Cave Time

In his best-selling advice book Men are from Mars; Women are from Venus, John Gray posited the proposition that men and women react differently to given stimuli and events. In relation to stress, he explains that men will “retreat into their caves” until they find a solution to their problem. Although there may still be some Neolithic tribes around where the men literally retreat in to their caves, this behavior may be characterized by such things as going to the garage and working on the car, going out with the boys, or other such behaviors.

In case you’re unfamiliar with your gentle writer and his somewhat non-typical to his gender attitudes, let me say a few words about me. I have been called a number of different things in my life (well, many, many things but I mean the ones pertinent to this discussion). Among others, I have been called a traitor to my gender, a girlie man and one woman referred to me as her gay male friend who happens to be straight. I tell you this because in many ways, I do not react in “typical” male ways. (And in another shameless plug, if you want to read more about that, read my earlier blog, “What I Have Learned About Women.”) When stressed or faced with a problem, I tend to withdraw into myself but I still want and need reassurance and support. I may withdraw for a while but eventually I want and need to talk about it. To me, Cave Time has always had a very different meaning than an emotional “time out” as John Gray characterizes it.

I was an only child. And I was not just an only child, I was the first grandchild on both sides of the family. And beyond that, I was a grandson and the eldest of all grandchildren in a Jewish family. Now, had I been born into the royal family of any one of several nations, I would have been in fat city. Unfortunately, in my situation, I was the one of whom much was expected. My mother’s father had dreams of me being a senator or governor or, dare we even say it, president. He felt it his deity-given duty to educate me in American history. (Let me say a word or two about him. He was an immigrant from the Ukraine, served in the U.S. Army in World War I, read and memorized facts and figures from the World Almanac and possibly new more facts about U.S. presidents than Doris Kearns Goodwin and Michael Beschloss put together.) To his way of thinking, my chances for success were unlimited. These expectations ran smack into my own belief in the fact that I was an unexceptional and a pretty sad specimen of humanity (a recurrent theme in the universe between my ears). If I got a 95 on an exam, he wanted to know why it wasn’t 100. If I got a 100, he wanted to know why I didn’t get extra-credit. Eventually, I insisted on no longer sharing my grades as good was never good enough. He did not mean it in a malicious manner; he was trying to prod me into exceeding expectations. I could never get across to him that I WAS exceeding them because my own expectations for my capabilities were so low.

Coupled with this family dynamic was the fact that in my neighborhood, I was the one who could be most easily scared, was the smallest and weakest one, was the Jewish kid and, worst of all, was the one who cried most easily. When any one of these things triggered a fight or flight reaction, it was inevitably flight. Eventually, my “friends” would ask me to come back outside but at some point the cycle would renew.

With this as the frame of reference, you may better understand why at an early age I learned Cave Time behaviors that to the present time are hard to break. My father was a model builder and passed the hobby on to me. Model-making is a wonderful hobby but, ultimately, a solitary one. In it, I could retreat into my own world where I could imagine myself flying the airplanes I was building. And when the model was completed, it took its place on the shelves with all the other plastic dreams I had built.

Something for which I will be eternally grateful to my parents is that they passed on a love for reading to me at a very early age. As low as my self-expectations were, I was aware that I read on a level several grades above my age. (This occasionally caused problem such as my mother having to come to school to personally tell my teacher that I was not lying and had, in fact, read a certain book.) I was never without a book and I am still that way.

Books may be the ultimate Cave Time for me to this day. Through the worst of my depressive episodes, as activities fell away and life became a stale, monotonous attempt to make time pass and get through yet another day, I never stopped reading. In fact, reading seemed to be the only place where I could find relief from the blackness encroaching on my existence. Transporting myself to far off worlds where humans and aliens interacted with robots or back in history to fly along with naval aviators over the Pacific fighting the dirty Japs or waiting behind the stone wall while Pickett’s Charge came toward me allowed me to escape the misery of my depression.

I have a very clear memory of being at my cousins’ house and having their friends (all of whom were younger than me) rejecting me as being unfit for them to play with. I just walked away, came back inside and sat down with my book. This behavior amazed my aunt who held up my reading as a virtue to my cousins. What she did not understand was the reading was my only way of escaping the hurt.

As a child, I routinely found myself in the position of being the one who always asked friends to come over to play. I was seldom the one asked. As a result of this, I became very good at playing games by myself. And I’m not referring to games that were designed as solitaire games. Monopoly, Scrabble, board war games were all games where I would play both sides or even more like in Monopoly. When I got into auto racing, I discovered a game called Formula 1 by Parker Brothers. I drove every car in the race. It was sometimes tough not to cheat with the knowledge of what the other “players” were going to do. But I learned to manage this compartmentalization, too.

When games became electronic, this was perfect for me. I could play against the computer and not need anyone else. And when I discovered flight simulators on the computer I was in heaven. Had my wife not put her foot down early in the flight sim experience, I would have been one of those people who would have purchased an old airplane ejection seat and rigged it out with full controls. I have seen rigs that people have built that are, literally, self-contained cockpits. The only way to communicate with the “pilot” when the canopy is down is over a built-in intercom. (We compromised on the Saitek system that has a joystick on one side and a throttle quadrant on the other.)

Cross-stitching is another one of those activities that I can do all by myself. It is self-contained and I can content myself with the sure knowledge that it is creative and much of what I do is done for other people. And it’s an activity that I can do while watching TV or listening to music. It just does not need other people doing it with me to make it work.

Cave Time, to me, has always been a way of life. Even as I have emerged into the world of emotions and emotional connections that have been absent for much of my life, I still find myself more likely to retreat into my cave. This has, at times, become an issue with my wife. It requires a conscious and constant effort to spend time together. Dinner time is one of those times and when certain things are on TV that we both watch I try to remember to come out of my cave and spend the time with her.

But a lifetime spent sitting in my cave and painting on the walls is hard to break. It still comes as a surprise to me that people enjoy my company. That’s not all that surprising considering how long it took me to enjoy my own company. There is still a tendency to keep to myself because I have learned the safety of it. If you don’t interact with other people, you may be lonely but you will never be rejected. But that isn’t life; it’s mere existence. Man is, ultimately, a social creature and even I have had to learn this. To be loved you have to love and that love has to start from within. And if that means sticking my head outside my cave and letting it go where my heart leads, then that is where I need to go. And I have started to do just that.

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Of course the Federation and their Klingon allies prevailed over the Dominion and their Cardassian lackeys in the war that consumed the last couple seasons of DS9. In the final season was what has to rank as my favorite episode, “Badda-Bing Badda-Bang,” an “Ocean’s Eleven” Rat Pack-type caper that takes place in the holodeck world of Vic Fontaine (James Darren). Like the EMH on VGR, Vic was a self-aware holodeck character who bore more than a little resemblance to Frank Sinatra. At the end, he and Sisko perform a duet and we learn that, more or less, Avery Brooks can sing.

I found the ending of DS9 profoundly disturbing. Although we had to wait until Star Trek: Generations to learn Captain Kirk’s fate, at least it gave some closure. In Sisko’s case, we have none. I suspect this was intentional on the part of the producers. Although he and the wormhole entities prevailed over the dark forces arrayed against them, the corporeal Sisko disappeared. Like Sisko’s son and his recently wed second wife, we are left to wonder if Ben Sisko will ever return as a human.

The next installment of the TNG movies, Star Trek: Insurrection premiered the same year DS9 ended. It was starting to become clear that the TNG franchise was beginning to wear thin. The story seemed contrived. For me, it is memorable only in that, for the first time, we see the Captain’s Yacht detach from a starship and Geordi La Forge (LeVar Burton) has cybernetic eyes and no longer needs to resort to his VISOR to see.

By its fifth season, VGR had already encountered the Borg and the Ferengi, even in the Delta Quadrant. In that fifth season, a new cast member was introduced, Seven of Nine (Jeri Ryan), a human Borg severed from the collective and “civilized” back into humanity. Aside from opening some interesting plot lines, Jeri Ryan’s presence (and the costumes in which she was clad) introduced a blatant sex appeal to the show. This, of course, did nothing but help its ratings. (Sorry. I’m still a Deanna Troi/Marina Sirtis partisan but Jeri Ryan is very easy to look at. And if you’re looking for her, she is now a regular on the TV series “Leverage.”)

