but this time, I was the only one to get and stay sick. A was fine. The pup was fine. Even E gave me open-mouth kisses, snuffled once, and remained his sprightly energetic up-three-times-a-night self. So I have been prescribing for myself gallons of tea, gallons of cranberry juice, gallons of ginger ale, mounds of toast, pots of chicken stew and turkey broth, old man hankies, and obscene amounts of Vitamin D. And of course, TV.
(Did I tell you that E got a comfy floor mat for Christmas, from his loving grandparents? It’s thick foam sealed in a fuzzy cover, and it is perfect for lying on and watching the teevee while honking your sinuses into tissues. Sorry, E.)
I watched a couple of Star Trek documentaries and was left with the impression that Gene Roddenberry wanted to have sex with everything. I don’t know as though this has changed for SFF in general, really.
After that I got nostalgic for old Trek and watched a bunch of TOS. Since it’d been almost twenty years since I last saw (or rather, “saw”) Star Trek: The Motion Picture, I borrowed the director’s cut from the library. There are interesting bits in there, but overall it feels so long and slow that I can see why Wrath of Khan is so universally loved — what a relief it must’ve been when that one came out.
After that, I picked back up with DS9. We’re into the third season now and E is learning how to say Jem’Hadar. Just kidding — actually, he’s now saying “Dada” and “Mm-ma” and before I get too excited, the second one is how he says “Milk.” (But parental pride aside, I’m still excited about it.)
For dinner, A and I are watching Twin Peaks. I was unable to watch this as a kid, because our rooftop antenna did not reliably pick up the ABC signals. (On a good night we got WCCO/CBS, a Hibbing channel, a PBS, and NBC.) Also, when the show first aired, I was a little young for it. It probably came on later in the evening, and if my parents were monitoring, I wouldn’t have been allowed to watch it. The funny thing is that I doubt I would’ve enjoyed it — apart from any sort of rebellious feeling, that is. While I’m enjoying the weird off tang in the dialogue, the music, the surreal shooting style, the story, and the characters, it’s hard for me to connect with any of them. It feels purely voyeuristic to watch. This isn’t a bad thing, but I imagine Kid-Me would’ve found it titillating but trying.
THE PRINTED WORD
In keeping with my Star Trek theme, I decided to pick up Leonard Nimoy’s I am Spock. It’s enjoyable so far. Revisiting Trek (and the themes behind it) is like burrowing into a comfy blanket — there are so many problems with the original series, but the hope in it is calling to me, especially right now with so much blithe and oblivious hatefulness toward the poor, the sick, and the less privileged coming from our policymakers. I am frustrated.