A Couple of Pictures

7-Eleven Zero

When I work the evening shift I like to make a trip to the nearby 7-11 at around supper time. I usually just get a diet coke, but sometimes I make the unfortunate decision to buy food as well. Tonight was just such an occasion.

I pulled up to 7-Eleven this evening to see the usual scenario. Two staff members were outside smoking, leaving only one inside to deal with a line of customers. I held my breath through the cloud of smoke and made my way inside. I got my diet coke and decided I was a little bit hungry. I peeked inside their display case of various deep-fried foods. For some reason the onion rings looked good to me, but I wasn’t willing to eat many of them. I hoped that they had a small size I could order.

The line was moving slowly, since the other two clerks were still outside. They appeared to be done smoking, so I assumed they were talking about how unique they were for having eyebrow and lip rings. Once I finally got to the front I asked the clerk, “What sizes do your onion rings come in?”

According to his nametag, his name was Myles. Myles looked at me like I had just asked the stupidest question he had ever heard. He shrugged, frowned, scowled, shook his head, and in his best Napoleon Dynamite voice he said, “Uuuh… they come in assorted sizes?” His statement-spoken-as-a-question had that tone of teenage superiority that indicated he felt he just answered something that was plainly obvious.

Not yet knowing why he thought I was so stupid, I ignored the tone and all of his theatrical facial expression and asked, “Ok… so do they come in small?”

With audible disdain Myles sighed loudly and said, “…j-sa-sec.” He turned and plodded with Frankenstein-like enthusiasm to the display case. He picked up a pair of tongs, opened the display case door, then started to do something in there. The display case was on the opposite side of the counter and his back was to me, so I didn’t know what he was doing, but he appeared to be sorting the onion rings. He paused and turned around and said, “How small do you want them?” Then he held up the tongs and pinched between them was a wee tiny onion ring. “This size?”

Realizing the weird way he misinterpreted my request I tried to explain away the confusion. I said, “I wanted a small order of onion rings, not an order of small onion rings.” Myles looked very confused and after a few seconds of frowning he tried to say ‘What?’ but it came out as “Wut?”

I didn’t know how to explain this so that he’d understand, so I just backed off entirely. “Nevermind what I said before. Just give me a regular order of onion rings.”

I ended up getting my onion rings and was even able to return to my office within my break. I did get way more than I wanted to eat. There were well over a dozen in that bag, and I ate them all.
At least they were small.

Rob is a Pigeon-toed Liar

This is the final story involving my ex-friend Rob. My conscience tells me not to publish this blog article because it would just not very nice of me. Still, Rob says I have made him “unhappy at every opportunity”. I feel like if I am going to bear that burden, then I should get to channel my feelings somehow. This blog is one of my outlets. I know I really shouldn’t be speaking ill of the mentally ill, but I’m irritated that I am the bane of Rob’s existence. I am angered that Rob has made me responsible for his unhappiness. I’m confident that my friends love me and do not share Rob’s hateful point of view, so really this blog won’t damage their opinion of me. Should Rob ever read this however, I might as well live up to the reputation he has given me and make fun of his ridiculousness.

In the final months of our friendship Rob, you were obsessed with the fact that your girlfriend dumped you. You were surprised by the dump, (even though she went on vacation that summer without you), because you felt everything was great*1. So upset were you that even almost half a year after she had dumped you, you were not showing any signs of recovery. It was clearly not healthy*2, and I tried to help you out by being there to listen, and to spend time with but you just wouldn’t get better. To be honest, it irritated me because some people have real problems and face it with more courage. To put it in perspective, it takes less time for debilitating grief to pass after a family member has died than it takes you to get over a breakup. To me, that is pathetic, but I digress. Anyway, not realizing how pathetic you were being, you seemed content to hold on to that grief for dear life. At the time it boggled my mind. It had been literally half a year of depression, but as it turns out I had no clue how long you could hold on to your troubles. Six months is nothing.

A couple of months ago I realized that it was five years since I told you I was transgendered. I actually hadn’t planned on telling you at all, because over the years you had made many rather disparaging remarks about transsexuals. In fact the only reason I told you was because you had just sent me an MSN message where transsexuals were the butt of your joke. I decided to speak up so you'd know such jokes were unwelcome. We ended up having a civilized conversation about it, and even though you refused any further attempts to talk about it, you seemed to accept it.

Anyway, since you were on my mind, and I hadn’t heard anything from you in about four and a half years, I sent a quick email to see how your were doing.