Also by this time, after having read through several hundred Trek novels from all four series plus alternate timelines and books written for a juvenile audience, OC/PR boy had amassed a data base which, when printed, ran to hundreds of pages. There were at least four new novels each month that had to be read, indexed and input. The sheer size and scope of the project had become unwieldy. And worse than that, it had become a job. I found myself dreading having to go through the process. It was having a negative impact on my ability to read or do anything else. In other words, it was time to stop and let it go. The day I told my wife of my decision, she said that I might want to back it up, just in case. I said that I had already wiped the files from my hard drive, thus making the decision irrevocable.

One outgrowth of that project related to an on-line group I discovered and joined, the Klingon Imperial Diplomatic Corps (http:// www.klingon.org/). I had taken all the entries that related to Klingons and all things Klingon and contributed it to them. Thus, I was awarded the title Lore Master. To be honest, I haven’t visited the site in years but I believe my contribution is still part of it.

We all knew that Janeway and Voyager would eventually find their way home and it would probably come at the conclusion of the seventh season. By that time Tom Paris and B’Elanna Torres were married and any distinction that may have existed between Starfleet and Maquis crewmembers was a thing of the past. As grand as it was to see Voyager return to the Alpha Quadrant and home, my sense was that the writing was beginning to wear thin and there was a sense of, “Where does the franchise go from here?”

The answer to that question was that it goes back to the past. The final year of VGR saw the premier of what was called Enterprise but eventually was renamed Star Trek: Enterprise. It was based around the original warp-capable starship named Enterprise and commanded by Captain Robert April (Scott Bakula). Having learned a lesson from Seven of Nine’s sexy appearance, there was a female Vulcan liaison named T’Pol (Jolene Blalock) whose costumes and shape rivaled Seven’s.

My excitement about the show quickly began evaporating right from the start. Please recall that as OC as I was about all things Trek, I was well aware of existing “canon.” I could live with the way the Vulcans were portrayed in their attempt to logically “guide” the ignorant humans and their first starship crew. But in the first episode, we encounter Klingons on Earth! And not the human-looking Klingons that humans first dealt with in the original series, but the ones with bumpy foreheads with long hair first seen in Star Trek: The Motion Picture. And it only got worse from there. The Andorians were encountered in ways that seemed to fly in the face of established canon. This almost conscious choice of altering the back-story to make writing more convenient bothered me. There was also a plotline about a temporal civil war taking place in the 27th century with an agent from the 31st century. There were episodes where Earth’s past had been altered and the victorious Germans were occupying parts of the United States in World War II. Suffice it to say, it was a mess. I suspect it bothered other fans of the franchise. And don’t even get me started on the theme song, the first Trek anything with a theme that had words and was sung. The show only lasted four seasons and, honestly, is the only Trek TV series that I have no interest in watching in syndication.

The TNG movie franchise also ended with a whimper with the 2002 release of Star Trek: Nemesis. Picard and the Enterprise-E crew become involved in a coup d’etat on Romulus led by a person named Shinzon (Tom Hardy) who turns out to be a clone of Picard….Well, it’s a pretty contrived, forgettable plot. For me the saddest thing was that Data is killed at the end of the movie. Its one saving grace was that we finally get to see Will Riker and Deanna Troi get married and that Riker finally has command of his own ship. I saw this movie at a late showing with my friend Tom. All he talks about is how throughout the movie I kept sputtering and muttering about how canon was being changed and/or ignored. I have it on DVD, because I have all the Trek movies on DVD but it’s one of those movies that may simply sit there on the shelf collecting dust.

And that brings us to 2009. After a four-year hiatus, we were given what, even I hope is the last Trek movie, simply called Star Trek. I almost want to consider this one not part of the franchise and that it shares only the title with the series. Expressing my own opinion, let me say that I have come to loathe ALL movies that are “based” on old TV series. Movies such as “The Wild, Wild West,” “The Avengers,” “Miami Vice” or “Charlie’s Angels” to name a few, take the original characters and create entirely new relationships, stories and back-stories. What may have worked on the small screen in hour-long bites sticks in the throat as major motion pictures. The 2009 Star Trek suffers from all these sins and just shreds canon, making no pretense of maintaining anything resembling the established timeline of the original characters. It’s a fun movie to watch as a stand-alone movie with no reference to the Trek franchise. The special effects and CGI are top notch and Simon Pegg (“Shaun of the Dead”) is great as Scotty. But calling it Star Trek, to me, is akin to heresy and blasphemy.

So here we have come to the end of my memories of the Star Trek universe. What remains of all the stuff I collected? Almost nothing. If you recall, my wife and I have been trying to lighten our load. Some of the Trek stuff was sold on eBay, but very little. Trek is very passé and there’s too much of it available to even get a nibble. Much of the collectible stuff went in a mass at one of our tag sales. The books (about 6 cartons of them) have been donated to Goodwill. The comic books are awaiting the decision of a friend as to whether he wants them. (I gave the Star Trek and X-Files Barbie and Ken sets to his wife with the agreement that if I ever asked for them back I could have them. But I don’t think that will happen. She collects Barbies so she’s giving them a good home.) And I still occasionally pick up a new novel when I see it on the shelf at Borders or Barnes & Noble and look at it out of sheer curiosity. But other than the DVDs, there is nothing left of what had been a big part of my life. (No, Mark, let’s be honest and call it what it was: an obsession.)

Do I miss it? Yes and no. I miss that feeling of picking up something new and exciting about the franchise. I miss the expectation of seeing how the plots developed and how my “friends” in Starfleet adapted and overcame. But I believe I have moved on. I watch the movies “Trekkies” and “Trekkies 2” and marvel at how close I had come to the people in those movies. Do I still have a fond place for Trek in my heart? Of course I do. But I no longer hold it in a passionate embrace. To be a bit trite, I love it but I’m no longer in love with it. But that doesn’t mean that I still don’t enjoy yelling out the title of an episode within the first few seconds of its beginning.

To all of you who stuck with me throughout this four-day mission, “Live long and prosper.”

Boldly Going 3

One thing that I neglected to mention is that while I was at Syracuse University, there was a short-lived animated series based on the original Star Trek, featuring the original crew and Enterprise. I believe the reason I neglected to mention it is that it made that little of an impression on me. I had seen all the episodes, but none were sufficiently memorable and all I remember was it introduced a lion-like species, the Kzinti that had been created by SF author Larry Niven.

The next show in the franchise premiered in 1993, Star Trek: Deep Space Nine (DS9). Unlike the previous incarnations, this one differed in that it took place primarily on a space station. There would be far less planet-hopping than before. And the officer in command was a Starfleet commander, not a captain, one Ben Sisko (Avery Brooks). His second-in-command was a former Bajoran freedom fighter, Major Kira Nerys (Nana Visitor). The premise was that the Bajorans had taken over a former Cardassian space station that the Federation renamed DS9. Command was shared. One of the regulars was a Ferengi bar-owner, a lovable rogue named Quark (Armen Shimerman) who was constantly getting into and out of scrapes with the station’s security officer, a mysterious shape-shifter named Odo (Rene Auberjonois). The station’s location gives the Bajorans control of the first known stable wormhole into a different, heretofore un-encountered quadrant of the galaxy. The wormhole is also the habitation of beings the Bajorans believe are deities and who have an remarkable affinity for Sisko. Finally, the science officer is a beautiful young woman, Jadzia Dax (Terry Farrell) a joined Trill, a humanoid with an implanted symbiotic life-form that has many generations of memories, including as an old man who helped guide a young Ben Sisko.

I should mention that Avery Brooks played one of my all-time favorite TV and fictional characters. On the series “Spenser for Hire,” based on Robert B. Parker’s Spenser detective novels, he played Hawk. Hawk is Spenser’s best friend, a frighteningly large and deadly African-American with a shaved head, perpetual sunglasses and a goatee and mustache. He was a truly sinister person but with a heart of gold. Bear this description in mind.

By this time I was in what I consider one of the darker parts of my professional life. To supplement a part-time job with the Department of Motor Vehicles, I was working for a retail store. On Halloween we were allowed to come in costume. I went as a Klingon Starfleet officer, complete with phaser and tricorder. I know a picture was taken of me but I’m afraid it is lost to the winds of time. (Honest, or else I’d publish it here.)

