Caption Contest!

Hello all--reporting in from Virginia, where I've been visiting family. I've had so much fun visiting that I haven't spent much time on my poor, neglected blog. In fact, I even owe this week's caption contest to the keen eye of Julianna . . . and it's perfect:
Have at it, folks!

Caption Winner~Gratz Womanwarrior!

McCoy: "Where are we, why doesn't this booze taste like anything...and who IS that guy?"

Spock: "I do not know, Doctor...but I HATE what he has done with the place!"

Hard-wiring, Part One

by J. Rosemary Moss

Genre: Star Trek AOS (Star Trek XI); Kirk-McCoy; Slash

Rating: PG-13

Comments: Any and all welcome.

Summary: Bones tries to distract Jim from challenging a guy who should be classified as a psychopath . . .

~oOo~

I shook my head at Jim as I knelt in front of him, fixing up the cuts and bruises from his latest brawl. “God damn idiot,” I said out loud.

He rolled his eyes and slumped in the chair. “Don’t worry, Bones—it happened off campus.”

I grunted. That was a plus, I suppose. There was a chance that nobody knew. Maybe Jim wouldn’t get his ass kicked out of the Academy, especially since he was crashing in my off-campus apartment. No one but me would see him like this.

No one, that is, except the other guy in the fight. Fortunately Jason Craig would keep his mouth shut; he didn’t want to get kicked out either.

I shook my head again. “I told you to stay away from him.”

I ought to have held my breath—Jim just gave me a mock obedient look and said, “I’m sorry Daddy. Please don’t tan me too hard.”

I grinned despite myself. I’d tan his ass into leather if I thought it’d do any good, but who was I kidding?

Look, I’m not being overprotective of the kid. I’m pretty sure that Jason Craig meets all the diagnostic criteria of what we officially like to call ‘anti-social personality disorder.’ To put it unofficially, the guy’s a psychopath.

No, I’m not a God-damned psychiatrist. And, yeah, Jason got through all the psychological examinations that Starfleet uses to weed out the psychopaths. Nonetheless, I’m going with my gut on this one.

I’m not saying he’s an ax murderer. He has to be pretty functional to survive as a student in Starfleet Academy. Even though he’s in security and not medicine, I’ve had to work with him on and off. He’s always polite enough and even deferential. But beneath that veneer of good manners there’s something cold in him. He doesn’t care about anyone or empathize with anyone. He can’t read people or react to them properly, because they’re not real to him. Other people are either tools or impediments—nothing more.

It's no wonder he's gotten into so many fights. Yeah, yeah, so has Jim. But Jim's not a psychopath. If anything, Jim has an excess of empathy.

If Jim had any sense he’d just stay away from the guy. But this is Jim we’re talking about. The concept of backing down was never wired into his brain.

Meanwhile, Jason thinks Jim insulted him somehow. I wasn’t there when it happened, but I gather that Jim said something stupid and/or tactless. One of these days I’ll get the story from someone impartial enough to give it to me straight. But whatever Jim said, Jason took it far too seriously. Now he regards Jim as the enemy.

And Jim, being Jim, refuses to smooth things over or just avoid the guy.

Jim grinned at the look on my face, bringing me back to the present. Then, before I guessed his intention, he leaned down and kissed me on the lips. I just let my mouth hang open there, doing my damnedest not to respond.

Did I mention that Jim’s a sex addict? All you need to attract him is a pulse. Hell, I wouldn’t even trust him around the cadavers. Ok, ok—I’m exaggerating. I hope.

This isn’t the first time that Jim’s come on to me. I’m sure it won’t be the last. But I’m not having any of it.

“Stop that,” I said as he finally leaned back in his chair. “I’m not interested.”

He snorted in disbelief. I felt my face growing hot in response. “I’m not,” I insisted. “Look, just for starters, I’m straight.”

