These Awkward Early Episodes

Last week I watched Code of Honor, The Last Outpost, and Where No One Has Gone Before. Yesterday I watched Lonely Among Us, Justice, and The Battle and, guys, these early days are just... so... weird.

Every Trek suffers a little from an identity crisis when they premier. Who are we? What are we? What makes us different from the Trek that went before? And, of course, Next Gen would have the greatest problem with this. Star Trek wasn't so much a dynasty yet and Next Gen wasn't the legendary SciFi pilar it would become. It was more like an upstart kid with a famous parent. Naturally, TNG was informed by TOS. But, like any kid trying on its parent's shoes, it awkwardly stumbled--it's not that the child can't walk, just that the shoes don't fit.

When TNG first began, I was a little kid and my parents were still getting their start in life. They'd watched TOS as children and (I didn't know this until I started this blog in 2013) my mom actually considered not watching TNG. She felt like it was, in some way, a betrayal of the crew she'd grown up watching with her brother. Still, she sat down and tried it. And my parents fell in love--with the show (their marriage was already falling apart by TNG's premier.)

But I'm sure when TNG began there was a lot of back and forth between the network, the studio, the show runners, and Gene Roddenberry about what this show would be, who these characters would be, what did they want it to become, what about the costumes, the music, the sets, the relationships, the mission, how big is the space they're exploring?

Watching these early TNG episodes is like looking at old pictures and being reminded of the weird stuff you used to be into--the person you were before you figured yourself out. It's weird that Westley is such a huge part of this show. It's weird how non-scientific the medical and exploration side of things are. It's weird that the chief engineer isn't Geordi--that Geordi is clearly the science guy but he's pretty much just driving the ship. It's weird how the score could be plunked down in TOS and you wouldn't notice the difference.

Honestly, a lot of what holds TNG together at the beginning is just that it is Star Trek and that the performances are, all around, good. Even if the dialogue is clunky or dated and no one knew who anyone was yet or what their job on the ship really entailed, the performances are solid. The Battle is a good example of this. Even though the Ferengi are basically just nouveau-Klingons with more malice than sense and even though they somehow have the technology to influence thought on a level so sophisticated it seems like magic and even though Deanna Troi's whole contribution in this episode (as in many, for a long time) is being beautiful and having feelings--The Battle still sticks together and works because of the performances. Of course, the bulk of the credit here goes to Patrick Stewart whose return to The Stargazer is legitimately poignant and it helps to set this captain and this show apart from Kirk and The Original Series. This episode's outline and maybe even complete script (with a few name changes) could have been pulled straight from TOS but it's Stewart's performance that completely sells him as a new captain, a different captain, in charge of a new and different ship.

The next generation might be stumbling here, in its first season, but it's beginning to get the hang of it.


On a personal note:
I'm hoping to get back to writing about individual episodes ASAP. I've been coming to terms with this whole Ehler's Danlos thing and that's had its ups and downs. I've been catching up on my other work but my desk is beginning to clear and I can't wait to get back to being here more often!

My (Faulty) Human Suit

Alright, alright. Originally there was a very, very, very--honestly just way too long--post here about me and my health and my history and all of this business but it was too much.

It involved the following gifs:

And it involved lots of feelings. And, not that there's anything with several thousand words about my feelings but, honestly, it really was too much. I've copied that text out and moved it to a document where only I can be tortured by its rambling, potentially incoherent length.

Here is the essence of the post:
I've had a lot of weird, unexplained health problems for a long time. I happened across a lightbulb-inducing article about a medical condition called Ehlers Danlos Syndrome and suddenly all kinds of things in my life started to click together. I went to the doctor and asked her about it and she, having another patient with EDS, said, "Yep. You got it." And referred me to a specialist (I have yet to visit) regarding an official diagnosis.

I am currently dealing with the emotional and physical implications of this preliminary (but, let's be honest, everything--everything--fits too well for it to not be this) diagnosis. If you're interested you can read about Ehlers Danlos on the EDNF site or in this Buzzfeed post which, if I'm honest, I don't like the tone of but the information is condensed and arranged for easier digestion. And here's a nice, well-organized rundown about it from a blogger in the UK. Ehlers Danlos presents in all kinds of different ways and, while my body is a ridiculous mishmash of weirdness, I don't seem to have this to any really serious or severe degree and that's good news. Basically this diagnosis (there's no cure) means that I understand my body, my history, my limitations, and my potential better than I did before and, in the end, that's a good thing.

Adaptation Etc.

A little over two weeks ago a text conversation with my husband went like this:

Me: I got the heart monitor.

Him: How bad is it?