My email was quite short, only a dozen or so sentences. I have to admit the first three or four sentences were kind of snarky, (I said something about him holding on to irrational grudges) but I finished on a positive note. When you replied I was very surprised, but not as surprised as when I read the response.

Rob, you said that he has been very happy without me in your life for the past four and a half years. Without me your confidence has gone up and you had made new friends. You said that I treated you like shit and made fun of you for as long as you has known me. You said that I made you unhappy at every opportunity. I was quite surprised to read this. Sure I remember times when we argued and fought, I remember times when I had made fun of you. You are a frustrating person to be friends with. You do not like to be contradicted, and you are also “old man stubborn” (where you wouldn’t budge your position no matter how ridiculous and you wouldn’t acknowledge any facts that opposed it) so we often had some incredibly stupid arguments.

Despite petty arguments like that, in the final years of our friendship I thought you were one of my best friends. In the final months of our friendship I was trying to help you feel better over your (mundane, commonplace and unremarkable) break up. I just could not figure out why you’d be saying that I ruined your life. Luckily you pointed out some examples.

Jeff and I made fun of the way you spoke.
I cannot deny this. Rob honestly.  You also cannot deny that you had a tendency to skip some of the consonants in the words you used, which made some of your sentences quite humorous. I recall several times where Jeff and I laughed ourselves silly over your gibberish. I realize it wasn’t very mature of us, and I tried to think of a reason for this immaturity. The answer came immediately. We were immature because this happened over TWENTY YEARS AGO. Rob!  Jeff and I made fun of your speaking in highschool! We graduated in 1989, and then Jeff moved away in 1990!  I can’t believe that your prime example of how I’ve ruined your life was from around the time that The Love Boat was cancelled. I will agree that we probably hurt your feelings back then, but now that a couple of decades have past, I just can’t feel any remorse over it.  You shouldn’t either. 

Rob, I have two pieces of advice for you:
1) You must understand this was decades ago. We were just kids who made fun of your random inability to speak properly. There is no reason to hold on to this memory, and certainly no reason to have let it ruin you life. If the ribbing you got in highschool really is still upsetting you, then you need professional help. I have a psychiatrist and I love seeing her. They can really help you.
2) Learn to fucking annunciate.

Eric and I used to sing a song about you being “pigeon-toed”.
When I read this I was taken aback. Eric and I sang a song about you being pigeon-toed?? I have to say that singing was not something Eric and I typically did together*3 and even if we did, why would we sing about you being pigeon-toed? It is a terrible insult considering you are not pigeon-toed*4. Even more surprising to hear that we sang a pigeon-toe song is the fact that it actually upset you! Unbelievably it apparently still upsets you to this day!

I don’t remember singing this song, so I asked Eric about it. He doesn’t remember either, but seems certain that we didn’t. In fact his response is the title of this article. Still, I can’t help but think that maybe we did sing this song, but then the question is – why don’t Eric and I remember? I have a theory.

Singing an insult to someone just doesn’t sound like adult behaviour. In fact it sounds decidedly pre-highschool to me. Also, our insult was ‘pigeon-toed’, and this clearly sounds pre-highschool too. I am left thinking that if we did sing this song, we must have performed it in elementary school. Apparently Rob,  you are not content to still be upset over events that happened twenty years ago, you have to still be upset over events that happened THIRTY years ago.

Rob, again I have some advice for you.
1) If you are upset over events that happened in the 70s, then you really cannot blame your life on me. Maybe if you were not so “old man stubborn” you could get over these events from the incredibly distant past.
2) This is one of those times that the phrase “GROW UP!” actually fits. You are not 8 years old, you are almost 40. Being called pigeon-toed should not still hurt your feelings.

This article is already in the category of TL:DR*5, but I just have to briefly address your last complaint. Apparently I hurt you soooo bad that despite not having spoken to you in four and a half years, I was the cause of recent problems between you and a girl you dated. Your email says “you use to make fun of me and my enjoyment for for things like [Doctor Who]. To the point were I was embarrassed and even paranoid about ever mentioning it around you. I dated a girl for a few years who actually liked the show and really wanted to watch it with me. I would get sick at just the thought of that because of the way you always made me feel so I never did. She never knew why.”
True adolescent melodrama. That was about as deep as Twilight.  You should be ashamed of yourself.

