Gene Roddenberry (the mastermind behind Star Trek) and his wife are having their remains blasted into space –a fitting tribute to the man responsible for much of my alien-like behavior (or my behavior of liking aliens) as a child.
It’s partly Mr. Roddenberry’s fault that I would stare up into the night sky waiting for space ships to land.
It’s partly his fault that in elementary school I hung out with the boys who wore authentic, knock-off Star Trek t-shirts and saved the galaxy with their phasers, tricorders, and communicators made out of folded paper.
It’s partly Mr. Roddenberry’s fault that I grew up to love science fiction and fantasy, since Star Trek was my introduction to it.
In junior high and high school most of my favorite books, tv shows, and movies were sci/fi or fantasy. And when I got to college, I worked on the university’s magazine of science fiction and fantasy. I thought I had died and gone to heaven. Which was probably as close to space as I was ever going to get.
Until I bought a new recliner.
Or, as I like to call it, a black hole.
When we re-did our floors months ago, we threw away our old, ripped up, tilting recliner. The absence of said chair left a sad void in our family room. I was at a furniture store a couple weeks ago and I found a great deal on a non-returnable (floor model) recliner. I thought it would match perfectly. It does.
But it’s dark. Maroon dark. In my already dark family room it looks almost black. Black hole black. It sucks all the light out of the family room. And all the white dog hairs show up on it like little flashes of stars circling the black hole on their way to oblivion. Except the dog hairs don’t circle. Or get obliterated.
Here’s a picture of a black hole devouring a sun.
And here’s a picture of my new chair devouring all the light in the family room.
See. The two are practically identical.
Except the black hole picture isn’t a picture of a black hole. It’s our computer monitor.
And the chair can’t eat light. But it wants to.
And since I can’t return it, I’m thinking about launching it into space.
May it rest, and recline, in peace.
Wow, I was totally impressed by your picture of a black hole – until you ratted yourself out. And the only thing worse than dark clingy fabric on a piece of furniture, is a dark colored carpet. Can we say constant vacuuming required? I could never live with one. It would definitely get launched somewhere.
I think you should sent the chair to Atlantis via the wormhole in the stargate. I am sure they would really appreciate it there.
That chair is the best and who cares if it is like a black hole because it is more comfortable then our couches!
So tell me Ender’s Game is one of your favorite books. I, too, am a science fiction nerd. But I never got to work on a magazine (because I have very little science fiction of my own to share with the world. It’s all true here, all true).
Jen,
I didn’t want to infringe on someone’s copyright, so I took my own picture. I am amazed at my own photography skills. (The picture was a fluke. Looks cool, though.)
Royce,
My husband thinks maybe they can use the chair on the bridge of the Enterprise, since it doesn’t have a seatbelt.
I’d send the chair to Atlantis, but I’ve heard they’re shutting that Stargate down. Something about a depleted ZPM. And a cancelled show.
Miss 12 year old,
Don’t worry. I won’t get rid of the chair until I can replace it. So, it will be there for years.
Annie,
Not only have I read Ender’s Game, but I almost know Orson Scott Card. He founded the college’s magazine of Science Fiction and Fantasy that I worked on. Also, I used to live next door to his parents. His mom gave me one of his autographed books. I never met him, but that’s just a technicality.
Yeah I know we will have the chair for years but you might buy another chair and then put that chair in your room where no one else can use it but you and dad.