Me: There's a lot of cords and electrodes and a sensor and there's also a phone you have to wear around.

Him: Will you be ok with all of that?

Me: I am Borg. I will adapt.

So then two weeks went along. And in that two weeks a lot of stuff happened. I expected one very sick grandma to die (she didn't) and didn't even think about the other grandma (who then died) and I had problems with my work and with my art and my allergies wreaked havoc on my sinuses and chest. And my chest wall injury refuses to heal which means I've had to lay off benchpress (my favorite lift and lifting is how I avoid needing therapy/prozac) for three months and I really expected it to get better. And all the while I went around my house and the grocery store and the gym with electrodes attached to my body, cords hanging off, a sensor that beeped for no reason sometimes, a phone that vibrated noisily if I got too far away from it. I didn't like it but, like I said, I would adapt.

Or not.

I have very pale, very thin, very easily damaged skin. The electrodes were itchy and, after a few days, they started to burn. I rotated the patch placement but there's only so far you can move them as they have to be attached in specific places on your body to get an accurate picture of your heart. The skin wasn't healing nearly fast enough.

I finally called the doctor and asked if there was anything that could be done throwing around words like: welts, weeping, and scabs. They hung up and, I suppose, talked amongst themselves then called back after a few minutes and informed me that I could take the whole thing off and send it back--they had enough information. 

I was FREEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!! 

I actually, really did this. I boxed up my monitor and then went out for a run. It was glorious. I mean, the pollen count where I live is about 9000% at the moment so I was hacking and wheezing by the time I got back but, whatever, I was free. 

I didn't realize how much this thing had weighed on me. Maybe if my February hadn't already been so ridiculous. Maybe if I'd been able to go about my regular workout routine. Or maybe if my parents' moms weren't both dying at the same time with my dad's birthday sandwiched in for good measure. Or maybe if I'd managed to be productive in my writing or hadn't had to cancel two commissions. Or maybe if various other things hadn't happened, I wouldn't have felt so encumbered by the wires and the sensor and the stupid phone. As it was I felt like that time The Doctor wrote an autobiographical holonovel and everyone playing his program had to wear a fifty pound backpack to symbolize his connection to his mobile emitter. 

Photons be free! 

I realize, of course, that there are plenty of people who go about their days with assistance devices (and the problems they cause) as their constant companions and I'm bitching about something I only had to do one time for two weeks. But this is my blog and, as I've reiterated over and over again, it's as much (or more) about me as it is about Star Trek so I get to do crap like this. And, I think, part of my issue with all of this is that I couldn't, contrary to what I'd said, adapt. As soon as I had an option out, I took it. And that frustrates me for some reason. Not enough to make me put the monitor back on. I already walked that business down to the post office. But, still. It's bothersome.

Anyway, right this very second I'm continuing my re-watch of TNG and it's goofy as hell. 

They have no idea who they are or what they're doing. They're stuck in the trap of basically just mimicking the Trek that came before. It's all over the place. The Ferengis are ridiculous. The science is subpar. The dialogue is dated and heavy-handed. It goes on and on. Still, there is the seed of something great here. Patrick Stewart is obviously amazing. The rest of the crew has clear potential. It really is a new generation for Star Trek but it's young and awkward. It's like that gawky eighth grade school picture you never want anyone to find. But, of course, if you were never that weird, awkward kid, you'd never be the awesome adult (who complains relentlessly about trivial health issues on the internet) you are now. 

TNG Re-Watch: The Naked Now

So, The Naked Now. This is a classic. I realize it's a classic. I realize it spawned the classic phrase, "Fully Functional." It's memorable and it's weird and it's an homage to TOS's The Naked Time but I watched it yesterday and a few things struck me:

1- WTF? Why is there no kind of quarantine procedure here? The Enterprise investigates a ship where the crewmen were acting like a bunch of goons and ended up killing themselves yet they send a team over without any sort of sensible precautions. At least in The Naked Time they were wearing space suits--yes, they also stuck their grimy hands all over everything and then rubbed their noses but at least they made some kind of effort.

"But it itches!"
(You can't hear me but I'm totally doing a weird voice as I mock him.) 

2- Geordie, OMG why are you touching everything?!

And given that Geordie touches all the things, why, when he gets back does Crusher basically just say, "Welp. The scans aren't showing anything and there's no way that, on this mission to seek out all kinds of stuff we don't yet know about, there could be something I don't know about yet."
Crusher does keep him in the sick bay but not in any sort of quarantine so when he feels like it he just up and walks out.

