Me and my big mouth. As I wrote last week, I’m engaged (subtle pun: did you pick up on it?) in doing research for an article on Star Trek: The Next Generation. I casually tossed an assertion into a meeting of a salon of which I’m a member that Star Trek: TNG was the culmination of Roddenberry’s thinking in which he finally came to his matured conclusion that our future society was to be a socialist one; and that he presented that as his thesis in Star Trek: TNG. Me and my big mouth. A member of the salon invited me to “tease that up,” as he called it, into a 3000 word article for his academic journal.
Me. My big mouth. His “teasing up” has become a marathon research project for which I’m re-watching every episode of the seven years (and back then they had 25-week seasons) and re-reading every screenplay (for there are some significant missing pieces in the scripts accessible to me and the shows as broadcast.) So, in the week since I’ve begun that process I’ve watched 47 hours of Star Trek: The Next Generation.
I did not think it could ever happen to me. This is probably the 10th time I’ve watched some of these shows. I love the series so much; it’s right near the top of my favorite moving image stories of all times, right up there with Bulworth. However, I find myself being bored at times and—bereft of the rapt attention the show deserves—typing Christmas emails as I watch. Some stories require no note-taking at all. Some are clearly dumb. Some were written by writers who didn’t adhere to Roddenberry’s direction. Some are…just…not up to par. Nevertheless, I slog on. Another month of full-time work and I should have this article finished.
The rest of my work sits neglected.
Star Trek: The Accidental Marathon.