Leonard Nimoy has died. That means a little piece of me has died as well. I cannot remember - nor do I want to - life without him. A life without Mr. Spock is totally illogical to my mind. It cannot exist.
I fell in love with him while watching Star Trek hiding behind my father's recliner because I was supposed to be in bed. Not on Star Trek night. I learned to run silently back to my room if I heard anyone move from their spot. I had to risk the punishment. I had to watch this mission to space. I wished it was real.
Most importantly, I wished Vulcans were real. No emotions, pure logic. It appealed to me because for some reason my home life seemed totally illogical. Maybe I was the one out of sync, but although I couldn't really put my finger on it, something always seemed terribly wrong - terribly illogical and I am a logically thinking human. (I have since learned it was probably my mom - but you can't always completely blame everything on your parents)
I got to the point in my life that I once called myself Mr. Spock because everything was so out of control and I refused to have feelings so I wouldn't get caught up in the storm. It was easier. It was logical.
I was Spock. Then I was not. Then I became him again. Only the second time I did not completely get back to being myself. It is still easier not to feel. To be in total control of my emotions.
I am therefore in some ways still half Vulcan, because I can easily distance myself from anything I don't like or can't make sense of. (My mother comes to mind again)
I have many things Star Trek. I am a Trekkie. Everyone knows I love Star Trek & Mr. Spock. My car, home and office are full of memorabilia. I have been to a convention for crying out loud! But mostly, I am Vulcan.
I dressed up like Mr. Spock for work last year for Halloween. I was a 'fatter' Mr. Spock, but for a moment in time, Leonard Nimoy, the creator of my other facade & I, were alive and somewhat the same in the same space time continuum. I relished that thought.
Now I know that Spock was not the only accomplishment this man ever had. He was so much more. But for me, this one piece of him altered my entire life. For the better.
Thank you Leonard Nimoy. I hope someday I get to meet you in space...the final frontier.
Live Long and Prosper Everyone.
Monday, February 23, 2015
I have been sick for what seems like forever. It is almost over – almost. I started this blog post 2 weeks ago and just couldn’t finish it because of my affliction. If you get a cold from reading this because of cross contamination of germs, my humblest apologies. On to my story...
All this talking about restaurants the last couple of blogs, brought to mind another incident that happened to me – in another restaurant – in this town (a.k.a. Stupid Town) a year or so ago. Today, I repeated a phrase that now lives in the minds of my family’s vocabulary and is repeated constantly. I said that phrase today to my boss. “You not nice.” She had no idea what I was talking about because I had forgotten that she had not been working with me on my floor when this happened. She wanted an explanation.
We used to have a Japanese steak house in one of our strip malls. We are too small of a town to actually have a mall mall, so we have several mini versions full of stores lined up like jail cells with an overabundance of parking spaces in front of them. The parking lots are so huge in fact, that at these strip establishments most have restaurants sitting in random areas in this vast expanse – sometimes TWO or THREE restaurants and a bank – because the parking lot is WAY too big for what stores are there. Maybe our
village idiots’ city government thinks that it is strategic planning on their part. I mean who wouldn’t want to buy clothing, pet supplies, workout clothes,
eyeglasses, see a movie, buy some jewelry, and then have some lunch all without
moving their car? It is genius (or so they believe)!
So at one of these shopoterias, that services your beauty needs, your nail needs, your rental furniture needs, your health food needs and your grocery needs, there was a wonderful Japanese restaurant. They had curry that would make any curry lover want to high five a stranger even if they had leprosy. It was just that good.
I ate many much portions of this curry. Often and as much as I could hold because I knew good food in this town was a FLUKE and destined to be destroyed. This town is FULL of people that think our pseudo Chinese, Italian, and Mexican are “simply delicious.” I think they are nuts. I have had good servings of all those, but there is none of it in this town!
Anyway, back to my story. One day I was going to Publix (where shopping is a pleasure) to pick up something and since the Japanese restaurant was in the strip mail with Publix, I called in an order. I got my groceries, put them in the car and walked over to my food pleasure palace. I grabbed the door handle – locked. I peered inside – lights out. Open sign – not flashing. I peer inside again – I see no one and no movement. I test the door again – still locked.
