My hands smell like llama. It was worth it.

I got really hung up on the title for this entry. I want to make it, among other things, one of the following gems:

• "I'll tell you I love you when I catch my breath, post Zebra-Escaping-Sprint"


• "I'm not a smoker because dudes in hot tubs don't want in my pants badly enough to share cigarettes"


• "When you make fun of Trekkies and their commitment to the canon, it hurts me....we...we can still make out, though. I'd, uh, I'd be totally cool with that. Really. Totally cool."

and, my possible favorite,

• "All my life in an elaborate-lead in for an 80s-movie-themed music video."

Sometimes I worry about the wisdom of this blog. Many times I worry about the wisdom of this blog. This blog's wisdom is questioned for the following reasons:

• My students have the interwebs. It is but a matter of time before someone's bored enough to stumble across this bloggyblog. Most of the funny things that happen in my life are not, strictly speaking, the things I also think set up the most I-Am-A-Figure-Of-Authority-And-You-Are-My-Student relationship possible. Who, though, really wants to blog about non-funny things?


• One of the funniest things in my life semi-recently told me that this is the exact kind of blog he has some contempt for - the kind of blog that's just sort of...hey guys! Some things happened to me! And, you know, I care a lot about what people think? That's...in fact...why I have a blog.


• EMPLOYMENT! THE LOOMING THREAT OF ALL INTERNET ACTIVITY RUINING FUTURE EMPLOYMENT, etc.

Anywhoosles, allow me to tell you a story: My friend Chelsea, sometime around 11th grade (for those of you in the audience, that means she was 16 going on 17) was once stopped at a gas station by a band of Hot Indie Dudes who, upon being overcome by her beauty, wanted her to hop in their van and ride up to their NYC show. Chels, being educated in the ways of Stranger Danger, declined, but politely listened to the free CD the boys gave her, developed a taste for the band, and became a big fan. Fast forward two years to me, very uncomfortably in a hot tub (for which, let's keep in mind, I was NOT appropriately attired - though I'm going to go ahead and say my dress was damn cute anyway) in some random dude's house, post this band's show. With two girls members of the band Have The Hots For (oh, excuse me, Are Just Friends With), women who I adore and respect and who are Way Too Good For These Dudes. Srsly.

Fast forward to: AND THEN MY LIFE WAS HILARIOUS. Last night's is one of those stories I will never be able to do justice to, mainly because it's hilarity stems from its cliche nature. Tortured men, tempted by the Younger Women They Love, but loyal (ish) to The Women They've Left At Home. Beautiful young women...in a hot tub...after a rock show...with bottles of wine and cigarettes and laughter and quite the air of Movies About Rock Stars mystery. Me: the Overly Internal Not Lusted After Mother-Hen Type, torn between her desire to leave (fully aware that her friends can take care of themselves), her desire to stay (because when the hell else is this kind of thing going to happen to her), and her desire to smack someone in the head. We were a walking stereotype, and I'm kind of okay with it. I kind of love my life.

Allow me to tell you another story: this story features prominently Running The Fuck Away From Llamas:

The llama pictured above, poised to freaking kill us all, is one of the many inhabitants of the Safari Adventure located in scenic Natural Bridge, VA. Safari Adventure sounds like a really good idea...mainly because it is...but it is also WROUGHT WITH TERROR. I say to you this, and only this: you think feeding the animals is going to be a really, really good idea until you're suddenly in a car of college students shrieking like scared 8-year-olds, yelling "DRIVE! DRIVE! DRIVE! FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, MEG, DRIVE!"

Zebras know. THEY KNOW.

Story number the last: There are many out there who are, far and away, bigger fans of Star Trek than I, this I readily admit. But how many people can claim that they've connected with a guy on a college-party dance-floor by asking, in earnest, "Do you ever feel like watching the Next Generation feels like coming home?" and receiving (again, in earnest) the reply, "Why do you think I still watch?"? Hm? Not many, I'd wager. Not. Too. Many.

I understand, Mr. Abrams, the need for Pointy Ships, Big 'Splosions, and loathsome loathsome I-am-death-to-everything-Meg-loves-when-I-touch-it Eric Bana. I really, in my heart-of-hearts understand your need for canoic change. Sure, I'll probably bluster around for a bit more about "Just Because Superman And Spiderman Can Do It, Doesn't Mean You Can Touch What I Love, Mr. Abrams! J.J? What's that stand for JERK...JERKFACE?!" and so on, but I understand. The canon had, I'm sure, grown restrictive. One of the beautiful things about the way Star Trek had successfully grown before, though, was its reliance on building forward, rather than having one, central, mythical creature around which everything needed to resolve. That's why Superman and Spiderman were more difficult, you see, Mr. Abrams. Each new creator felt the pressure to wipe the slate clean because one man can have but so many attachments. Star Trek was worlds and galaxies - a mythology based on the spirit of adventure, though I will readily admit much of the most satisfying adventure was to be found in the interpersonal relationships build aboard those ships.

So yes, I understand where you're coming from - the urge to seize onto an iconic figure, to build around his story (how very American) but the creative restriction decades of canon must have imposed. I understand it, and I think you handled it kind of confusingly, but I still probably don't exactly fault you for it. I do, though, fault you for letting them (the Pretty New Ones ) make fun of me, make fun of us, mock our possibility of indignation as Stodgy and Old and Delusional. Recognize what you're doing, sir: thousands of people cling to this canon because, at 2am on sketchy-house-party-dance-floors across the nation, people are hooking up because Star Trek felt like going home.