So when did this become the DeathBlog??

I don't know, but here I am bummed out because I just saw that James "Scotty" Doohan has passed. If you don't know who he was, then you're obviously not one with Star Trek; if you do know who he was, you're either sharing my bummedness or making dopey "Beam me up, Scotty" jokes.

Either way, Star Trek's revival in the early '70s meant that just about every neighborhood boy (or at least those destined to become geeks) had a Star Trek "command shirt" or pajamawear. (My brother had a red one (like Scotty!) which apparently itched, and I'm pretty sure his friend Sean owned a blue one, too.) I was too young then to enjoy watching the adventures of Kirk and the Gang, and I'm thinking I groaned whenever it came on (because it was, you know, a WHOLE HOUR), but when 6th and 7th grade rolled around, it was an entirely different story, and I was all about planting myself on the sofa to engage in a little feast for the eyes.

Actually, when Mrs. Sims (the woman responsible for my brother's morning sickness) assigned our 7th-grade English class an oral report on our hobbies, I turned to Star Trek for assistance. See, I was never the kind of person who played piano (we didn't have one), painted pictures, sang, knitted, etc., so when this assignment came down, I sort of panicked. I didn't want to do anything boring (gymnastics or dance like 12 other girls) because who needs peers who think you're blah or like everyone else? Unfortunately, it didn't occur to me that watching Star Trek as a hobby might not cement a favorable impression, either, but whatever. So no, it wasn't really a hobby, but it was something I did that I knew I could talk about.

With that in mind, I took my trusty silver tape recorder and recorded the episode "Shore Leave" -- and I just want to state for the record that I cannot name all the episodes, much less in order, or all the planets, etc. (I have also never attended a Con.) Anyhoo, I brought it into class, said my piece, let the others hear snippets of dialogue, and that was pretty much it. I don't know whether or not the other kids laffed at me or thought I was a total goon—and I don't think I really cared, the horror would come later during a recitation of Langston Hughes' "Mother to Son" (in dialect, no less), or a report on "The Martian Chronicles"—but at least I had gotten through it, hobbyless and all.

It's always upsetting when an icon dies (see Tony the Tiger and other posts below), but it's also kind of nice to know that they've left us with a legacy, whether it's a catchphrase, an accent, or a pop culture persona. I just hope Leonard Nimoy continues to live long and prosper.

^{(Oh come on..I had to say that!)}