Rob, I have some final words for you:
I did not make fun of you for liking Doctor Who. I made fun of all the toys you had on display. I questioned why you'd read Doctor Who books, but not any other book ever. I wasn't just being mean, I loved books and I thought it was weird I would lend you great books that were constantly passed over so you could read "Doctor Who: War of the Daleks" and the like. I know I made fun of you wearing a long coat and scarf á la the fourth doctor, but can you blame me? Honestly, I like Star Trek, but the day I start dressing like Captain Kirk I would hope someone might say something about it. Keep in mind we are still talking about events that happened in the 1990s. Life moves on. If my disdain for your obsession was too obvious in later years then I apologize for not hiding it better, but it is not my fault if (as we’ve seen) you hold on to these things for years and years and blow them all out of proportion. I had nothing to do with you getting sick about having your girlfriend watch the show with you, but I can tell you exactly why you felt sick.

You have always felt inadequate around other people. Being a closeted transsexual most of my life I have had similar feelings of inferiority, so it is easy to see it in you. You constantly doubt your own worth. The way you argue with people, the way you compete with people, they are all part of a defense mechanism. You can’t face failure in any way, so you try your best not to face it. You would always stubbornly defer resolution to any conflict, and would lash out at me if I pursued it.*6 When failure does hit, you take it way too hard. I remember when you got in trouble at Blacksun, so you quit. You constantly fear what others think, and you dwell on it. When your girlfriend dumped you, you devoted your life to being sad. Someone called you pigeon-toed in 1979 and you still cry over it.

Rob, I don’t mean to play armchair psychiatrist, but I did spend 27 years as your friend and I learned a thing or two about you, enough to say that I was not the problem. You’ve got real issues. If it hadn’t been me that you blame for your troubles, then it would have been someone else.

After discussing your email with a few people, the consensus is that nobody can figure out why I wanted anything to do with you in the first place. When I first wrote it was because I wanted to reconnect with an old friend, but in light of this last email from you, I think you’re pretty psycho.

* Rob would often lament that before the dump he was going to ask his girlfriend to marry him. He even said his plan was to make matching his and her titanium wedding bands. I found this interesting, as he did actually make his but he wore it all the time, even before the breakup! If they truly were meant to be wedding bands, then why would he wear it even before the proposal? I always felt this was just a story weaved so he could wallow in self-pity.

*2 If you want to know how unhealthy his grief was, one day Rob revealed a plan he was hatching. He wanted to show up at Lydia’s when his ex and her new boyfriend were there. His plan was to capitalize on her new beau’s reputation for violence and to somehow get punched in the face. He believed this would cause the ex to revile the new guy for fighting, and would at the same time she would nurse poor Rob’s broken nose and then they’d live happily ever after.

*3 Eric and I did sing sometimes though. When we were 14ish we recorded ourselves singing a couple versions of a song called "The Face Song” and sent it to CKOM and Brent Loucks played it almost every morning for months. The song was a kid’s song that was all about the things you do to get ready in the morning, ie wash your face, comb your hair, brush your teeth. One of our versions was in French, and we mistakenly sang chevaux (meaning horses) instead of cheveux (meaning hair). This meant the phrase “Comb your hair” became “Comb your horses”. In response to this being pointed out we later made up the Farmyard Face Song where we sang about milking your cow, washing your pig, and combing your horse.

*4 Honestly, my only memory of ever discussing Rob’s toes was one day I noticed they were almost as long as my fingers – and I mentioned that I didn’t know if that meant he was less evolved or more evolved than regular human beings.

*5 TL:DR stands for “Too long, didn’t read”

*6 The worst part about being friends with Rob is that we could be having a nice conversation and he would say something questionable. If I asked for some clarification or heaven forbid if I disagreed with him, then he would almost immediately bash me for "always having to be right" or "you always have to prove me wrong". He'd immediately change the topic from his questionable statement directly to his assertion that my personality is flawed. It was extremely irritating. This is a real example of what it would be like for me:

Driving home from the gym:
Rob: People have only four body types, and mine is the type that doesn't build muscle.
Sarah: What do you mean your body type doesn't build muscle?
Rob: My sister's friend's friend who is a trainer said there are only four body types, and mine is the type that doesn't build muscle.
Sarah: As if. Anyone can build muscle, you're just not doing the right exercises. We should just look up on the internet what you should be doing.
Rob: Oh you always have to prove me wrong! I can't say a thing without you sending me links on why I am wrong.
Sarah: I am not trying to prove you wrong, I...
Rob: Now you are trying to prove me wrong about trying to prove me wrong!