3- Data can get drunk/sick/infected. This is a fairly dangerous precedent to set so early on. Data can contract a disease? (Would it then be referred to as a computer virus? BWAHAHAHAHA) I'm not saying this is the wrong thing to do, or even that actually stick to it. I can't really remember right now. Either way, it seems foolhardy to burn that bridge in episode two--even if Brent Spiner is a great comic actor and without these scenes we'd never have the phrase "fully functional" in our geek lexicon.

4- There is no effort made, at any point in this one, to contain all the drunk idiots. When they realize Tasha's drunk no one says, "We should probably put up some force fields around her" or "We should send some medical guys down there with gloves and masks to round her up." No. Just let her wander around the lower decks like it's a pub crawl. I'm sure everything'll be fine.

I still love this episode for all the reasons I detailed in my first post about The Naked Now. It's a classic for a reason. Trek is a show where people don't really talk about feelings or hug each other or cry. Getting them all wasted is actually a smart way to strip the TNG crew of their inhibition. They can reveal their desires, their pasts, their secret thoughts. Geordie wants to see like his peers. Troi wants Riker. Crusher and Picard want each other. Westley wants cake. And Tasha, heartbreakingly, wants gentleness.

But TNG is still in its infancy here. The last time I saw Naked Now was immediately following TOS and I was still enchanted by the early days and early ways of Trek. And, of course, there is something to be said for that era but Trek evolved, along the way, into something different. Something quieter with a more concerted effort to be thoughtful and scientific. Since I last saw Naked Now I watched all the rest of Trek and then all of Voyager over again. So things like The Doctor's quarantine field in sick bay (which he could enter because of his hologram-ness)and Janeway's ability to brainstorm along with the chief engineer are fresh in my mind. In this early episode Trek is still Adventure SciFi and that's not really a bad thing--even if I might balk at some of these issues now. Without Naked Now it would've taken much longer to get at all the character stuff. As it is, we get a shortcut into the unfinished business between Troi and Riker, the latent longing of Picard and Crusher, the secret desire of Geordi, and the disturbing, affecting background of Tasha. Without Naked Now do we ever ship PiCrusher? Certainly we would lose "Fully Functional" and, far more importantly, we would lose the heart in the first really, truly emotional episode of TNG-- Measure of a Man.

So, ok, I'll take the dodgy science and bad medical practices if it means that I still get this:

An Understanding

I realize I'm supposed to be writing about The Original Series but here it is February 17th and I'm doing this:

No, my socks do not match.

It's not exactly that I've had a hard time with The Original Series. I've rather enjoyed seeing Kirk and Spock and the mad sets and the velour tunics. But, as much as I love the curios weirdness of TOS, I will always find comfort in the familiarity of Next Generation. And, at the moment, comfort is what I need.

My grandma died nine days ago--not the one who was and still is in hospice care. The other one. The one who still seemed strong as an ox. It's strange.

She was my paternal grandma and we were never very close. Growing up, I often felt unwanted and she always managed amplify that feeling. She was blatant about the fact that I would never be treated as well as my male cousin because I wouldn't carry on my maiden name because I was a girl. She whipped me with a fly swatter when I was naughty. She told me terrible things about my mother (real or true, I'll never know) that no kid should ever hear. Our interactions were always thorny and tangled.

When I was a kid, living with my dad after my parents' divorce, he dropped me off every weekend with my grandparents. My cousin (just two years younger) was there as well and, in these weekends, he became my best friend. Every Sunday night we all watched Touched By An Angel on CBS followed by The X-Files on FOX. Angel was my grandma's show. X-Files was mine, obviously. In this way, we had an understanding. TV bonded us for two hours at a time every week. I came to enjoy Touched By An Angel and she ultimately fell in love with the paranormal weirdness of The X-Files. These Sundays became sacred.

She died abruptly but not suddenly--on a Sunday. She'd been taken to the hospital on a Friday and told she wouldn't have much time as the infection she'd developed was too advanced. It was enough time that my family (with the exception of me) could see her. Then on Sunday morning she asked to read the bible with her two daughters. My aunts picked out their favorite passages and she picked out hers and they read together and then she sat up in bed, smiled, and held her arms aloft as if she were entering an embrace. And then she died.

My grandma was herself until the end--and after. When my family took to the arrangements they found them already made. My grandma had planned her own funeral. She picked out her coffin, paid for her plot, and decided on the services well in advance. She'd even recorded video of herself to be played at the funeral.

It's only now that I see how alike we were. She planned everything out in advance. She charted weeks' worth of dinners before Pinterest made it en vogue. She planned out of habit, out of necessity. A lifetime of poverty had given her the shielding and know-how to not only survive but thrive in a pinch. She didn't want to be a burden on her family. Nor did she want to stick around so long everyone forgot the strong, capable, fierce woman she had been. And she had been fierce.

