They melt in your mouth, not the vaccuum of space
Tonight I went to a Star Trek wake. A memorial event for James Doohan, which I'd heard about from frozbot. I didn't see her there, but I did run into another of the approximately three people in this town I know. A school friend, and his colleague. Names have been omitted to protect the geeky.
The memorial itself was very, very odd. It was a room full of people who all obviously knew everything in the world about Star Trek. There was a large screen on which were shown a bunch of Star Trek clips, as well as a fan-made movie using the Camelot song from Monty Python and the Holy Grail with still more Star Trek clips. There was a bagpiper playing Amazing Grace. There was a respectful period of silence. A number of people in the audience told stories of their memories of James Doohan, while I desperately tried not to laugh too loudly. I'm afraid the whole proceedings made me completely giggly, mostly because so many of the people there seemed so deadly serious.
We tried to go look at the rest of the Science Fiction Museum, but it was closed for the evening, so all we could do was look at the intricate models of space stations and rockets that were in the hallway, and marvel at the sight of two M&Ms that had gone into space and returned.
Afterwards, school friend and colleague and I wandered outside, decided it was too nice an evening to waste, and went out for some drinks. We ended up on Capitol Hill, in the vampire's den bar we'd been to on the day of graduation, and spent several philosophical hours eating nachos, discussing the fear of darkness, and toasting Scotty. I will not attempt to reproduce the conversation here; it will simply have to fall into the category of performance art, ephemeral, leaving no traces except in the memories of those who were present.
It was a good conversation. It was a good time. They were some pretty damn good nachos, too.
The memorial itself was very, very odd. It was a room full of people who all obviously knew everything in the world about Star Trek. There was a large screen on which were shown a bunch of Star Trek clips, as well as a fan-made movie using the Camelot song from Monty Python and the Holy Grail with still more Star Trek clips. There was a bagpiper playing Amazing Grace. There was a respectful period of silence. A number of people in the audience told stories of their memories of James Doohan, while I desperately tried not to laugh too loudly. I'm afraid the whole proceedings made me completely giggly, mostly because so many of the people there seemed so deadly serious.
We tried to go look at the rest of the Science Fiction Museum, but it was closed for the evening, so all we could do was look at the intricate models of space stations and rockets that were in the hallway, and marvel at the sight of two M&Ms that had gone into space and returned.
Afterwards, school friend and colleague and I wandered outside, decided it was too nice an evening to waste, and went out for some drinks. We ended up on Capitol Hill, in the vampire's den bar we'd been to on the day of graduation, and spent several philosophical hours eating nachos, discussing the fear of darkness, and toasting Scotty. I will not attempt to reproduce the conversation here; it will simply have to fall into the category of performance art, ephemeral, leaving no traces except in the memories of those who were present.
It was a good conversation. It was a good time. They were some pretty damn good nachos, too.