“So am I,” he said, grinning at my discomfort. “Most of the time. But don’t be afraid to experiment, Bones. Just think of it as an extension of our friendship.”

“Friends with benefits?”

“Exactly—with no strings attached.”

I shook my head and tried to focus all my attention on one of the cuts on his hand. “No thank you.”

He cocked his head at me. “Is that the problem, Bones? Do you want strings?”

“No,” I answered without looking up at him.” I’m just not interested in you, Jim. Can’t you get that through your thick skull?”

Of course not. I must have forgotten that the whole multiverse revolves around him. He doesn’t accept rejection. And it doesn’t help that there’s something so damned enticing about him . . .

I could feel his eyes on me. “No,” he said at last. “That’s not it. You are interested.”

I felt myself flushing again, but I ignored that fact while I checked his other hand.

Jim leaned toward me. I felt his breath as he whispered into my ear. “I’m going to figure out what it takes to win you over.”

“You think so, huh?” I asked, finally looking up at him. “Why? Because you’ve had so much luck with that xenolinguist?”

He had the grace to grin at that. “Yeah, I’ve lost track of how many times she’s shot me down. But you and me—that’s something different. You’re my best friend, Bones.”

“And let’s just keep it at that. All right, I'm finished here. Get your ass to bed—and try to stay out of trouble.”

He smiled and took himself off to the guest room. Ok, his room. Why bother calling it a guest room? He was in it whenever he wasn’t getting lucky. He probably didn’t even know what his dorm looked like.

I thought I was rid of him for the night, but he stuck his head out of his door for a parting shot. “I’m not giving up on you, Bones,” he warned me.

I rolled my eyes as he disappeared back into his room. There was no way I was going to let that crazy kid talk me into a friends-with-benefits deal. Or any other kind of deal.

Still, if he was bent on seducing me, maybe he’d forget about his rivalry with Jason Craig. I frowned, wondering if I would prove that much of a distraction. It wasn’t likely, but still . . .

I went to bed in a better frame of mind. I wasn’t sure if I could keep Jim’s mind off the psychopath, but I was sure as hell going to try. Oh, nothing was going to happen between Jim and me. I hadn’t gone insane.

But it couldn’t hurt to let him try, right?

Caption Contest!

Anyone want to take a shot at this one? There's quite a bit going on . . .

Footage From the Apollo 11 Moon Landing of 1969 . . .

With Walter Cronkite (November 4, 1916 – July 17, 2009) reporting:



This is just part one. With the appropriate clicking or a visit to Youtube, you can follow the whole landing!

Draco Shines!

I went to see Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince yesterday. No, it's not as good as the book (which, I think, was the best in the series.) Yes, it should have been longer to include more of the book. Yes, I would have been fine with a ten hour film to capture all of the book. =P

Still, this film has a lot going for it, including an excellent cast. Alan Rickman as Snape is, as always, mesmerizing. But Tom Felton as Draco Malfoy--damn, he was good! His sobbing scene is heart-rending, and his whole performance captures Draco's strange mixture of pride and horror at what Voldemort has chosen him to do. . . and how terrified he really is, for himself and for his family.

I may go to see this again just for another look at his performance . . .

Caption Winner~Gratz Julianna!

Ok, I'll admit it. While we had great entries all around, I didn't use the jar this time. Like Liederlady I was still snorting over this one:

Spock: ANOTHER manicure? You must think I’m made of money!

Throughout All Time

by J. Rosemary Moss

Genre: Original Fiction; One-Shot; Flash-Fiction

Rating: PG

Feedback: Any and all comments & critiques welcome and encouraged! (Help me improve my writing . . .)

Summary: One man's wry and grudging observations on the Mourner's Kaddish.

~

“Yitgadal v’yitkadash sh’mei raba . . .”

I mouthed the words along with the cantor and the other mourners. Assuming the guy leading services was a real cantor. Probably not; he was more likely a competent congregant. This synagogue was too poor to afford a full time hazzan.