Big Hairy Deal

When you go for treatment, they say that laser hair removal is permanent, but they give you a quiet disclaimer. Back in 2004, after ten painful sessions I was proud to say that my face had permanent hair loss, but just to spoil my happiness I had that disclaimer nagging away at me - “in the hair loss industry ‘permanent’ means ‘up to three years’”.

It had been over four years since my last round of lasers, so around Christmas time when I noticed some re-growth I wasn’t too surprised. It wasn’t bad at all, and it just took a couple swipes of a pink razor and I was good to go.

As the months progressed, more re-growth showed up. I noticed it took a few more swipes and a layer of foundation before I felt comfortable. Finally in recent weeks, even with full-on shaving and a generous portion of foundation I felt as though I looked like ‘Road Trip’ Sylar from season 3 of Heroes.

Picture of Sarah: Sept 2009.

Last week I was driving home from work and heard a commercial for Nirvana Laser Hair and Skin. At about the exact same moment I noticed I was driving past the clinic, their phone number in huge letters on the sign. I picked up my phone and called to make an appointment. The woman on the other end of the call wouldn’t let me make an appointment without my credit card number though. It seems they are worried that people will not show up for their appointments and therefore won’t make them without a credit card number.

When I got home I called back, credit card in hand. I asked for their earliest appointment. I’ve been working nights, so an 8:00 appointment would be ideal, but it was unlikely they’d be open. I was hoping to get in right at 9:00. The woman said she had one available for 11:30. I asked her to check if there was anything earlier and she replied, “The doctor doesn’t come in until 11:30.” I took the 11:30.

~~~

Later that evening I decided I wanted to colour my hair something dark. When I was all done with the dye I noticed that my bangs were really long. I decided it was time to get someone professional to look at them.

It was already 7:00pm, so instead of waiting until morning so my wonderful friend Joanne* could cut my bangs, I drove down to Ultracuts. I asked the girl there to cut them to the level of my eyebrows. I also told her that they usually leave them longer at the sides, and a little bit shorter as you come in because I sweep my bangs to both sides. I showed her in the mirror what I was talking about. It shouldn't have been hard to visualize what I wanted because my bangs were already cut that way, I just wanted them a wee bit shorter.

She nodded as if she knew exactly what I meant, then squirted down my hair and stood in front of me for a while. After a couple of minutes she stood back to reveal my bangs. “Is this a good length?” she said.

My bangs were cut straight across in a perfect line across my forehead. I said the length was perfect. She then stood in front of me again and started snipping away. Looking back on that moment I wonder why she even bothered to ask about the length if she wasn’t going to pay attention to the answer. At the time though I just assumed she was cutting them the way I had asked.

When she moved out from between me and the mirror my bangs were brushed to either side, but they looked awfully short, and just plain weird. My heart sunk a little bit, but I just told myself that once I got home I could do my hair the way I do it and it would look fine. I was wrong.

When I got home I washed my hair and then blow dried it and I got to see the extent of the damage. Not only were my bangs now about 2 cm ABOVE my eyebrows, but she cut them a uniform length across my forehead. Even worse was that she had cut my bangs way to far back. My bangs started at my temples!!! Given my new dark hair, and the semi-circle of short, ruler-edged bangs, I was now sporting a Spock-mullet!

Picture of Sarah: Sept 2009.

To add even more insult to this awful haircut experience, when I was paying the bill the debit machine asked me for a tip amount. I actually typed in a tip**! Now the girl is going to think she did a good job, and also that I *wanted* to look like a space alien.

~~~

The next morning I went to Nirvana. I arrived about ten minutes early. I hoped the place would be dead, but it had quite a few people in there. I was very self-conscious of my Spock-mullet and Sylar-stubble so after I checked in, I picked a spot next to the window where I could sit alone and fill out the stack of forms the receptionist gave me.

While most of the forms were explaining possible side-effects, the entirety of page five was for explaining that they will take $50 off your credit card should you be a no-show for your appointment. I thought it was weird that they spend fewer words on side-effects than on their no-show policy. Even though I really don’t agree with it, I signed the form anyway. I handed my forms back in and looked at the time. 11:30 on the nose, perfect timing.

Half an hour later my name still hadn’t been called. Nobody had been called actually. I was getting really impatient, and really hot. The sun was beating down on me through that window, but now I had no place to move to unless I wanted to sit right next to someone else. I just sat there baking in the sun and stewing in my own impatience. A few minutes more in that heat and I wouldn’t need lasers to cook my follicles.

