At some point, the denial has to stop. For me, that point occurred yesterday, in my first post here. After years of insisting, â€œI don’t have a problem.â€ After the hours spent watching The Next Generation, and the fact that I can tell you — without crib notes or Google — who captained the Enterprise C. After years of sharing an office at UC Santa Barbara with a woman who kept a life size cutout of Spock in the corner, which I thought was normal. And after writing a scene where the heroine in my novel Jericho Point, Evan Delaney, wears underwear emblazoned with the phrase “Resistance is futile.”
Yeah, I hear the snickering from the back row. Trekkie trekkie trekkieâ€¦
Fine. I didnâ€™t intend to expose my inner geek so blatantly. Didnâ€™t mean to turn my stint here into a confession of my own SF weaknesses. But Iâ€™ll fess up.
I did go in costume to a Star Trek exhibition. I promise to find the photo. One hitch: My editor needs the first draft of my next novel later today. So I canâ€™t spend time looking for the picture right now. All Iâ€™ll say is, the Starfleet gear belonged to the friend who went to the exhibition with me, and she was generous enough to let me play Captain. Pale green suits me.
When I find the photo, Iâ€™ll let you know.
Now, because I have to cocoon myself and get this manuscript off to the editor, Iâ€™ll leave you with something sciencey and entertaining. You may already have seen it, but itâ€™s still cool. The dancingâ€™s half-assed and the bling is all in the big underground ring at CERN, not on the rappersâ€™ fingers. But where else will you hear â€œThe photon, it has no massâ€ rhymed with â€œthe top quark is dragging its — !â€ (Dashes in the original.)