“b’alma di v’ra, kir’utei,”

I hadn’t been here in years. I hadn’t even come when my father died. I didn’t sit shiva for him either; I was too angry. My wife was appalled—Eileen’s a nice Catholic girl who understands the power of ritual. But I was adamant. I despised the man while he was alive, so I refused to go through the motions of mourning his death.

“v’yamlich malchutei b’chayeichon u-v’yomeichon . . .”

My God, I can’t believe how easily these words come back. That’s why my father forced me to go to Hebrew school, I suppose. He almost never set foot in synagogue himself, yet he wanted to make sure I knew something about it. Bloody hypocrite.

“u-v’chayei d’chol beit Yisrael,”

My parents never lit candles on Shabbat or recited the blessings. We didn’t keep kosher. Hell, even our Seder was just a glorified family dinner. And yet my father made sure I learned enough to feel obliged, on the anniversary of his death, to come and say Kaddish for him. God damned hypocritical bastard.

"ba’agala u-vi-z’man kariv, v’imru amen.”

I kept mouthing the words, even daring to speak up now that I knew I wouldn’t embarrass myself. Part of me wished that I could have stayed home and said it in private, but that was unthinkable. You need ten Jews to say Kaddish—it doesn’t work in isolation. If I was going to recite the damn thing at all, I was going to do it properly.

“Y’hei sh’mei raba m’varach l’alam u-l’almei almaya.”

I rolled my eyes, wondering what my father would think if he could see me honoring his life. “May his memory be a blessing,” people had told me. I had to fight the urge to snort with laughter. Memories of what? Of his hypocrisy? Of his endless criticisms? Of his biting sarcasm? Of the unforgivable things he said about my wife?

“Yitbarach v’yishtabach, v’yitpa-ar v’yitromam v’yitnasei,”

He was good with the grandkids; I’ll give him that. Not that he would have ever have laid eyes on them if it were up to me. But Eileen insisted.

“v’yit-hadar v’yit’aleh v’yit-halal sh’mei d’kudsha, b’rich hu . . .”

It must have killed him to watch us raising the kids Catholic. But why should I have taught them anything about Judaism? Eileen’s the one who cares about religion, not me. Unlike my father, I won’t play the hypocrite for my children.

“l’ela min kol birchata v’shirata, tusb’chata v’nechamata . . .”

That means my kids will never say Kaddish for me. Well, so be it. Why should I care?

“da’amiran b’alma, v’imru amen.”

I closed my eyes, picturing my father saying Kaddish for my grandfather, and my grandfather saying Kaddish for my great-grandfather, and so on back through the generations. The line would end with me. My son would never stand in shul on my yartzeit, the anniversary of my death. He'd never even heard the word yartzeit.

“Y’hei sh’lama raba min sh’maya . . .”

I opened my eyes as the prayer kept tumbling out of me. So my son would never say Kaddish. My father would ask what I expected when I married a gentile. But that wasn’t the problem. Eileen would have gladly taught the kids about Judaism—her idea had been to raise them with a sound knowledge of each faith and let them choose when they got older.

“v’chayim aleinu v’al kol Yisrae-el, v’imru amen.”

I argued that if we were going to give them any religion, it had to be one consistent faith. Otherwise we’d confuse them. They’d end up coldly agnostic like me or in some God-forsaken Messianic congregation. I could stand watching my kids growing up Catholic, but I’d be damned before I’d see them in some crazy Christian ‘synagogue’ filled with pretend Jews.

“Oseh shalom bi-m’romav,”

But for the first time, I thought about what my kids were missing. No, not Hebrew school. I wasn’t cruel enough to force that on them. But to think that I had kids who didn’t know what someone’s yartzeit was . . .

“hu ya’aseh shalom . . .”

I bowed to my left, to my right and then straight ahead. Funny how your body remembers to bow even if your brain doesn’t see the point. Did I believe that I was literally bowing before God’s throne, and to the angels standing to the right and left of it? No, but here I was going through the motions.