There was another woman waiting nearby. She looked very grandmotherly and pleasant. I imagined that her name was Betsy and in her spare time she bakes cupcakes and wears a bonnet. Betsy went up to the counter and said “How much longer?? I’ve been here 40 minutes!” She didn’t sound nearly as grandmotherly as she looked, but I still got the sense that despite her annoyed tone she was still just a fraction of a second away from handing out cookies from a hidden stash in that suitcase of a purse she was carrying. The receptionist said, “Literally just one more minute. The doctor just arrived.”

The doctor just arrived?? Her day doesn’t start until 11:30 and she still doesn’t roll in until after 12:00?? I was worried that since it was already noon she might break for lunch and keep me waiting another hour. I couldn’t believe that a business that charges its customers $50 if they don’t show up could possibly be run by someone who doesn’t show up herself.

We all sat there about ten more minutes, and I am sure we were all thinking the same thing when finally the doctor emerged from the back and called Betsy into a room. A few minutes after that, the receptionist interrupted my sun bathing and took me into a different treatment room.

I only waited in the room for about 30 seconds when the doctor came in. She was an older lady with curly poodle hair and an amazingly smooth face. There wasn’t a blemish or crease and I couldn’t tell if she was 50 or 70, but I also couldn’t tell if she hadn’t just been stung by bees. She seemed pleasant enough, and when her plumped-up lips parted she said, “Good morning!”. It was actually afternoon by this time, but I didn’t correct her. She continued speaking. “My name is Dr. Genesis.”

Dr. Genesis??! This just could not be her original name. I have no problem when people change their name – I’ve done it myself - but she named herself after her profession? She clearly wanted to associate her name with feelings of “coming into being” caused by the rejuvenation of appearance that she provides by injecting you with Botox. It was like when centuries ago people found last names in what they did for a living, like Smith, Carpenter or Farmer, except in an extremely corny way. It is just a hard name to take seriously. When I think of the name ‘Dr. Genesis’ I imagine that is what Phil Collins’ character would be named in World of Warcraft.***

Anyway, Dr Genesis asked, “So are you ready for this?”

I wasn’t all that annoyed at this point to be honest. When I got called into the treatment room my feelings of anxiety and frustration over the long wait slipped away and were replaced by feelings anxiety and fear over the pain this treatment was going to cause me. Still, I didn’t like that she was so late for our appointment considering that my punctuality is enforced by a monetary penalty.

I said, “Yes, actually I was ready forty-five minutes ago.” I smiled to lessen the effect of the words, but it probably just made me look more antagonistic. Sometimes my smiles do that.

She immediately said, “Feel free to leave then if you’re in such a hurry.” Dr Genesis was annoyed so quickly that I wondered if maybe Betsy had mentioned something too.

I said, “I don’t want to leave, I just thought it was worth mentioning that my appointment was for 45 minutes ago.”

“Go then. If you don’t want treatment you can just go. We’re not making you stay.”

I said, “Well you kind of are making me stay because you’d charge me $50 if I left. Actually if *I* showed up 45 minutes late you’d probably have already charged my credit card by the time I showed up.”

“Well you can just leave them. It’s fine, you can leave if you think this is taking too long.”

“I’ve waited this long, I clearly want the treatment, I just think there is a double-standard going on here that needed to be acknowledged.”

I really just thought she would have acknowledged her lateness and said sorry, I didn’t expect her to react in this way. She had just told me to leave several times in the past minute and I was growing tired of it. I said, “I’m not leaving let’s just get on with it!” And we did. Dr. Genesis and I got down to business and she spent a full 4 or 5 minutes with me explaining the procedure before handing me off to a laser technician.

When the technician began the pain was quite incredible. The last time I had this done it was very painful, but I didn’t think it was anyhere near as bad. Last time it felt like red hot needles were poked into my face. This time it also felt like that, but in addition I felt every follicle explode and sizzle and the inner layers of my skin felt baked. It hurt so much worse than normal I asked the technician to stop after about 30 seconds.

I got up and looked in the mirror and saw that the affected areas were strewn with burnt black hairs that were literally exploded out of my pores. My skin didn’t look like it was worse for wear except for a blotchy purply redness. The technician also assured me this was all very normal, but conceded to turn down the power at my request. I got back on the table and let her continue.

