A post I wrote about Star Trek on The Nervous Breakdown:
For the last two weeks, I had intended to write up a little review of the new Star Trek film, but then I got thinking about what this franchise has meant to me. Don’t worry — I’m not some loon who knows the stardate of when Kirk took his first swig of Romulan Ale, and I certainly can’t translate Shakespeare into Klingon. However, I’m not a casual fan, either. I’ve seen enough Star Trek to know what the prime directive means or that Uhura’s name comes from the Swahili word for freedom.
As a Star Trek fan, you can probably appreciate how weirded out I am by what I found at Half Price Books last night: Leonard Nimoy’s 1978 book of poetry, “Come Be With Me.” The book itself is very trippy-looking in that 70s way, and the poems are… um… very sensitive and heartfelt and wholly alien to everything I thought I knew about Nimoy (not to mention Spock).
I bought it, obviously. It was seven bucks, how could I possibly not?
I still haven’t read “I Am Not Spock” nor “I Am Spock” — though I have listened to both of the Shatner memoirs, “Star Trek Memories” and “Up Till Now.” Totally worth listening to — he’s hilarious.