TNG helped launch DS9 because Sisko had been first officer on a ship that had been destroyed in the climactic battle when Picard had been made into a Borg. He hates Picard because his wife was killed in the destruction of his ship and Picard believes he is unfit to command the space station. In addition, Miles O’Brien (Colm Meaney) and his wife Keiko (Rosalind Chao) transfer from the Enterprise-D to DS9 where O’Brien becomes the station’s chief engineer.

In many ways, I found DS9 to be the most cerebral in its stories. One first season episode, in particular, “Duet” in which Kira recognizes a former Cardassian war criminal who she comes to pity. It presents an interesting morality play in that after she decides that prosecuting him would only provide one more death, he is stabbed to death by another Bajoran. If Kira did not come to like him, she at least had come to pity him as only an oppressed person can come to pity a fallen oppressor. It was this kind of writing that kept DS9 fresh and on the cutting edge of the franchise.

Eventually, in 1994, at the end of its seventh season, all good things had to an end. And the final two-part episode was named “All Good Things…” The series ends where it began with Q (John DeLancie) putting humanity on trial with Picard as chief defendant. Of course all works out well in the end with Picard saving humanity, with a hand from Q.

As TNG was coming to an end, a new movie was being prepared that would answer a number of questions. How did Captain Kirk come to die? Did Picard and Kirk ever meet? Where did the Enterprise-D’s enigmatic bartender Guinan (Whoopi Goldberg) come from? What the hell was the Enterprise-B? Star Trek: Generations answered all these questions and more. It also brought to a close the original cast movies and opened the curtain on TNG movies. The bad guy is also memorable for being played by the chief Droog in “A Clockwork Orange,” Malcolm McDowell. It also raised one of those Trek imponderables. If the “energy ribbon,” which is so central to the story, appears periodically, why have we never heard of it before? It also saw the destruction of the Enterprise-D.

So those of us who were the true believers in the Trek franchise had to soldier on with just DS9 and periodic movies to content us. Well, not entirely just that. A certain OC/PR individual, your gentle writer namely, had gotten deeply into the book indexing project. In addition, there was a growing number of Trek-based computer games, all of which I just HAD to buy. And then of course there were the assorted magazines, guide-books, supplements, role-playing games, action figures, and a host of other stuff to collect. Collecting, “Aaaahhhhh,” as Homer Simpson would say about donuts. And that’s when it occurred to me that there were also Trek comic books. Yes siree! Sign me up. (This paragraph is also to remind you, lest you think I’m just writing a history of Star Trek, that this blog is basically all about, well, me.)

DS9 produced the formative elements that set up the fourth series in the franchise, Star Trek: Voyager (VGR). We were introduced to the Maquis, a group of outlaw freedom fighters who were still fighting the Cardassians. They were named for the French underground in World War II. Their existence would be crucial to establishing the back-story for VGR.

The next movie, Star Trek: First Contact, entailed some of the Trek franchise’s most popular elements: time travel and the Borg. It was up to Picard, Riker et al on the new Enterprise-E to go back in time and prevent the Borg from altering Earth’s history. Notable was the introduction of an “individual” in the Borg collective, the queen (Alice Kriege) who Picard had encountered when he was a Borg. Also notable was the reappearance of Zefram Cochrane (James Cromwell) who invented warp drive. Previously we had seen a much younger appearing Cochrane in the original series episode “Metamorphosis.” I found this movie full of a lot of fun action scenes and one memorable quote from Worf after killing a Borg, “Assimilate this!”

Meanwhile, in the world of DS9, a change was occurring that would set this series apart from all others. Gene Roddenberry never wanted to have Starfleet engaged in a long war but that is just what it had thrust upon it by the Dominion, the reclusive race of shape-shifters who, it turns out, included Odo. As the series’ viewpoint hardened into war, Sisko was both promoted to captain and took on a new appearance. Gone was his hair in preference for a shaved head and he sported a goatee and mustache. Avery Brooks morphed back into Hawk save the sunglasses.

One of the highpoints of DS9 came in its fifth season (1996), the 30th anniversary of the franchise. Using the original series episode “The Trouble With Tribbles,” Sisko, Dax and Worf are written into it and with the magic of time-travel on the series and great special effects in the studio, they interact with the original series characters. Another fun piece for me was the names of two Federation agents who question Sisko about the time travel incident. Their names were Dulmer and Lucsly, and homage to Mulder and Scully from another of my favorite shows, “The X-Files.”

The previous season (1995) had seen the birth of the fourth series, VGR. Although we had seen female captains before (notably Rachel Garrett of the Enterprise-C), this was the first time the commanding officer star of the show was a woman, Captain Kathryn Janeway (Kate Mulgrew). Thanks to the back-story established in DS9 about the Maquis, the starship Voyager and a Maquis ship they are chasing in a part of space called the Badlands, are both transported into the Delta Quadrant of the galaxy. They are forced to sacrifice the Maquis ship and combine crews which leads to some interesting interpersonal conflicts. Janeway’s first officer becomes the former Maquis captain, Chakotay (Robert Beltran), a descendant of Native Americans with an elaborate tattoo on his face. The ship had not received a medical officer so the Emergency Medical Hologram program a/k/a The Doctor (Robert Picardo) is forced to be the full-time physician. (I often wonder if Picardo was concerned about being type-cast as a doctor because he had played Dr. Richard Richard on another of my favorite shows, “China Beach.”) Of course there was a lovable rogue crewmember, Lieutenant Tom Paris (Robert Duncan McNeill), his naïve young pal, Ensign Harry Kim (Garrett Wong) and a half-Klingon, half human former Maquis engineering genius with a huge chip on her shoulder, B’Elanna Torres (Roxann Dawson).

In a sense, VGR was a return to the “Wagon Train in space concept” as their entire raison d’etre was attempting to return to the Alpha Quadrant, 70,000 light years distant. Each week was, pretty much, a meeting with new races, encountered on their “trek” back home. I liked VGR, especially the really cool new special effects and CGI. And I liked the fact that a woman was finally getting her due as the featured captain. It came only thirty years after the pilot episode, “The Cage” which was cut and broadcast as the two part episode “The Menagerie.” In it, the second in command of the Enterprise was a woman. (That female, identified only as “Number One,” was played by Majel Barrett Roddenberry a/k/a Mrs. Gene Roddenberry. Subsequently she played Nurse Chapel (original series), Deanna Troi’s mom, Lwaxana Troi (TNG and DS9) and the voice of the computer in the series and movies after the original series.) Before the show premiered in 1966, one of the changes made was making sure that the first officer was a male. After all, who could believe women were capable of commanding a starship? And with that bit of sarcasm, I will close for today.

Stay tuned for the final installment of Boldly Going

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So there I was, waiting for these interlopers, this “next generation” of Starfleet officers and spaceships. We true believers knew that Star Trek meant Captain Kirk, Mr. Spock and evil Klingons. But hey, I’ll keep an open mind about Star Trek: The Next Generation (TNG).

It started well enough, especially when I first laid eyes on Counselor Troi (Marina Sirtis). She rapidly shot to the top of my list of Star Trek babes (where she remains despite the presence of Yeoman Janis Rand (Grace Lee Whitney) on the original series and Seven of Nine (Jeri Ryan) on Voyager). But what was up with this captain with a French name who talks with an English accent? And the Federation and the Klingons are at peace? Uh, details, please. And a humaniform robot named Data? (Okay, an android.) And the Enterprise-D splits into two parts? And Worf (Michael Dorn), a Klingon is a Starfleet officer? And Wesley the boy genius Crusher? (I am convinced that Roddenberry put families and children on the new generation of Starfleet ships just so we could have the boy genius. Interestingly, his character generated a tremendous debate at Star Trek conventions. I recall reading about one that hosted a seminar titled “The Wesley Crusher Problem.”) And what’s with Q? Q? THE Q? I have a lot Q’s! Can I have some A’s? And then they made a very conscious homage to my heroes by having Data fly Dr. McCoy (DeForest Kelley) in a shuttlecraft in the pilot because the good doctor never did trust the transporter. Okay. You had me at Dr. McCoy.