I go back to work empty handed.
Two hours later I get a call on my cell. I don’t usually answer unknown callers, but today I was bored I guess – and hungry – so I answered.
Let me pause to say this. I am in no way a racist. I do not mean to make fun of how any race, religion, creed, sexual orientation, or alien invaders move, talk or speak – BUT – if I don’t tell my wonderful readers in the speak that this man talked to me – it just isn’t funny…and I like funny.
Asian Man: Herro? Is Sarah? (Sarah is my pseudonym given when placing a name on a food order or a wait list because NO ONE can spell my name)
Asian Man: Why you no come pick up order?
Me: I did try to pick it up but your restaurant was closed.
Asian Man: Not closed! I not closed!
Me: Well, I checked the door and looked inside, but the door was locked and the lights were off.
Asian Man: I wait inside! I there! Why you no knock?
Me: Well, since the door was locked and the lights were out, I didn’t see a reason to knock.
Asian Man: I wait for you! You come pick up now! I sit afternoon waiting.
Me: I am sorry, I am back at work and I can’t come back.
Asian Man: You come back now! You no waste my food!
Me: I can’t. I am sorry.
Asian Man: You waste my food! I no make money! I go broke! Your fault! YOU NOT NICE!
I hung up on that last tirade. Maybe I did make him go broke because I never went back to that restaurant. I guess no one went back much because the restaurant closed about a month later.
I guess not only “You not nice,” but everyone in town “They not nice.”
I miss that curry…
Monday, February 9, 2015
I live in a small town. I think I have mentioned that before. I normally tell people (as often as I can and to anyone who will listen) that I live in a ‘God forsaken wasteland.’ I know I am harsh. Lots of inhabitants LOVE this
hell hole town. I chalk up my disdain for this place to the
fact I am a big city girl. Born and raised. Large towns offer so many options –
so many choices for FOOD. I could quite literally never run out of new restaurants to try in any of the
large towns I have lived in. You can quite
literally run out of new cuisine
opportunities in this boil on the butt of
the United States municipality in less
than 2 weeks. That is just ONE of my
problems with this detestable hamlet. But I can’t move, I am stuck, for a few
more years at least. Come on retirement!!
So, with few choices for lunch and dinner fare and a husband who absolutely, completely, totally, wholly, fully, and utterly enjoys going out to eat and can eat a hamburger (quite literally) at every meal, I endure the few places here in town that offer a ‘version’ of some international cuisine, just so I do not have to
run away screaming eat at a hamburger
Today was one of those days. We went to a restaurant replica of Asian gastronomy, we ordered drinks, and we got food (or some facsimile thereof). My husband tasted the unsweet tea he ordered. He said it tasted bad and asked me to taste it – gee thanks love. But, I did taste it. I am used to this sort of nonsense from him. "Here love, smell, this, or taste that" – because he thinks it might be bad. He is so very thoughtful. But then again, I do have a cast iron stomach and he does not. Back to the story – it did not taste bad to me, but it tasted ‘off.’ So my husband called the server over and asked her to take it away and get him some water. She obliged.
But it was then that she did something we did not expect. She went back to the drink station (or some primitive likeness thereof) and POURED HIS GLASS OF PRE-TASTED TEA BACK INTO THE MAIN TEA PITCHER!!! I lost my appetite.
What if we had a cold? What if we had scurvy? What if we had the bird flu? What if we had rabies? What if we had the Bubonic Plague?!! (I mean aside from the obvious thing you all are thinking in regard to – why we would even be in public if we have the Bubonic Plague?! It is because we are just that sort of giving people! So back off!) But, seriously, what if we had a simmering case of hepatitis – or something that is less life threatening – but still highly contagious?? That restaurant just infected this WHOLE
SHIT HOLE TOWN!
What else do they just blithely dump back into other food vats??
So just like the rabbit restaurant that sells drugs, now, we cannot frequent the international cuisine restaurant that may serve botulism for lunch.
We need to move – or write a ‘foodie’ book about our adventures in dining in this
hell small metropolitan area. I can’t