Tag: Lileks

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Does a mother recall the first cry of her baby, I wondered? I still remember the strange cry at birth of that new violin. — “The Noblest Instrument” from Clarence Day’s Life with Father One evening when I was six, I wandered out to our big front porch to see my mom laughing breathlessly over […]

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Where No Non-specific-gender Person Has Gone Before


Star TrekCBS is bringing back “Star Trek,” but it’ll cost you. Forty quatloos or whatever the price for their streaming service turns out to be. Comments at Variety are just what you’d expect: the producer is the wrong guy, they should do that other show, won’t pay, et cetera. “Star Trek” fans — at least the vocal ones — will repay the resurrection of their beloved franchise by nit-picking the next iteration to bloody bits.

Predictions: A few PC boxes will be checked to ensure peace and quiet from the critics and the perpetually aggravated. The ship will be bright and shiny inside, with lots of blue, the Official Color of the Future. Everyone will be adept at typing on glass screens during moments of crisis. There will be a Vulcan, because you have to have at least one laconic, sarcastic stuck-up character, and there will be an Engineer and a Doctor. There will be six writers who give up trying to find new ways to inhabit these archetypes. It will be set in the new Trek timeline, which gives the writers the freedom to ignore many of the things that dictated the breadth of the plot lines.

Savaged by fans keen to show they are pure, it will slowly get better, but the true fans will not accept this, and regard it as an abomination that happens when you don’t listen to people who really nailed the whole problem with Trek in the 547th nested comment on a subreddit dedicated to the third season of “Voyager.”

Anti-Pro-Choice Choices


When you see a bumper sticker that says “choose life,” your blood might boil. Oh, the car’s occupant may say it’s a pro-adoption sentiment, but you know what they’re really about. They oppose abortion, probably because of the dictates of big beardy Sky Daddy who thinks eight cells are the equivalent of Neil DeGrasse Tyson. This person probably walks around the crisis pregnancy center with a placard full of horrible pictures (not that the pictures themselves are wrong — they’re just gross, and triggering, and unfair, and totally unscientific. Just because something has a face doesn’t mean it’s human. I mean, those could be gummis). The driver is TAUNTING everyone. Choose life. Hah. Where are you when the unwanted child is born? Do you show up with diapers and money? No? Well, then keep your sentiments to yourself. Bet you watch the Duggars.

Most people who see “Choose Life” bumperstickers let it go, and perhaps confine themselves to glaring at the driver. But it’s possible that someone might speed up and ram the car, causing it to spin out and creating a chain-reaction pile-up that endangers public safety. So it’s a really, really good thing that the “Choose Life” license plate has been squashed in New York. Reuters:

36 Square Feet Is All You Need


16278989_0a7403bd05_zLook. If some kooky prof wants to live in a Dumpster, that’s fine by me. You know those crazy eggheads: if they’re not holing themselves up in a lab to invent Flubber, they’re porin’ through Shakespeare’s sonnets to prove the Dark Lady was actually an albino man. Crrazy!

But when they start tellin’ me I could be happy camped out in some bin the size of the trunk of my old man’s DeSoto I gotta laugh — maybe my brother, Frank, he could sleep anywhere, guy sawed some Zs at Anzio, swear to God — but when they say hey, it’s a chance to think about what we really need, about whether we shouldn’t want anything more, I get itchy. I mean, so’s you know, it’s not like I’m livin’ in a mansion or nothin’, but if lovin’ my house here in the burbs is wrong, I don’t wanna be Frank Lloyd Wright.

But then, all of a sudden, it turns out to be about Environmental Justice, and that’s when I know we have a problem. They’re always on about what you shouldn’t want. Turns out I’m bad for wanting a hot shower. On account of it’s not sustainable. I guess moistening my angles with a damp sponge — sustainably harvested, natch — is the way to go. Anyhow, no one involved in this thing seems to have a job where they make anything but speeches and policy, so I got to hand it to the guy who figured out a way to make college students bring him water, even if he had to boil it so he didn’t get the cramps.