Okay. I’m being picky. I admit it. And despite my initial distrust and condescending attitude I quickly began warming to the new crew, especially when I tumbled to the fact that Data followed Asimov’s Robotics Laws. Be still my heart! And, hmm, what’s this relationship between Picard and the widowed Dr. Beverly Crusher all about? And then the Traveler tells Picard that Wesley is a unique person who needs special nurturing and encouragement. Well now, this COULD get interesting! (Funny story about that particular episode, “Where No One Has Gone Before.” That November, my wife had fallen at home and shattered her ankle, requiring surgical repair. So there I am, visiting her in hospital and I notice it’s time for Star Trek: The Next Generation. So, as history repeats itself, I put the show on and plop myself down to watch it. Gee, Mark, thanks for visiting me. Enjoy the show?) And we actually saw a real central member be killed in the episode “Skin of Evil,” Natasha Yar (Denise Crosby). Maybe they’re serious about making this a really good series with unexpected things.

By the time we encountered the return of Kirk, et al in Star Trek V: The Final Frontier, we had met the Borg on TNG. But more about them in a bit. The best I can say about the fifth movie is that it had the original cast members. Bill Shatner, love you as Kirk, find you tolerable as T. J. Hooker and the Priceline.com Negotiator, but the sad truth is you ain’t no Fellini or Hitchcock when it comes to directing a movie. And Spock’s brother, a Vulcan who rejects emotional control? Puh-leeze. But the sight of Uhura (Nichelle Nichols) undulating with bare legs makes the movie entirely worthwhile! (Yeah, okay, sue me for being a pig. I’m a guy.)

At the end of the third season we got our first Star Trek TV cliffhanger. The good news is that meant there would be a FOURTH season, thereby passing the original series in longevity. The bad news is that we had to wait several months to find out how the Borg would be stopped and Captain Picard would be un-Borged. Unlike other humanoids in Trek, the Borg were not an individual species. They were a combination of organic beings and cybernetic technology all bound together in a collective, the ultimate technological monstrosity. Aside from being an Emmy Award-winning episode, this is my favorite TNG episode. (Okay, two-part episode but who’s counting?) And as pleased as I was to see Will Riker (Jonathan Frakes) stay as Picard’s first officer, those of us familiar with how military hierarchies work had to wonder what he was doing to his career. But, all the children were home safely and that’s all that mattered.

It was somewhere around this point in time when I decided to start reading the Star Trek novels. There were quite a few from the original series and a growing number of TNG novels. But of course OC-boy that I am, I wasn’t just going to read them. I was going to index them! There were already several encyclopedic works on the Trek universe on the screen but no one had done a similar thing with the books. What I began encountering, however, was the reality that Paramount (the company that produced Trek TV and movies) considered what appeared on screen as “canon” but that did not include what appeared in the books. So, in addition to indexing and then writing descriptive entries, I was faced with attempting to resolve the discrepancies, if possible, or simply noting a conflict with canon. What a project for OC-me! (And the comic books? No! Even I wasn’t going that far…uh, yet.)

TNG ran an episode called “Yesterday’s Enterprise” (also a favorite of mine) in which a the Enterprise-D is thrown into another timeline where the Federation and Klingons are locked in a protracted war that is not going well for the Federation. Tasha Yar was still alive in this one and we encounter the Enterprise-C with its female captain Rachel Garrett. That ship had to be sent back through the time vortex through which it emerged to help the Klingon colony where a young Worf had lived, thus leading to rapprochement between the Federation and the Klingons.

By the time Star Trek VI: The Undiscovered Country premiered, we had seen unprecedented changes in the world, typified by the fall of the Berlin Wall and the reunification of Germany. The Undiscovered Country provided us with a first glimpse at the possibility of the alliance of the Federation and the Klingon Empire that exists in TNG’s time. In that sense, it both paralleled our own real world and paved the way for the events of “Yesterday’s Enterprise.”

The Romulans had become the central enemy of both the Federation and the Klingons and a brief military confrontation ensued. That two-part episode “Unification” was notable for the return of Spock, now a Federation ambassador, Denise Crosby as the Romulan Commander Sela (the daughter of the Tasha Yar who had gone back into the past and a Romulan general) and learning that Data could perform a Vulcan nerve pinch.

Throughout TNG, we had encountered several new species of humanoids, notably the uber-capitalist Ferengi and the reptilian, warlike Cardassians. Introduction of the Cardassians and their brief war the Federation (the episode “The Wounded”) was important in establishing the back-story for what would become the third Trek Series, Star Trek: Deep Space 9 (DS9). It was also important to me because it introduced me to the Irish song “The Minstrel Boy.”

Another piece to DS9’s back story was the introduction of a disgraced Starfleet officer named Ro Laren (Michelle Forbes), who was a Bajoran, a member of the race that had been most horribly oppressed by the Cardassians.

You may wonder why I’m going into such nauseating detail regarding these episodes. Honest, there is method in mine madness. When Star Trek originally premiered, little thought was given to maintaining a back-story and internal consistency or even establishing a real history other than some personal stories (Kirk and several women from his past, Spock and his parents and history of the war between the Federation and the Romulan Empire are examples.) Gene Roddenberry had been happy enough to get the show on the air by selling it as “Wagon Train to the stars” so the idea of a long-lived franchise was the farthest thing from his mind. By the time of his death in 1991, it had become apparent that the Trek franchise was going strong and had every appearance of continuing for years to come. By creating the interlocking stories, characters and events, TNG laid the foundation for DS9 which subsequently laid the framework for Star Trek Voyager. But those are stories for yet another day.

Stay tuned for the continuing story, Boldly Going.

Boldly Going

“Space, the final frontier. These are the voyages of the starship Enterprise. Her five-year mission: to explore strange new worlds, to seek out new life and new civilizations, to boldly go where no man has gone before.”

I briefly considered using the opening tag line from Star Trek: The Next Generation where the voice of Jean-Luc Picard intones these familiar words except that they boldly “go where one ONE has gone before.” But I settled on the original said by Captain Kirk because that is where Star Trek began and where my relationship with the show began. (Yes, kiddies, I am that old.)

My interest in science fiction (SF) began early in life thanks to my father’s influence. He had read science fiction since he was a boy and passed the interest on to me. I cut my teeth on the Tom Swift, Jr. series but soon moved on to mainstream SF the man I considered the god of SF authors, Isaac Asimov. There had been other TV series such as the Outer Limits and Rod Serling’s Twilight Zone but these were anthologies. When NBC announced a new series called Star Trek, both my father and I were very excited.

We waited eagerly for the debut. Finally the night came and we sat in front of the TV. (Mind you, it was a black and white with a screen somewhat ovoid in shape and it took a minute or so to warm up, got 13 channels and had dials that you actually had to adjust by hand. And no, Fred and Barney were not walking by outside with Dino on a leash.) The opening sequence came on followed by fade to black and the theme music with Captain Kirk’s voice saying the famous words printed above. No sooner had he said, “To boldly go,” when my father yelled, “What? That’s a split infinitive! How could they split an infinitive?” Now, I actually knew what that meant because he was a stickler for grammar and spelling. From then on, every week when it was on, he would mutter the same thing and shake his head sadly as if it meant the end of civilization as we knew it.

We would go to great lengths not to miss an episode. (Bear in mind this was before the VCR was even a glimmer in Panasonic’s or Sony’s minds.) The TV I mentioned above used vacuum tube technology. Periodically, one of these would burn out and would have to be replaced or, worse, something bad went wrong and someone actually came to our house to remove the innards of the set and took it to his shop to fix. That was the case for one episode. We called friends and asked if we could come over and watch on their TV. It wasn’t a show they watched but they were gracious enough to accommodate us. Another week, my mother was in the hospital recovering from surgery. Star Trek was on from 8:30 to 9:30 at the time. Visiting hours ended at 9:00. So there we were, sitting in her room watching Star Trek. I believe it was the episode “The Apple” which would put it in the second season. 9:00 rolls around and the nurse comes in to remind us that visiting hours were over. I’m not sure who looked more pathetic, my father or me, but whichever one of us it was, when we asked if we could stay to see the rest of the show, she just looked at us reprovingly, but closed the door to the room. My mother, who was still groggy from medication asked us why we were staying past visiting hours and we both said to see the rest of the episode. Scored major points there with Mom, both of us.

Callow youth that I was, I took the show at its word that it was going to last for five years. Alas, TV is not about promises it’s about ratings and after three years Star Trek disappeared. By this time my dad had died, but his words about split infinitives echoed every time I heard the opening line.

