I have become increasingly obsessed with Star Trek: The Next Generation lately. It’s because I married a Dork-American. My husband adores all things Star Trek (and Star Wars, and Battledork Gallectica, and Game of Dorks, but that’s not what we’re talking about here). Thus began my exposure. And my attraction to certain characters, which only intensified when I had the pleasure of seeing Patrick Stewart on Broadway in MacBeth a few years ago.
So. If you were allowed to run around madly on the Enterprise and have your pick of whomever who wanted — who would you pick? I’m torn. So torn.
Worf:
You know, I really believe Worf has an anxiety disorder. Raised by humans, and always trying to prove himself as a Klingon. He’s always got to be swaggering. But I’d bet Worf would welcome a change to do a non-Klingon woman, go to town between those silver sheets of those Enterprise, and then curl up in my human arms and purge his soul. I worry about Worf getting too chatty in that case. I also believe Worf would be a cat person if he would just chill.
Spock:
Spock would be way too high maintanence. Logic this, logic that. You know what, Spockie? Fuck logic. Maybe it’s not logical to hop in the car and go for a drive until we spot a place that seems cozy for dinner and then park under the stars and make out. But wouldn’t it be fun?
Deanna Troi:
Deanna’s like that work friend you don’t want to talk to but who keeps tracking you down to have conversations in the kitchen. I don’t understand why Riker was so enamored of her. I wouldn’t want to kick boots with her. “I sense you are upset.” Of course I’m upset, bitch, you just totally ignored me all night so you you text your other little flava of the month and now you want some. Go away.
Lt. Nyota Uhura:
Cool. Efficient. Gorgeous. Brilliant. Makes it look as easy as pie. Yes.
Data:
Oh, how I adore Data. I adore how he is operating within normal parameters. I adore how is ‘fully functional’ in every way, if you know what I’m saying. I love how Data loves to paint and read and sculpt and do stand-up and play Sherlock Holmes and over analyze things. Come to thing of it, Data reminds me of my husband.
Captain James T. Kirk:
Dammit, Jim. Such an arrogant son of a bitch. See, that’s his problem. Arrogance. He expects all to bow to him, man, woman, alien, because he is captain, and not because he has earned it. And he’s just not likable. Kirk coasts on his looks. When those are gone — well, what’s he going to do? Sell discounted plane tickets?
Captain Jean-Luc Picard:
Mon capitan!
Let us start, shall we, with Jean-Luc’s voice. That baritone — imagine it rousing you from a deep sleep, with promises of a sweet dawn. Those shoulders in that uniform. Jean-Luc will carry your worries on those broad shoulders. He will cast away those worries with that slight smirk, with that eyebrow that rises so slightly above those wise eyes. I especially love the episodes that show us Jean-Luc in his jammies, which expose his manly, hairy chest, and barely cover his ass. Jean-Luc shows us that bald men totally have it all over those pussies who wear toupees. If Jean-Luc wishes to engage with me, I shall make it so.
