It's a slightly unusual day. The Boy is home on a weekday, on account of a school holiday, which alters the day's rhythm for his two younger siblings, as well as his parents. I was up until after 3 a.m., finishing up a script, and since I didn't need to get up before dawn to make The Boy's lunch, I slept in. A bit after 9:30 I pinged Top Management, who's been up for hours, to let her know I was awake.
She comes in and flops down next to me. "Ah, bed," she sighs. "Bed is so good. My back likes bed."
She looks at her phone. "All right. I have so much I have to get done today. I'm going to be so productive. Let's see: it's 9:45. I'm going to play Minecraft until 10."
There's a pause. Then she adds, through gritted teeth, "Thirty."
So we've had a pair of sci-fi projects going on recently. Over the past month or two, I've been showing the youngest three selected episodes of Star Trek: The Original Series. We're closing in on the end of the second season now, and we'll probably watch at least films 2-4, and maybe the fifth, which I've never seen, but my imaginary friend Chris says is quite good. Or maybe that was the sixth. I'll probably stick with 2-4. After that, we'll move on to The Next Generation, which I've never really watched, but the oldest three and I watched the first two episodes last year and they were quite good, so we'll probably all delve into that.
But we've also been making our way through Star Wars, in preparation for the new and theoretically final film, which has been out for a few weeks. So I showed them the first one, Episode IV: A New Hope, for at least The Golden Weasel's fourth time (and maybe more) and at least The Brawn's third (and maybe more—I've shown each kid the first film at least two or three times before moving on to The Empire Strikes Back, to ensure the big reveal really hits the way it should). We then watched Episodes V and VI, before moving back and starting the prequels (which the older three and I discovered are both not nearly as bad as their reputation/I remembered, and yet even worse in some ways). After we watch Episode III: Revenge of the Sith, The Brawn seems to believe we'll be done, apparently not knowing of the existence of the "new" concluding trilogy? And clearly not anticipating that I'll then be taking him to see his first (and last?) Star Wars film in the theater.
(And, yes, at some point we'll watch the spinoffs and animated serieses and such.)
The other night, our viewing didn't start until a bit on the late side, so we went with an episode of Star Trek, rather than a Star Wars film. Which led The Brawn to ask the question which has plagued the entire speculative fiction community for decades now: which is better, Star Trek or Star Wars?
He weighed in with his own opinion, immediately, unbidden: Star Wars for him. Which he didn't even need to explain. He clearly at least likes and maybe loves Star Trek—I was very gratified how immediately he took to it, since live-action isn't really his jam, normally, and for the first episode he didn't really react; I later realized it's because he was so gripped that he actually shut up for once. (I may have strong feelings about the way my otherwise absolutely perfect spawn chatter while watching stuff.) But Star Wars has far more action, far more and much longer fight scenes, and although he doesn't seem to have really noticed how understandably primitive the Star Trek special effects are, obviously Star Wars has that in a walk.
The Golden Weasel, on the other hand, said quite firmly that Star Trek was the clear winner. This part did surprise me a bit. But I was more than surprised, I was blown away, when she explained her reasoning. "Star Wars doesn't have Spock," she said. Which...a fair pony, and an inarguable one at that.
"Besides," she added, "Star Trek isn't all about how you have to bury your emotions."
I was staggered. She'd never said anything like that previously. What's more, that was something which had really only occurred to me a few nights before, watching my fifth Star Wars film of the week, most for at least the fourth time, and some for at least the 15th. Because even though I've made my living creating and analyzing stories for decades, when it comes to Star Wars, I simply can't be objective; part of me is always and forever that 8-year-old boy sitting in the theatre, not knowing a thing about the movie that's about to start, and having his mind utterly blown by the first spaceship passing overhead onscreen, the biggest damn thing I'd ever seen in my entire life, so big I was hardly able to comprehend it...a ship which is then followed by the far, far, far larger Imperial Star Destroyer. My tiny little brains leaked out my ears at that point and for the next two hours I was barely able to follow what was going on even as I was beyond enthralled and captivated.
So. After I recovered from my shock over just how astute and incisive her analysis was, I realized she must have heard one of the three oldest say something like that. Turns out, nope: they were just as blown away by her take on the matter as I.
So now it all came down to The Boy. He was the tiebreaker. Which would it be for him, Star Trek or Star Wars?
"Star Trek," he said. "Because it's less than an hour, and Star Wars is more than two."
And there 'tis. At long last, we have discovered the one true objective way of deciding which franchise is better: which one is more convenient. SETTLED.
(I see we're all too late and it's already been definitively decided)
(Also, we're about to start watching Star Trek: The Next Generation, which none of us have ever really seen before. But before that? We're going to watch the Star Trekfilms. Which, of course, are roughly two hours long each. How will that affect the entire equation?!)
File this one under: an old story I'd never heard before.
Some years back, Top Management and a young Rose were washing dishes together. This is because for at least a few years, our dishwasher was broken, so the two of them would wash the breakfast and lunch dishes (and then, if I remember correctly, I'd wash the dinner dishes). On the particular night in question, apparently Top Management filled a cup all the way up with soapy water and, deep in conversation and without thinking about it, plunged her hand, holding a sponge, into said cup in order to scrub it. Naturally, soapy water squirted out everywhere.
Conversation stopped.
The Rose stared at Top Management.
Top Management stared at the water which had gone everywhere.
Then she looked at the Rose and said, "and that's called displacement."
Even when the glass is almost entirely empty, it's half-full with her.
So Top Management is telling me this story about a guy who bought a spite cow. That's right: a spite cow. Which, in addition to being the name of my new Donny and Marie cover band, is a great tale of why it's rarely a good idea to get really petty with your next-door neighbor. That it would almost never turn out well for the initial instigator, and almost certainly worse.
"I would be so good at that," Top Management says softly.
A pause, and then she repeats. "I would be so good at that."
A longer pause, and then a whispered, "I would."
I suspect up and down our block, our (very nice!) neighbors felt a chill run up their spines.
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