I was at Syracuse University when the show went into syndication. Every night at 6:00, seating space in the rec room of my fraternity became very scarce. We normally ate dinner at 5:30 and it became particularly important that we get done in time to be in our seats just before 6:00. The game became who can identify the episode fastest. At the start it was sufficient to be able to say, “the Tribbles episode,” or “the one with the Gorn” but after a few months you had to come up with the actual title. (Yes, I was one of the best at it. And while we’re on that subject, no, I am not nor ever was a “Trekkie!” Okay? Are we clear on that? I do not and never did live in my mother’s basement and I HAVE had carnal knowledge of a woman. Okay? Just so we’re clear.)

By the time I got out of the Air Force in 1977, I had become something of an expert on the show, having seen some episodes so many times that even I was tired of seeing them again. And of course, there was always the necessity of naming the episode in the first few seconds which prompted my wife to say, “If you know it that well, why bother watching it?” The only answer I could come up with was, “’Cause it’s Star Trek!” as if that explained EVERYTHING. Honestly. Sometimes women just do not get…hmm, maybe best not to go down that road.

There had been rumors of a Star Trek 2 with new uniforms and a redesigned Enterprise but nothing ever came of this idea…until in 1979, Star Trek: The Motion Picture was released. Captain Kirk was now and admiral. Kirk? An admiral? Oh NO! Despite the great special effects and the introduction of some new characters and different uniforms, it was a bit disappointing. It seemed like a glorified expansion of the episode “The Changeling” and, not for the last time, Kirk saves the Earth. And conveniently, the new navigator and the would-be captain disappear so ADMIRAL Kirk gets to keep the ship.

The original series kept appearing and disappearing as various networks picked up the syndication then dropped it. And of course, the same exchanges would take place as soon as I identified the episode. It got so bad that there were times my wife actually beat me to the punch. Then the conversation became, “If I know the episode, you’ve seen it way too many times! Why are you watching it again?” “’Cause it’s Star Trek,” said in a somewhat more subdued voice than in previous times.

I was aware that there were a growing number of novels based on the series and the period between the end of the series and the movies but I also realized that the only “real” Star Trek stories were the ones on TV and the movies so I didn’t bother reading them. (And this brings up a metaphysical question: What is “real” when you are dealing with an entirely fictional future? That is best left for another day and venue.)

In Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan, we were treated to the return of Ricardo Montalban (yes, Mr. Rourke of “Fantasy Island” and the man who told us about Chryslers and their “rich Corinthian leather”) reprising his role of Khan Noonien Singh from the episode “Space Seed.” And Kirk has a son. A what? And one of the regulars on the crew was going to die! What? No! Say it ain’t so, Gene! (That’s Gene Roddenberry, the creator of Star Trek for you uninitiated people.) (And by the way, this movie started one of the great trivia questions: Name three regulars from the sitcom “Cheers” who appeared in Star Trek: Kirstie Alley in this movie, and Kelsey Grammer and Bebe Neuwirth in separate episodes of Star Trek: The Next Generation.) The only good thing was that we true believers knew that this could not be the end of the movies. We just knew that Spock would be resurrected…somehow.

Sure enough, we were not left hanging for too long. Two years later Star Trek III: The Search for Spock, premiered. This movie is notable for two things. The first is that after stealing the Enterprise, Kirk, et al, are forced to destroy it. The second is Christopher Lloyd appearing as the villain Kruge. Because of his role on “Taxi,” it always strikes me as Jim Ignatowski, Klingon commander! And of course all the while, the original series kept coming and going and the number of episode that caused me to say, “Oh this one again,” was growing. Even I was getting picky about them.

Like clockwork, two years later came my favorite of the original cast movies, Star Trek IV: The Voyage Home. For a change, no one was trying to kill Kirk and the boys (and girl, let’s not forget Uhura), just a big old probe looking for whales on Earth that was destroying the planet because humanity had let whales die out. (Okay, it’s a bit preachy but it’s also the funniest movie. When we were in San Francisco I asked my wife if I could ask the first policeman I found if he could direct me, and said in a faux Russian accent, to the “nuclear wessels in Alameda.” That was met with a resounding NO. I briefly considered saying, “I never get to have any fun.” but thought better of that...) And of course Kirk and the boys, once again, save Earth. The bad news is that he gets busted back to captain for having stolen and destroying the Enterprise one movie ago. The good news is that he and the whole crew get a brand-spanking new Enterprise, with an “-A” attached to the name and registration number (NCC-1701 if you’re wondering).

And that fall, there was a whole new Star Trek TV series coming, Star Trek: The Next Generation. I will admit, that like Walter Koenig who played Pavel Chekov in the original series and movies, I resented this intrusion. Who cares if it takes place about 80 years after the original series. And who cares that it was also an Enterprise (the “-D” as it happens). And who cares if it’s still Starfleet? And there’s a Klingon in Starfleet and on the crew!? WTF? What are they trying to sell us? Oh sure, the sets were better, and the special effects were cooler than the movies and the sets and costumes had a much higher budget. Who do they think they are, anyway?

For the answer to that question, tune in for the next installment of Boldly Going.

Mortal Stakes

Only where love and need are one,
And the work is play for mortal stakes,
Is the deed ever really done?
For heaven and the future´s sakes.
from “Two Tramps in Mud Time” by Robert Frost

First, let me tip my hat to Robert B. Parker, creator of the Spenser detective novels. Mortal Stakes is the title of his third novel in the series. The title has always been one of those that has stuck with me and it is lifted from Frost’s poem that I have quoted above. I never really assimilated the import and meaning of the title until the past few weeks.

If you’ve been reading this blog, you are well aware that a week ago Wednesday, I had a biopsy to screen for cancer of the prostate. The results were negative but inconclusive. That means they did not find cancer but cannot rule conclusively that it’s not there and they missed it or that it won’t develop at some point in the future. They noted some “pre-cancerous changes” to the tissue which my urologist says may mean nothing and may never proceed beyond that stage. But I’m 57 years old and these things often happen to men of similar age. (A friend of mine, a long serving army officer, told me that he had his done by a corpsman who seemed enjoy inflicting the indignity of the exam on an officer. He was of a similar age.) The bottom line (yes, pun intended) is that I will need semi-annual or (if I’m lucky) annual biopsies and semi-annual and possibly quarterly monitoring of my Prostate Specific Antigen via blood tests. Why am I telling you all this? Well, read on.

The first surgery of any significance I experienced was in 2003. I had to have a parathyroid gland removed. This one gland (of four) had become enlarged and was causing a condition called hyperparathyroidism. Without getting technical, it is a condition of too much calcium in the blood stream. The only way to address it is surgically. But a surgical excision of the bad gland is, literally, a cure. It required general anesthesia and an overnight stay in the hospital but by the time I left, I could already feel that I was better. It’s that quick a cure.

When my urologist said the word “biopsy” this past January 13, I started crying. It was not that I was frightened that having a biopsy meant that I had cancer. As my wife explained to him while I regained control of myself is that I was afraid of the biopsy procedure itself. For a few days I was pretty shook up and fearful. Then several friends got hold of me and combined sympathy with some tough love. After a few days of processing all of it, I reached the acceptance stage and felt better. I was not going to let a fairly simple medical procedure turn me into a blubbering mass of jello. And as in the past, the reality was far more benign than the anticipation, imagination and fear. (Okay, I was aided by 25 mg of valium, but it really wasn’t that bad.)

The pathology processing and report takes about a week. While I was being biopsied, the office had already scheduled the follow-up consult which was one week later. Throughout that week I felt like I was coping well. My wife thought to the contrary. She has known me for 37 years and is extremely adept at discerning the nuances of my behavior and demeanor, even when I think I’m being perfectly normal. By the time I went back to work the following Monday, I could detect that I was feeling stressed. The first thing that goes when I get stressed is my patience. And I could tell that I was being impatient with everything and everyone. Which raised the question in my mind. Why?

The only cancer that has been in my family was an uncle who died from lung cancer that spread throughout his body. He, like my father, was a heavy smoker. So there was really no history of cancer on either side of my family about which to be concerned. But there it was. The pathologists held the key to my future. Literally, my future. My friends kept telling me not to anticipate what I did not know. While that is excellent advice, it didn’t change the reality that I was going to hear cancer or no cancer (and that’s not like having Howie Mandel say, “Deal or no deal”).