Maybe that's why we always butted heads. Maybe our personalities clashed because we are both so unrelenting, so determined, so fierce.

The last time I saw her was on Christmas Day. I was back in Kentucky and planned to see Star Wars with my dad. I was surprised that, not only were my dad and sisters there, but also my aunts and grandma who, in spite of her diabetes, seemed strong and healthy. The theatre was tiny and it was packed. We didn't sit together. But, just like all those episodes of The X-Files, my grandma watched, enjoyed, appreciated the movie. When it was over we met in the lobby and she grabbed my face and said, "I just wanted to see you one more time before I died. I want you to know how much I love you and how proud I am of you."

My grandma may have been misguided about a lot of things when it came to raising me, when it came to the measured way she doled out affection, when it came to the level of ferocity with which she protected her little family. I never understood her. Not until I was an adult and had more distance, not only from her but from my own childhood and from hers. She had been unwanted. Dropped off on one relative after another. A little girl in the foothills of Appalachia never made to feel worthy. When she found my grandpa she held on tight. When they had their only son, she held on tight. When they had two daughters, she held on tight. Constantly clutching at her family. Constantly providing. Constantly proving her worth--even to the people who loved her and relied on her. Lashing out at anything or anyone who might take them away from her. I get her a little better now.

I spent innumerable weekends sitting on the sofa beside her, calling a truce two hours at a time. I longed to be Scully. I longed to escape my feelings of unworthiness, to be capable and strong and fierce, to have adventures and see the greater world. I wonder now what my grandma wanted. Did she watch with an eye on Tess? Did she want to be tough and gruff with a gooey center? Did she want to be wise and all-knowing and smarter than everyone else in the room? Did she want to set an example of how to survive and maybe even thrive as a nobody-woman in a world that's always trying to beat you down? I don't know.

I'll always cherish those hours, though. Those two hours of TV, every weekend, when we were forced together and always, in spite of how different or how much the same were were, came to an understanding.

TOS Re-watch: The Man Trap

I finally did it. I watched The Man Trap yesterday after pretty much taking a month off from Star Trek and blogging. And you know what's strange? It didn't occur to me until much later, as I was making dinner, that Leonard Nimoy is dead.

I watched The Cage last month, of course, and didn't even think about it. I watched the whole of The Man Trap, where we get our first real glimpse of what Trek would be, and I thought about Spock's character, I thought about the sets, the costumes, the way it's so rich that Kirk tells McCoy not to be ruled by his "glands." I didn't think about the fact that this is my first re-watch of The Original Series since Nimoy died.

For a moment I felt guilty. I should've spent several seconds in silent solemnity as the credits rolled for the first time and Nimoy's name appeared. But I didn't. I was finishing up a painting and drinking coffee and worried about nine million other things and it didn't even occur to me that I should feel anything other than the same familiar nostalgia I've always felt when watching Trek.

Maybe it's because we lost DeForest Kelley and James Doohan a long time ago. Maybe it's because I already felt Nimoy's death so keenly and let it go. Maybe it's because the actors are never their characters--as much as we might want them to be--and even if Nimoy did die, Spock is still right here on my TV. It's his familiar voice that lets me know everything will probably still be ok. It's his skinny build in his blue velour uniform that makes me smile. It's still his way of infuriating the more outwardly emotional people around him that I identify with.

In January I had my birthday--it was lovely. I saw Star Wars for the 8th and 9th times--and loved it more with each viewing. I kept having weird heart palpitations and (after ten years of not-very-well-explained fainting spells) finally made an appointment with a cardiologist. I painted very little. I wrote even less. I turned down multiple commissions and ended up cancelling one that was going too slowly. I worried about my health and then worried some more. What if there's something very wrong with me? What if I don't wake up one morning? What if I never finish my work? Why do I think my work is so important? I spent some (likely ill-advised) time on Web MD. I played so many hours of Fallout 4. I worked on the query for a book I'm dying to send out but anxious about its prospects. I actually picked up the phone and called my mom because her mom is going into hospice care. I felt annoyed with myself for not being more torn up about it.

Then, yesterday, I watched The Man Trap. And I didn't think about losing Leonard Nimoy. And that's ok. Leonard Nimoy was amazing. He brought life to a character that has been and will continue to be beloved by millions. And that character is still alive and well in marvelous technicolor. He's part of a greater family, a greater story, a greater home. It's a home that I can always go back to, after a month of strange ups and downs, and it won't mind how long I've been away. Like any home, it's flawed. It's getting on a bit. Its ideas, while forward for its time, are more dated now. Its music, clothes, and style are a little old fashioned. But I still love it. I know everything it's done for me over the years. Everything it will continue to do. It's still comforting, still comfortable, still safe to sit with Star Trek and know that, whatever has happened in my day, it's there.