“aleinu v’al kol Yisrae-el . . .”

God damn it. It did matter. I almost tripped over the words, stunned, as that realization hit me. I wanted my kids to say Kaddish for me someday, even if they were only going through the motions. I wanted them to learn how to make a real Seder—the kind I only experienced as a guest on second night. I wanted them to argue and question everything in shul. I wanted them to notice that something was missing when the family didn’t sit down together for Shabbat dinner. But I’d already made my choice. I wasn’t about to confuse my kids now. I’d have to play the hypocrite after all and pretend not to care.

“v’imru amen.”

I could do that, I told myself. Of course I could. I knew all about playing the hypocrite: I’d learned from the best.

We Choose the Moon by Womanwarrior

Womanwarrior (aka Mary Chodan) wrote this to let us know about a fascinating website. I'm reprinting it, with her permission, from the SpockMcCoyHaven Yahoo List:

For those of you too young to remember the Moon landing of July 20, 1969, (and those of you who do remember and cherish the event), http://www.wechoosethemoon.org/ is going to recreate the sequence of events that fateful week 40 years ago. Instead of watching it on black and white television, you'll be able to follow it on the website, on Twitter and on email. I urge you to access it if possible. I've been to the site, and it's amazing!

Personally, I'm going to follow it as much as I can, because 40 years ago it was my reality! I was barely 18, just out of high school, and my beloved Star Trek had been canceled. But I still had the Moon landing--a real step into the final frontier! I had followed every launch since Mercury. And because my Dad worked on the space program at Downey Space Center and the Miraloma Road complex in Anaheim, I had actually seen returned space capsules and met real astronauts. This was the ultimate graduation present, the embodiment of what I had resonated to and embraced in Star Trek. For that week, the world watched as one as we dared the eagle's flight, and succeeded.

President Kennedy put it best on May 25, 1961: "We choose to go to the Moon in this decade and do the other things, not because they are easy, but because they are hard, because that goal will serve to organize and measure the best of our energies and skills, because that challenge is one that we are willing to accept, one we are unwilling to postpone and one which we intend to win."

I was nearly 11 years old, and I believed--and still believe--that the intention of his speech is possible. We have only to commit to a worthy goal--ending world hunger, ending illiteracy, or a thousand others--and it CAN happen. It can...IF. WE. WILL. COMMIT.

Thanks for listening!

Mary

Caption Contest!

Ok, even though the good doctor is sadly missing from the shot, I can't help but think that this one will be fun:

Dedicated to one of my cousins . . .

. . . who had never heard of Mikhail Baryshnikov before Sex and the City. She was amazed when my Mom gulped and said, um, yeah--he's one the greatest ballet dancers of all time.

So just to rub it in and feel superior, here's a brilliant clip from White Nights:


Oh, and what the heck. Here's one more. It's from the ballet Don Quixote:

Caption Winner~Gratz Julianna!

So many good ones to choose from--but Julianna keeps her crown!

Remember, Spock. The most powerful sexual organ is the brain.

1776~But, Mr. Adams

In honor of the 4th of July:

Introducing: The Tantalus Field

Check out Liederlady's new Star Trek blog, which begins with a hilarious advertisement from Cyrano Jones.

Laurie (The guy Jo should have married, if she married at all...)

As much as I like Christian Bale in serious, chiseled roles (and it sounds like Melvin Purvis from Public Enemies is one of those), I love him as Theodore Lawrence (aka Teddie or Laurie) in Little Women . He has his serious moments as Laurie, but it's a more light-hearted part:

One haircut coming up...

No more longish hair for me. I'm getting it bobbed today--cut down to size, so to speak. It's a wild, frizzy mess right now that's crying for taming.

So why am I so down about going short? At heart, I suppose, I still dream of having long, unruly curls flowing down my back . . .