So there we were sitting in a room very like the first one we had been in at the urologist’s office. I had my book with me but could not concentrate on reading, a sure indication of stress. My wife was reading her book; outwardly very calm but I recognized tightness in her. Finally, the doctor came in and sat down, just like the first time. He opened the folder and pronounced the verdict (and that was exactly how it felt): no cancer but inconclusive. I’ve already told you what the import of that is so I need not repeat it here.

As we were leaving, I could tell my wife was not happy. I asked her about it and she said she would have preferred a conclusive answer one way or the other. I understood what she was saying but knew in my heart of hearts that the words “no cancer” were the most important words I would hear that day, that month, that…well you get where I’m going. The next day, I was happy to almost the point of euphoria. I did not have cancer.

This was my first true brush with my own mortality. Throughout my life, I have been blessed with remarkably good health. This is very fortunate because I’m a big baby about being poked and prodded in any medical manner. But it also left me unprepared for encountering medical issues as I have aged. Regarding the parathyroid issue, to this day, I find myself being upset at my body for malfunctioning, for letting me down. And while there is always a danger in going under general anesthesia, I knew I was in no danger of death and that following surgery I would be cured.

But the road down which cancer leads is a completely different thing. I was aware of all the things about how curable and relatively benign prostate cancer is. I am aware of the non-surgical methods of addressing cancer of the prostate. I was as well prepared as I could make myself, mentally, to face the possibility. But if the word “no” had been missing from the doctor’s statement, life would have changed.

What I had thought would be one of those life-altering moments, confronting my own mortality, turned out to be one of those things that went out with a whimper rather than a bang. There was no one moment where I realized that life might end or even that life as a healthy person would end. It has been over a period of a few days that I have even begun to assimilate the import of what I had experienced. I have lived through the death of my father, four grandparents and many other people who have meant a great deal in my life. There was never a time that I can recall where I did not understand the concept of death. I always knew that if something lived it was bound to die, including ourselves. (A friend who teaches high school English is in the habit of asking a class how many of them think the person next to them will die. Everyone raises their hand. Then he asks them how many of them think THEY will die. Only a few hands go up.) There are some people so obsessed with worrying about their deaths that they are unable to live. As badly as I have suffered from depression, I have never been one of those people. I do not fear flying in airplanes even though they sometimes crash (although I will never bungee jump or do other “death-defying activities).

I have not become a person who fears death. But I have become aware of the fragility of the vessel in which the essence of who we are is contained. With the myriad of things that can go wrong with the human body, it is almost more amazing that people, in general, remain as healthy as they do. Evolution has given us an amazing ability to resist disease despite the many biological and environmental challenges we face. But once a word like cancer enters your lexicon in a personal way that entire world view changes.

I stop and look back on the past 57 years and wonder how did I get this old? I don’t feel that old, even if my left knee sometime hurts for no reason or my vision deteriorates every year or I have arthritis in two of my right toes. But my internal sense of who I am still feels like a kid. I like Jimmy Buffett’s philosophy of growing older but not up. But I sometimes feel that 57 means that statistically, more than half my life is behind me. That sense that had been so remote is no longer quite so.

So what have I learned? I have learned that life is a series of events from which we stumble from one to another. I have learned that no matter how much we take care of ourselves, no matter how many physicals we have, the body does not always keep us healthy. I have learned that no matter how much you may not want to have needles inserted into your body, when it is necessary it is going to happen. But most of all, I have learned to value the people in my life and the color they contribute to it. When I needed support they gave me support. When I needed tough love, they kicked me in the bum. And through it all they gave me their prayers and concern. If that’s not life affirming, I don’t know what is. When the stakes are mortal, it is good to be surrounded by people you love and who love you back.

The Notebooks of Lazarus Long, Annotated...Part 3

“A touchstone to determine the actual worth of an ‘intellectual’ – find out how he feels about astrology.”
I tend to agree with Dr. Richard Dawkins on this point but extend it past astrology. Dawkins and several other scientist atheists posit that belief in ANY deity is inconsistent with science. One of the best arguments on this point is found in God: The Failed Hypothesis: How Science Shows That God Does Not Exist by Victor J. Stenger. But for those of you who believe, I respect your right to do so and do not question your belief.

“Taxes are not levied for the benefit of the taxed.”
I don’t disagree with many things that Lazarus Long has to say but this is one on which he and I differ by a wide margin. Lazarus Long and his creator Robert A. Heinlein, while free-thinkers, can hardly be called socialists. I, on the other hand, can. Taxes collected SHOULD be for the benefit of the taxed. Without taxation, government ceases to function. This is the particular mantra of Grover Norquist who famously wants to shrink government to the point where it can drowned in a bathtub. I prefer seeing a truly progressive tax with the government using that money to help the people, particularly the neediest. Where I do agree with Long’s statement is when those taxes are being used to buy things that blow up people in other countries. War has never been for the benefit of the taxed, especially when profiteering capitalists have an interest in continuing the wars for their pecuniary benefit.

“If you happen to be one of the fretful minority who can do creative work, never force an idea; you'll abort it if you do. Be patient and you’ll give birth to it when the time is ripe. Learn to wait.”
It doesn’t matter if the creative work is the written word, art on a canvas, the cure for cancer or theoretical physics. I find that the best writing I do comes from the times I have an idea AND the motivation to get it on paper. (OK, onto a word processor, but you get what I mean.) I have tried writing fiction but it has always felt forced. The one or two good fictional ideas I have had have never really motivated me to write them. So I write when I feel like it. And when I find that I’m having to force it, it reads that way. I read a couple blogs I did some time ago and can easily tell which one’s were forced. So if you create, let it happen naturally. Otherwise you’re creating your own sharashka. (If you don’t understand the term, either Google it or read Solzhenitsyn’s novel The First Circle.)

“A practical joker deserves applause for his wit according to its quality. Bastinado is about right. For exceptional wit one might grant keelhauling. But staking out on an anthill should be reserved for the very wittiest.”
It will probably come as no surprise but I have always been a class clown. According to George Carlin, there are two types of class clowns: the ones who come up with great ideas and instigate others and the ones who are crazy enough to do those things. I will admit to having been crazy enough, at times, to do my own ideas but for the most part I fall into the idea/instigator category. The one time I committed a practical joke was in university. I won’t go into what I did and I will say there was general agreement that the individual on the receiving end deserved it. But it’s the only time I have ever done a practical joke and if I had it to do all over again, I would not do it.

“A ‘critic’ is a man who creates nothing and thereby feels qualified to judge the work of creative men. There is logic in this; he is unbiased – he hates all creative people equally.”
This goes a long way to explaining the behavior of the current minority party in the United States. They hate everything the majority stands for. Rather than attempt to find some common ground, they and their tame dog media, stand on the sidelines and snipe. They offer nothing other than criticism and simply hate those in the majority because they are not. As far as theater or movie critics go, I have a few who I use as bellwethers. If they hate something, I’m going to like it.

“Never frighten a little man. He’ll kill you.”
Atilla the Hun, Napoleon Bonaparte and Josef Stalin. Need I say more?

“Never try to outstubborn a cat.”
Cat people, you understand the truth of this. Non-cat people, trust us. It’s true.

“Natural laws have no pity.”
One of the natural laws that most people recognize (at least those who believe the Earth is older than about 6,000 years) is “survival of the fittest.” Darwin posited this as an explanation for evolution and adaptation. If you don’t adapt to changing conditions, you die. Buggy whip makers, galley-oar makers, Betamax VCRs. Adapt or die. The natural laws of physics prove that atoms can be split. These same natural laws, inevitably, led to weapons that threatened to erase life on Earth in something called Mutual Assured Destruction (MAD). I happen to have been in the business of being ready to deliver those weapons when I was in the Air Force. Natural laws have existed since shortly after the Big Bang. They are unalterable and potentially very dangerous.

“Anything free is worth what you pay for it.”
Or, a fool and his money are soon parted. Or, if it sounds too good to be true, it is. If Jack had lived in the real world, those magic beans he got might have grown some beans but that would be about it. Any time I am asked for advice, I qualify it with the reminder that my advice is worth exactly what I charge for it: nothing.

“A committee is a life form with six or more legs and no brain.”
Ever notice how many committees there are in any level of government?

“A generation which ignores history has no past – and no future.”
George Santayana famously said, “Those who cannot learn from history are doomed to repeat it.” Where this is most dangerous is when the people who fail to learn are our political and military leaders. How often has it been said that generals continue to fight the last war? And when our political leaders think that trying the same things over and over again will result in a different outcome, I want to remind them that that comes dangerously close to the definition of insanity. Vietnam. The Soviet invasion of Afghanistan. Our nine year old war in Afghanistan. Is anybody listening?

