Counselor Troi

At work, me and two junior executives talked about Generations, the upcoming Star Trek movie. They say they can’t wait to see the movie.

I can. I can wait a long time.

I’ve always been a Star Trek fan, and been to all the movies on the day they opened. This movie, though, will be the bottom bill at a discount double feature in a month or two, because Star Trek: The Next Generation is taking over the Star Trek franchise.

I never enjoyed the second series as much as the original Trek. Data is fine but he’s no Spock, you know? The first few years of STTNG were so dull and plodding, I stopped watching. The show got better so I came back, but how many times did they bring Q on again and again, when the writers couldn’t think of a decent story to tell?

My biggest complaint, though, is Counselor Deanna Troi. The concept of her is repellent — a thought-patrol agent, searching everyone's minds without a warrant. That’s her job.

And she's not merely scanning aliens' and enemies' minds for signs of treachery, she’s also the ship’s shrink. Everyone’s on the Enterprise is supposed to come to Counselor Troi with their problems. You'd better tell the truth, too, because she knows when you're lying, and knows your emotions, maybe better than you do.

And in addition to oozing herself all over your moods and feelings, she also writes performance reviews for everyone on the crew, which seems like a major conflict of interest for a shrink. Your boss is also your psychiatrist, and walks around between your ears, and always knows whether you're happy, sad, grumpy, in love, or in despair? Uh, beam me down. I'd rather work for Burger King.

This new movie, Star Trek Generations, has one thing going for it, though, and that’s the secret everyone’s known for months — Captain Kirk is supposed to die. William Shatner has always been Star Trek’s weak link, so I’m already applauding Kirk's death scene.

Please, Paramount Pictures — don’t pull a Spock with Kirk. Spock died in Star Trek II, but came back to life in Star Trek III. When Kirk dies, please, keep him dead.

♦ ♦ ♦

The office's main photocopier was fixed yesterday, so today I came in early and stayed late at the office, and got the October issue printed. Sure is convenient that the company has lax security, and never searches my backpack.

After work, with no breaks and no dinner, I did nothing but fold and staple and stuff envelopes, from 5:45 when I got home until 8:51 when my work here was done. Then came two beers, one to celebrate getting the zines out, and one to hold back the mouth pain. I’m already tired of beer, though, so I stirred in cinnamon and sugar. Not recommended.

And all evening long while I was doing the above, an alarm has been sounding down the block. It’s still going. It’s not a car alarm; I have all the car alarms memorized. This is more industrial, more loudly insistent, like a warning that nuclear meltdown is underway. It has three distinct horns, squawking in rhythm and always in the same sequence, and every few minutes it stops ... then starts up again.

I’m eating dinner now. If the alarm is still sounding when I’m done eating, vengeance is mine.

♦ ♦ ♦

You know what’s almost as annoying as hearing that alarm for three hours? I put some raw eggs in Tupperware, and put the Tupperware and a hammer in my backpack, and rode the elevator down … but during the elevator ride the noise finally stopped.

♦ ♦ ♦

There’s a melody from Silk Stockings last Friday, and it won’t stop whistling in my head tonight. Can I egg and hammer that?

From Pathetic Life #6
Wednesday, November 9, 1994

This is an entry retyped from an on-paper zine I wrote many years ago, called Pathetic Life. The opinions stated were my opinions then, but might not be my opinions now. Also, I said and did some disgusting things, so parental guidance is advised.

Pathetic Life 

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