The Cage

Do you know how many times I've watched "The Cage" on New Year's Eve? I've been doing this blog since 2013 but actually started it on December 31st, 2012 when I re-watched the strange Star Trek pilot with my dad. Since then it's become a reluctant New Year's tradition. I don't hate The Cage at all. (Though every time The Menagerie comes on I find something else to do while I watch it) The thing is, I've thought about it and written about it a lot already. Still, I went ahead and watched it at the beginning of this year and... it was nice. It was nice to return to The Original Series, especially in this, the 50th anniversary year of Star Trek. My plan for 2016 (since sometime in 2015) has been to focus the blog this year on TOS.

But then I got really bogged down. I spent most of December catching up on the work I missed out on when I was so sick in November. Then we took a whirlwind trip home and visit our friends and family and, of course it was lovely to see all of them but, at the same time, there's really only so much I can take. Additionally, my chest pain (from a suspected intercostal strain) has persevered and seems, at times, worse than ever. This, in conjunction with some creative issues, meant that I pretty much spent the first week of 2016 in a major slump. My dad bought me Fallout 4 for Christmas (because he really does know me) and I put it in the Xbox and didn't come out of The Commonwealth for about four days. This, of course, made me feel guilty. Shouldn't I be working, writing, drawing, blogging, writing emails, cleaning the house, taking down the Christmas Tree? Shouldn't I be productive. My heart was skipping beats. It was racing. I was freaking out about taking a break.

The thing is, I've been told by many people, that I'm the hardest working person they know and I tend to only reluctantly admit how much I really do work. I typically spend 12-14 hours every day working. When I sit down in the morning it's the first thing I do and I have to physically make myself stop at night. Wanna know how I pulled my intercostal muscles? Thirty-two days spent on a huge art project wherein I was sort of bent/twisted over my work for up to sixteen hours in a day--every day. I was in the middle of doing the fine line work on a pen and ink hare when there was a crazy spasm in my chest that snatched my breath away. I still haven't had the will to go back to the hare. Every time I look at it my chest hurts.

Anyway, I finally whittled down my Fallout time and went back to work but then, David Bowie died. And then Alan Rickman died. And it was sort of the last straw on a whole other front for me. (Oh my god, this is a long blog post) I've gotten really tired of reading what everyone thinks about everything. This really hit a crescendo in the flurry of Star Wars. I loved it. My feelings about that movie aren't simple and they won't be reduced to a critique. But I kept seeing my geek friends write things on social media like, "I'm sure you've all been waiting to hear what I thought about The Force Awakens. I really liked and here's all the problems I had with it. " And I think, Nope. I actually don't want to hear what you thought.  It was at this point that I realized I was 1000% done with everyone. When Bowie died and everyone poured their hearts out about him on Facebook I couldn't wrap my head around it. My feelings about his death were so complicated and I thought about writing something--I even started a whole essay about it--but I was so exhausted with everyone else that I realized I shouldn't make other people read what I have to say either. That I'm just shouting into a room already so full of shouting that my voice would never be heard or recognized, that maybe I should just keep my thoughts to myself.

And that idea crept into this blog. Why should I write about "what I thought" about whatever episode of Star Trek? Am I just adding my voice to a meaningless cacophony? Is someone somewhere irritated with me because I'm presumptuous enough to think, "I know you've all been waiting to hear my thoughts about The Cage."

<long sigh>

I don't know.

<longer sigh>

When I first started this project, I did it because Star Trek had always meant a lot to me, because I had been stuck in a weird creative rut, because I wanted to examine my life through the lens of pop culture. Early on I realized that I wanted to be a positive voice in a community (the general geek community) that often ends up focusing only on the negative or the minute dissection of something that was never meant to be pulled apart in that way. I wanted to talk about something I love and I wanted to more closely examine my life with the help of something I love and maybe become a better writer/person in the process. I think this blog has done that for me. And will continue to do so.

I don't expect people to sit around wringing their hands, waiting for me to post about a fifty year old episode of television--or even the death of a beloved actor or musician. This project has always been as much (more) for me than for anyone else--though I'm very, very glad some of you have showed up and stuck around. It really does mean so much to me that my little voice, in this little corner of the biggest, craziest, noisiest room in existence, carries. 2016 will be The Year of The Original Series. Maybe, The Year of Spock. And I do hope you'll be here. But, even if you're not, I'm going to keep writing.