“Never appeal to a man’s “better nature.” He may not have one. Invoking his self-interest gives you more leverage.”
This goes without saying. Don’t believe that? Just look at how Ben Nelson’s vote was obtained for health insurance reform.

“Courage is the complement of fear. A man who is fearless cannot be courageous. (He is also a fool.)”
One of my favorite series is HBO’s Band of Brothers. In it, one of the actual members of Easy Company talks about being afraid all the time. It is how one masters the fear and goes on that makes the difference. I have written about fear in an earlier blog. While fear of a biopsy pales in comparison to the fear of a man in combat, mastering the fear and getting on with the matter of living is a form of courage. It’s like never experiencing sadness means you can never understand what it means to be happy. To dare to love is to dare to be hurt in one of the cruelest ways. But to feel nothing is not living. It is mere existence.

“People who go broke in a big way never miss any meals. It is the poor jerk who is shy a half slug who must tighten his belt.”
Donald Trump and Ted Turner. Need I say more?

“There is no such thing as ‘social gambling.’ Either you are there to cut the other bloke’s heart out and eat it – or you’re a sucker. If you don’t like this choice – don’t gamble.”
I neither like gambling nor losing money and I am not one who goes for the throat. I don’t gamble. The only card games in which I play are thinly-veiled excuses for male bonding and the consumption of copious amounts of alcoholic beverages and snacks. And we play with cards with pictures of nude and semi-nude women. The drunken decisions on how to designate wild cards are the best part of the game.

“The correct way to punctuate a sentence that starts: ‘Of course it is none of my business but—’ is to place a period after the word ‘but.’ Don’t use excessive force in supplying such moron with a period. Cutting his throat is only a momentary pleasure and is bound to get you talked about.”
And this seems like a good place to end for today.

To be continued….

The Notebooks of Lazarus Long, annotated.....Part 2

“I CAME, I SAW, SHE CONQUERED.” (The original Latin seems to have been garbled.)
There are those of us of the male gender who have learned this and accept it; there are those of the male gender who have not learned it, much to their pain. Women are born knowing it because it is hard-wired in their DNA.

“If it can’t be expressed in figures, it is not science; it is opinion. It has long been known that one horse can run faster than another – but which one? Differences are crucial.”
This brings up two issues. Let me address the second one first, which relates to wagering. Long ago, I discovered that I hated losing money in wagers, so I stopped betting. Now, the only time I will accept or offer a wager is if there is a 100% chance of winning. What I mean by that is I will only bet over a matter of absolutely provable fact that I know to be correct. Example: Mickey Mantle batted .353 in 1956. Were someone to dispute this with me, my final trump card would be to say, “Want to bet on it?” Anyone who knows me knows to concede at that point as I never use the offer lightly. It means I cannot be wrong. My wife loves to gamble. When we go to a casino she plays the slots and blackjack. I read. Okay, I do throw a quarter into a slot so I can look at her and say, “Are you happy? I gambled.” Then I go back to my book. ‘Nuff said.

The first part of this is rather more problematic. Regardless of the subject, if it can be expressed in figures it can be proven, whether it is the atomic weight of cobalt, the number of bones in the human hand or the existence of black holes. If it cannot, it is only opinion. When opinion is expressed as fact, wars often result, especially ones that involve beliefs in conflicting deities.

“Cheops’ Law: Nothing ever gets built on schedule or within budget.”
Cheops was an Egyptian Pharaoh of the Old Kingdom, better known as Khufu, who built the Great Pyramid. If you don’t believe the truth of this statement, Google “cost-overrun.” I submit the proof is indisputable. And following closely on the heels of Cheops’ Law is:
“An elephant: A mouse built to government specifications.”

“One man’s theology is another man’s belly laugh.”
In his book The God Delusion, biological theorist Richard Dawkins, one of the leading atheists expressed the opinion that everyone is an atheist. He just includes one more god than most. Although rather glib, there is great truth in this. Humans have believed in some sort of god-being(s) from time immemorial. Those who believe in the Judeo-Christian-Islamic one god, by definition, do not believe in gods such as Thor, Apollo, Shiva or Jupiter. Thus, everyone is an atheist to some degree or another. Unfortunately, wars continue to be fought over points of theology, even between believers of the same deity because of the prophets through who said deity chose to reveal the “divine truth.”

“There is no conclusive evidence of life after death. But there is no evidence of any sort against it. Soon enough you will know. So why fret about it?”
I have long held the opinion that the most important thing to do every day is to wake up. After that, the rest is just gravy.

“A brute kills for pleasure. A fool kills from hate.”
And capitalists kill for profit. Which is the worst? I leave that decision to you.

“Democracy is based on the assumption that a million men are wiser than one man. How’s that again? I missed something.
Autocracy is based on the assumption that one man is wiser than a million men. Let’s play that over again, too. Who decides?”
And corporate-tocracy a/k/a Fascism is based on the assumption that corporations are more important than people. Oh, wait. The Supreme Court of the United States just said they ARE people. Again, I leave the decision to you.

“Any government will work if authority and responsibility are equal and coordinate. This does not insure ‘good’ government; it simply insures that it will work. But such governments are rare – most people want to run things but want no part of the blame. This used to be called the ‘backseat-driver syndrome.’”
A corollary to this is any government will work with effective checks and balances. When any one of the coordinate branches of government arrogates too much power or one of them cedes too much power, the system is out of balance and bad things happen. I promised not to get political in this blog so I will shut up about this now.

“Sin lies only in hurting other people unnecessarily. All other ‘sins’ are invented nonsense. (Hurting yourself is not sinful – just stupid.)”
This has been expressed in many religious beliefs by a name such as The Golden Rule. I submit that whether you believe in a deity or not, if you live by this dictum you and those around you will be much happier. In law, there is a concept of certain crimes being mala in se or more simply, just plain wrong, where most other laws proscribing behavior are mala prohibitum. Even in this context, if one follows the proscription against hurting other people, everyone profits and is happier. “From each according to his ability, to each according to his need” was a slogan popularized by Karl Marx. I submit had Lenin seriously believed and practiced this, the history of the USSR and Communism would have been considerably different.

“Moving parts in rubbing contact require lubrication to avoid excessive wear. Honorifics and formal politeness provide the lubrication where people rub together. Often the very young, the untraveled, the naive, the unsophisticated deplore these formalities as ‘empty,’ ‘meaningless,’ or ‘dishonest,’ and scorn to use them. No matter how ‘pure’ their motives, they thereby throw sand into machinery that does not work too well at best.”
Courtesy is never wrong. One of my observations of things that seem to have gone haywire in the modern world is the loss of gentility. Where a handshake was, at one time, sufficient to bind a person on their honor, now contracts run into the tens if not hundreds of pages. Partisan politics, whether in government, the courts or football is the order of the day. We have lost something in a society where a sincere compliment is too often looked on as sexual harassment or other offensive behavior. Politeness is its own reward.

“The truth of a proposition has nothing to do with its credibility. And vice versa.”
This seems to be the underlying philosophical basis of talk radio, punditry and politics in our society. A recent President of the United States famously took the view that we no longer live in a reality-based world. Really? To subscribe to that view comes dangerously close to the dictum that if you tell the Big Lie often enough, people will begin to believe it.

“One man’s ‘magic’ is another man’s engineering. ‘Supernatural’ is a null word.”
If you don’t believe the truth of this, imagine going back to Salem, Massachusetts in 1692-1693 with an iPod and a set of speakers and playing anything for the assembled townspeople. Guess what they’ll call YOU.

“If you are part of a society that votes, then do so. There may be no candidates and measures you want to vote for. But there are certain to be ones you want to vote against. In case of doubt, vote against. By this rule you will rarely go wrong. If this is too blind for your taste, consult some well-meaning fool (there is always one around) and ask his advice. Then vote the other way. This enables you to be a good citizen (if such is your wish) without spending the enormous amount of time that truly intelligent exercise of the franchise requires.”
I have never missed voting in an election since I was old enough to get the franchise. I raised my daughter to never miss voting. Why? It preserves your right to bitch for another year. Our society does not demand much of its citizens (besides paying taxes) but exercising the franchise is something that everyone needs to do. If you don’t vote, don’t bitch. The “Reagan Revolution” came from a mandate of 29% of the American electorate. Any questions?

