Surging into my abdomen. A hint of bile in that next gulp. Explain this condition with science, with kindness, with fortitude and wisdom. Turning around to face it. The almighty it. It isn't a big deal. Not at all. Is it? Dumping the canister I fuel the fire. What's inside? Confidence? No. Adoration? No. Faith? Absolutely not. Fear? Most likely. My face is ablaze with passion fighting to escape. Cold seeping into my finger tips. Moisture building in a clenched fist. I taste salt on the tip of my tongue and brace for impact. It takes hold and sends me whirling. Relinquishing my basic motor functions the wrenching reaches the climatic crescendo. It releases me without a fight. Foundation sufficiently shook I'm still intact.
Elevator buttons feel the same no matter where I go. I have yet to encounter one I didn't want to push. Should I use my thumb this time? No, my index finger will suffice. The little arrow beams at me. Stepping across the metal threshold, a sliver of the cavern below reminds me that this could be a bad idea. My nerves get the best of me as I look to the ceiling and see a reflection of myself. I thought I was alone. Exit right. Bee-line to suite 200. My entrance is not grand. In fact, it's quite the opposite. Blank application in hand, I seat myself two chairs away from a young woman two sizes to big for the chair she's squeezed herself into. Something is wrong with the guy in the corner. The room is eerily quiet. I'm anxious. Four of us sit in this small lobby. Coffee table offers an ample amount of distraction via some celebrity mishap. If I were to venture a guess, no one will pick up a magazine, for fear of being seen as unprofessional. Dress code set firmly at business. Yet, I see: Slacks, unironed. Shoes, unpolished. Jewelry, possibly stolen from a local community theatre. I am judging all. They are judging me. We pretend we're doing nothing of the sort.
I'm a flurry of memories, encapsulated by flesh. You have seen me only briefly. I occupy a tiny portion of your memory. Sifting through those thoughts, those memories others have of me. Could I accumulate enough to grasp who I am? A melting pot of my brief encounters with you, you and you. Would I be a different person? My perception altered, born anew.
Shuffling down the hall I hang a left. Turn my monitor on. Bum positioned just so in floral cloth covered chair. Feet propped up on my sub woofer. Log on. I see her name and my chest tightens. She's making reference to past events. Things that happened before I crashed your party. I feel left out and green. This tight, clenching, almost suffocating feeling is unexpected and unwarranted. I know this. I can't control this. I don't like this. This computer, this chair, this constant glow. I will take comfort in knowing that this glow is one of the few things that I can control.
Small things will take me back. Tonight, it was the crunch of newly fallen snow under the sole of my Sorel. I looked down half expecting to be transported to the home I resided in a year ago. Larry was hanging from a hook I would think a planter once hung. I'd poke him as I puffed my Camel cigarette and glanced down at my wine glass, making sure there would be enough elixir to get me through another heater. It was cold out but I had the shelter of a small entry way and the imaginary warmth gently swirling in my right hand. I didn't need a jacket. I had the comfort of being alone. Few would see the interior. Few would see my well lit Christmas tree. Larry hung outside. Oblivious to the warmth within. He didn't belong with me either. This year,I endure the cold.
Space, something that has always sparked my intrigue and yet it makes me think of this world, this existence, as nothing more than a blip. Yes, a ‘blip,’ I’m feeling mighty articulate this morning. Now, when I look at our depictions of what space would be like over the past century, I can’t help but laugh at how women are in their undergarments or their undergarments are on top of their skin tight jumpsuits. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy the eye candy but can’t help but wonder why we feel that, in the frigid cold of space, women need to float around in their braziers. Even on Star Trek: Voyager, with a mostly female cast, they were degrading women by parading them around in their underpants. You’d think a ship with a dominant “no nonsense” female captain would focus more on the experiences and influence of the amazing female crew members. Instead, we get this:
And the masses roared, "Assimilate me!"
Again, I’m all for some eye candy but even Jeri Ryan, the actress that portrayed 7 of 9, felt that the costume they put her in was ridiculous.
Jeri Ryan on taking restroom breaks and the infamous costume:
“As time progressed, I finally learned that you just heed the call of nature and take breaks when you need to take breaks. And finally it got to the point where, they would just let me get out of it after every take. When I wasn’t in the shot, I didn’t just wear it to wear it, because it was very uncomfortable. It looks very simple, it looks just like a leotard, but it really was a feat of engineering on Bob Blackman’s part to design this costume.
There’s a corset, one-piece undergarment. It’s constricting and it’s not comfortable. You can’t really bend; you can’t really sit comfortably in it. So I would get out of it between takes.”
Now, why, other than the obvious draw of Ryan’s bountiful assets, do we constantly see women in the world of SciFi dressed as if they’re going to start humping a poll at any moment? Actually, she wouldn’t even be able to hump a pole in that costume. I’d rather see her in her original Borg costume:
It’s still form fitting but it looks like she’d be able to perform daily functions. Plus, it’s mighty badass.
I'd get a kick out of seeing Picard in a skin tight corseted jumpsuit. Although, something tells me Picard's already been there...perhaps with Riker? Ponder that whilst sipping your java this morning.
Volcano is on the television. Tommy Lee Jones, where the heck have you been? I mean, you get so angry about magma and Anne Heche. Remember that time you had to hunt down Harrison Ford? I do, it was quite the thriller. Hey, how about the time you had to hunt down some aliens? Now you're on my tv...hunting a volcano. Man, you sure like to solve these mysteries. Also, Anne Heche, is this before or after you tried that whole 'gay' thing on for size?
Yes, this is cleavage and yes these are legitimate subtitles to a film. No, it's not on my queue yet....but it will be.
Also, apparently molten magma growls...like a dog. This is definitely news to me.
