We have beamed down on the planet Birmingham in the galaxy of
Alabama. We had heard there would be some Klingons here, but
we were wrong.. It’s just another convention of the Lamo
Federation. We have set our phazers on Duh!
Actually, I know that I am not a Starfleet commander. I don’t
even have one of those cool flip phones. I am just a visitor,
an emissary, to this year’s Star Trek Convention being held
at the Marriot Hotel in Birmingham, Alabama. It is light years
away from the Horsehead nebula, but so what. It’s still
about the weirdest place in the universe.
I have just missed the State of the Fleet address after I finally
find my way to the ballroom at the end of the universe. I’m
just in time, though, for the promotion ceremony, perhaps the
most exciting and absurd event of the day. The room is decorated
with the flags of all nations of the earth. Seated at a cluster
of round tables are the many ambassadors awaiting their moment
of recognition. I stand unobtrusively at the back dressed in
my planets traditional garb, Polo shirt, khaki shorts, white
socks and tennis shoes. I stick out like a sore gleeb.
As for the congregation gathered; they are garbed in the uniforms
befitting their position. Ultra-nerd first class. Dweeb ambassador.
It is an awe inspiring sight. I stand there quietly whispering, “Oh
my God” at the solemn proceedings.
Dork after dork is called forward to accept their advancement
from Commander to Admiral, from Captain to Beamer-upper Guy,
from Remote Control Lieutenant to First Class Couch Potato. It
brings a tear to my eye which I save in a small vial marked Trek
convention 2004.
One thing that I notice more than the fashionable Next Generation
garb being paraded by me is the large number of emissaries from
the planet Blob in the Sweathog galaxy. They are slow moving
creatures devoid of dignity. I would say they are highly intelligent
beings except for the fact that they are perpetually stuck at
the age of 12. They make their way slowly, one by one, to the
podium to receive their award for having collected more otherworldly
junk than any other guest from the planet Lethargy.
For each award, the sea of tables clap wildly, whistling and
shouting their approval. Those who can, stand up bursting with
pride.
Here and there, among the sea of flesh, are a few ancient individuals
also dressed in the proper trick-or-treat attire. They must be
90 if they are a day. One old lady who looked to be about 8,000
years old, had hand knitted her stately uniform to resemble the
real thing. She must have been from the planet Creepy.
I suddenly realize the reason for all of this, why so many,
relatively speaking, are caught up in this saddest of cults.
It’s easy.
There is never any need to leave your house, or your Lazy-Boy
for that matter, when the world, nay the whole wide weird galaxy
is right there at your fingertips. Push a button on the remote
and you are suddenly beamed to Babylon 5. Push another to travel
back in time to Rigel 12, or somewhere like that. Nourish yourself
on space fritters. Quench your thirst with googlejuice.
Thanks to the technology of TIVO and DVDs, the future is sure
to become increasingly sad. Each house will be it’s own
world. We will continue to communicate through wires and satellites.
And when we encounter each other on the street or in the aisles
of our favorite stock-up stores, we will look in horror at the
reality of each other as we glide by in our invisible beams of
personal safety.
Finally, after what seemed like eons, the proceedings are over
and we are free to leave. I jettison out of there and make one
final stop to the duty free shop in a parallel ballroom. I’m
looking for a pair of Spock ears so I can fit in. There are none
to be found. I have to settle for handmade buttons with pseudo-aliens
on them and a few dead tribbles. Oh well, it’s time to head
back to my own planet, Reality, and get something to eat.
I decide later to take a trek to Vulcan Park to see the huge
iron statue of the Norse god. It is quite impressive, but I am
disappointed. I was sure there would be a mob of Trekheads surrounding
it, preparing to sacrifice a small Frompl, but no. I find only
tourists, normals enjoying the day. How sad.
Before departing Birmingham, I make my own little trek to the
Civil Rights Museum located across from the 16th Street Baptist
Church. It is a humbling experience. I am overwhelmed at the
amount of detail and thought put into it. It is an amazing place
well worth the $9 entrance fee. The afternoon sun is waiting
outside as I step back onto earth proper. I head home to planet
Georgia, a little drained from the day, but a little wiser.