“Never underestimate the power of human stupidity.”
Pet rocks. Need I say more?

“Secrecy is the beginning of tyranny.”
I could go on at length about this six-word sentence. But there’s that promise I made about politics. I will simply leave you with two words: Dick Cheney.

To be continued…

Biopsy-Daisy

Many years ago, Billy Joel signed his first recording contract. When the record was mastered at the wrong speed (Cold Spring Harbor was the record), he refused to continue with the contract. He moved to San Diego where he worked as the pianist in a piano bar. He consoled himself with the fact that he knew somewhere, sometime he would write a song about that experience. You may have heard of the song. It’s called “Piano Man” and was his breakthrough hit. Well, not that I’m claiming anything approaching the talent of a Billy Joel, but I had a similar experience with my biopsy which was performed yesterday. I considered delaying writing this until we got the results but I figure that whole experience will result in another blog.

This all began innocently enough (as it so often does) from my routine blood tests prior to my annual physical. I went to my doctor one early Friday morning in December and as is his habit, we discussed my condition, any complaints and my lab results. He was a little concerned that my Prostate Specific Antigen (PSA) was a bit high (4.5 as it happens and 2.6 is considered the maximum for normal) and a high PSA is a marker for prostate cancer. He said he was not too concerned because false positives are not uncommon.

So, off to the exam room. We went through the usual stuff, including the holding of the family jewels and turning my head and coughing. (I asked several years ago why doctors ask you to turn your head when they do this. The answer is so that you don’t cough in their face. So much for technical reasons.) Right after that comes the one “invasive” part of a man’s physical. Men, you probably know exactly what’s coming. Women, well, we only have one entry/exit point in that area of the body and the prostate is subjected to a physical exam by a finger inserted therein. He checked, found it to feel normal as well as finding no occult blood. So far, so good. Then he says, that he wants to do another blood test to check the PSA and see if it was actually a false normal. Of course he was apologetic knowing how much I hate needles but I understood. He said that based on the test, he’d decide whether it was necessary to see a urologist. He then proceeded to say that even if it was necessary, they do an ultrasound first. Based on THAT, he figured only about a 10% chance of needing to do a biopsy. So, aside from another needle in the arm, I walked out feeling pretty good.

Several days go by and no word from the doctor so I figured all was okay. But then he calls me and on the phone tells me that the second blood tests was much better and it was 2.7 and he was not concerned. Great! A couple days later in the mail, I receive the hardcopy of the blood tests and my doctor has hand-written on the side, “Based on what I see here, I want you to make an appointment with Dr. ___ for a urology consult. I think the chances of it being cancer are only 3-5%.

WHAT THE F*CK? First you tell me the results were fine and now you’re talking about odds of cancer? To say that this sent me into a tailspin would be an insult to every airplane that has ever crashed. I didn’t care if it was only 3-5%. He’s talking about cancer! So I dutifully call the XXXX Hospital Surgical Group (ain’t that a pleasant thought). This is in early January and they can’t get me an appointment until March. So, having no choice, I take it. So let me get this straight. There’s a chance I have a cancer growing inside me and you can’t get me in for two f*cking months to find out? That was when the panic button inside my head got pressed. (Oh. And for all of you tea-baggers who think that if government control of health care like in Europe means long lines and rationing of care, I suggest you think about two months before finding out if you might have cancer is just that. So take your anti-national health care and stick it in your own same place as where my exam is gonna be.)

I called my doctor back wanting to talk to him and yell about writing me a note about cancer and then my having to wait two months to find out. Initially, he defensively said the appointment was not his fault but I cut him off and proceeded to tear him a new one over what he had done. He has known me for 15 years and knows I have a critically low threshhold for bad medical news and any sort of diagnostically induced pain. Practically in tears I told him that he should have known better than to write anything about cancer. All he had to do was tell me to see a urologist. He became very contrite and admitted that he had made an error in handling it that way. Subsequently he even sent me a note apologizing.

So my doctor’s office got me a much sooner appointment with a different doctor in the same practice. We go through the usual questions, he snaps on the plastic glove and I bend over once again and with that the exam is over. We sit down and he looks at my PSA results and confirms that I am, indeed, 57 years old. The next words out of his mouth are that as a result of those factors we should do a biopsy. It took a second to register. What had my doctor said? First an ultrasound and then a 10% chance of a biopsy? I started crying and the urologist was all concerned that I was panicking over cancer until my wife explained that it was the procedure itself that frightened me. He was nice enough to give me a prescription for valium…one freakin’ 10 mg pill. Great. He also reassured me that the biopsy was nothing compared to a vasectomy and it happens that my vasectomy was really a non-issue.

So, here I am in full panic mode (okay, maybe not full PANIC mode but major fear-ridden mode) not so much over the chances of cancer but over what sticking a bunch of needles into my prostate is going to feel like. Those of you on Facebook may recall that all my status posts were various quotes about fear. I had long discussions with several of my Facebook friends, several of whom have been through extensive and painful procedures. While they provided love and support, they also provided some tough love and told me to not anticipate what I don’t know. One of them who is a doctor (who recently was in Haiti for disaster relief) reassured me that it was not a bad procedure at all.

At some point, it percolated through that I could not live through the intervening time in fear and I made a conscious decision to let it go. I really did pretty well. My wife detected a few things that indicate that my stress level was higher than normal but she’s seen me for 37 years and knows every subtlety of tones of voice and body language. All-in-all, however, I was okay, aided by my own doctor giving me some additional valium. I knew that I had enough to get me through something equivalent to my vasectomy and with the assurances that this would be less of an issue, I was doing pretty well.

So yesterday morning rolled around. It’s amazing how quickly time passes when you have something like this coming up. Three weeks ago it seemed so far away. Now it was here. To my surprise, I was pretty calm all morning. I was restricted to clear fluids, so I had my coffee, had a little bite of chocolate and went about acting normally. The minutes crept into hours and suddenly it was 1:00 and time to take my first valium. Now I recall from my vasectomy how quickly and how hard 10 mg of the stuff followed by another 5 mg a half hour later knocked me into left field. This time, I barely felt the effects, so I quickly took another 5 mg. I was still totally conscious of all that was going on around me. So while I was waiting for Joy to park, I knocked back another 5 mg and then when we were in the waiting room, another 5 mg. I was getting concerned at this point because I could feel that there was a slight buzz around the edges but I was entirely aware of everything. This is not good.

The door opened and a female in scrubs called my name. I grabbed my iPod and followed her. She led me to the rest room where she tols me to empty my bladder. Now this, I will admit, was affected by the valium. It was kind of like trying to hit the pot in an airplane lavatory during moderate turbulence. That having been completed, I was led to a room. I was told to remove my pants and undershorts, get on the table and lay on my left side in a fetal position. I doffed my pants, put on my iPod and set it for the playlist of my favorite songs and hopped up.

The doctor told me that first I would feel the ultrasound probe and then a slight stick. So there I am, lying on my side, singing along with Ah-Ha’s “Take on Me” and I feel a sharp sensation in the area of my prostate from the local anesthetic shot. It goes away in about five seconds and I figure, “OK, not bad.” The second one though, yow! He had to caution me not to move but that went away pretty quickly, too. A few minutes the other doctor (the one who did the consult) came in to do the actual biopsy. This was actually the least of it. There were about ten sensations akin to what you would feel from snapping a rubber band on your skin. And that was it.

I hopped off the table and the doctor said, “Any questions?” I asked how long I before it was okay to have sex. He looked at me and smiled and said, “As soon as you’re out of my sight.” I checked with the appointment people but my wife had already made the follow-up for the results for next Wednesday.

We left and I had already said that under the directions of my doctor friend (the one who had been in Haiti) and one other friend I was in search of a bottle of Eger bikaver wine. But first, I wanted food. Much to my embarrassment, what I wanted was a McDonald’s hamburger and French fries. And we could not find any Hungarian wine so I settled on a nice Tuscan Chianti.

So, I am here to tell you, that the procedure itself is really not all that bad. I’m living proof that if I can endure it, any male can endure it. And if your doctor says you should do have it done, do it. Now, all I need to worry about is the results. Stay tuned. Hopefully that will be a very, very short and not-unhappy experience.