The session was still very painful. I had to ask her to stop several times for a break from the pain. It was worth it to me though because it felt like it was going to be so much more effective than last time. Last time I went for ten treatments. With any luck this time I’ll only need to go five or so.

~~~

When I got home I looked at myself in the mirror. My bangs were ridiculously short. My face was red and purple and blotchy all over. My chin was speckled with the occasional corpses of dead burnt hairs that were somehow reminiscent of Michael Jackson’s beard. I looked terrible. I was very glad that I was working nights so that nobody would see me looking like this.

By this point I had been awake close to 24 hours, so I was very ready for bed. Before drifting off I paused for a moment for a short prayer. I am not a religious woman at all, I think it is all ridiculous and utter nonsense. Still, every once in a while I find myself throwing a silent plea out there according to the outlandish premise that there is someone listening to my thoughts who might be able to magically affect events in my life. Despite the futility of it all, my silent plea was that the hair on my chin would stop growing, and that the hair on the top of my head would grow faster.

* Joanne is the owner of Hush salon, downtown Saskatoon. Go get her to cut your hair right now!

** I think it is funny that I can’t even snub a machine when it asks for a tip.

*** I obviously changed my name to Sarah, but I really did consider spelling it Saraa – which is how I spelled my character’s name in World of Warcraft.

Star Trek

When I was a kid I used to stand in the basement and just look at the shelves. They were filled with book after book after book covering a lot of the available wall space. My dad loved science fiction, and he loved science fiction novels. Sometimes he bought two or three books at a time, and many of them he didn't even get a chance to read. He told me once that he'd read them when he retired. Well, he didn't make it that far. He died several years ago, and those books were left unopened. I couldn't help but feel sad and wonder which books he had on his retirement-to-do list. I was pretty sure that high on that list, if not already read, were his Star Trek novels. My dad was a fan.

When VCRs became somewhat reasonably priced in the late 70s or early 80s my dad bought one. It was absolutely huge compared to VCRs these days, but that was OK because so were TVs. That first VCR we owned was part silver and part fake-wood, but all plastic. It was a spring powered top-loader that made you think you'd lose a finger if you were too close when the 'eject' button was pressed. With all this advanced technology, I think the feature Dad used most was the remote. It had only one function - it let you pause while playing or recording. Best of all it was connected to the VCR with a 12 foot wire. With that VCR and the high-tech remote, Dad was no longer collecting Star Trek books - he was collecting Star Trek episodes.

I must have been around 10 or 11 years old when Dad started recording Star Trek off the CBC every weekend. We'd watch it as he recorded it, careful to pause recording during the commercials. I remember a few times he'd entrust me to man the remote, and more than once or twice he'd try to hide his disappointment when he realized I had paused it for the commercials, but forgot to unpause it when they were over. He was never upset about it though, because he knew it would be on again in the future.

As the time went by and we got more cable channels Star Trek seemed to be on more frequently until eventually Dad had every episode, mostly in order, with commericals edited out. During that time, my sister and I (and even my mom - although probably reluctantly) watched a lot of Star Trek.

When the newer Star Trek series came out like The Next Generation or Deep Space Nine, and Voyager, Dad recorded them too. Soon he had to put up more shelves in the basement to hold all the VHS tapes.

He told me that despite the newer special effects in the new episodes, he still preferred the original series. He said that the characters of Kirk, Spock, and Bones made the show for him. He loved their personalities, interactions and relationships. I always preferred that series as well, in no small part due to the fact that I saw most of them with my dad.

When I found out they were making a new Star Trek movie, I was excited. I was even more excited to hear that they were bringing back the original crew, my dad's favorites. Some people were upset that they were using younger actors to play these iconic roles , but I didn't care. Afterall, my dad said it was the characters that made the show great, and I think he was right. My excitement over the new movie was tempered though. I couldn't help thinking that Dad would have loved to have been around to see it, and I would have gone with him.

That got me thinking. I still remember the day he took me to the first Star Trek movie, and I still remember the solemn look on his face when Spock died in The Wrath of Khan (I cried, by the way). It just didn't feel right to me, to go see this movie without him. It just seemed like something I should be doing with my dad, so I had an idea.

I asked my family; Mom, Jenn and her husband Nick, and of course Heather to save May 8th for me so that we could all go see this movie together. I picked up the tickets last week, and I got one extra. When we chose our seats in the theatre, we left an empty one in the middle of our group. I like to think that is where Dad would have sat if he could have made it. Dad would have loved that movie if he had been there, I know I did. Even better, it just felt special to me, having bought him a seat and surrounding it with his loved ones.

I wish you had been there Dad, it was a good time. We all thought about you and missed you.

Dad's ticket

P.S. Thanks to Heather, Mom, Nick and Jenn for adhering to my strict timetable, seat preferences and seating plan. It was perfect.