Star Trek III: The Search For Spock (1984)

I grew up watching the original Star Trek television series and, like many others, considered Captain Kirk, Mr. Spock, McCoy and Scotty almost as family. The advent of syndication gave Star Trek a second wind and the release of Star Trek: The Motion Picture brought the original cast back to kick off a successful movie franchise.

Star Trek: The Motion Picture was uneven and unimaginative, rehashing familiar television storylines, but the release of the second film, Star Trek II: The Wrath Of Kahn was the film all Trek fans had been waiting for. It brought back a character from the original television series that was seeking revenge against Kirk. It was fun and had a lot of great action, wonderful character interaction, the unexpected death of Mr. Spock and exceeded all of the Trek fans expectations.

With the success of Kahn the Trek fans were frothing at the mouth for the next great adventure. The follow up was Star Trek III: The Search For Spock. Like most fans at the time, I expected ST3 to be Kahn, but even more so. In reality, it is a very different story. It deals with Kirk's journey to put his friend, Mr. Spock, into his appropriate final resting place. He sacrifices his friendships, his career and even puts his life on the line because of his love for his friend.

Star Trek: The Original TV Series

I sat down with my movie nut daughter to introduce her to the Star Trek universe. After watching ST3 I turned to her and said "that is some of the best acting I've ever seen William Shatner (Kirk) perform!" Now that the glow of Kahn expectations was over 20 years old, I was able to take in ST3 for what it was, an introspective story on male friendships, of sacrifice, of grieving and of loss. There are some powerful and quiet moments as Kirk struggles with the loss of Spock and the internal battle he faces over it. Sure there are chase scenes and space battles, but this story is so much more than Kahn or any other Star Trek film.

Revisiting this film was a tremendous treat.

If you have the time, I strongly suggest watching Star Trek II: The Wrath of Kahn, Star Trek III: The Search for Spock and Star Trek IV: The Voyage Home in one sitting as they are three films that tell one, continuous story. Follow that up with Star Trek VI: The Undiscovered Country and you've tied up the original franchise very well. Avoid Star Trek: The Motion Picture and Star Trek V: The Final Frontier as they are far less than they could have been.

Twenty-two years ago, I walked out of the theater thinking Star Trek III was an incredible disappointment. Buffering a few decades between viewings has given me the objectiveness to appreciate the story the filmmakers were trying to tell, instead of the story I had expected to see. Rent the DVD and watch Shatner at his best as the infamous character of Captain James T. Kirk.

Goin' Out To Cally – Part 15, Masculinity At Stake

I grew up camping. My family and I camped in Massachusetts, on the top of Black Mountain, in the Rocky Mountains, the Smokey Mountains, in Indiana, Illinois and many other places. We didn’t stay at the K.O.A. campgrounds either, those were for wusses… and they cost more money. K.O.A.s were too luxurious for us. Paved roads, hah! Community pool, please! Electricity, what is this, a hotel?

No, we roughed it. We were tough. Give us a small clearing, a level site and home was where the tent was.

So, heading into our first foray of camping at the K.O.A. in Tucumcari, New Mexico, I was completely confident. I would have been comfortable putting down stakes anywhere in the arid Southwest, but my fellow travelers were not as seasoned as I, so we settled for the relative luxury of a K.O.A. campground at the base of Tucumcari Mountain.

K.O.A. at Tucumcari

I was a seasoned veteran. My friends looked to me for guidance and experience. But, I had forgotten one, minor thing… I didn’t actually do any of the work when I camped with my family. I was a kid. And a lazy one at that.

Being a man, with a beautiful, yet unattainable woman watching my every move, I had to keep up appearances. So, Tim and I unrolled the tent and fumbled with the supporting poles and zippers like a blind spastic trying to juggle jello. After recovering from that temporary setback, I pulled out the ten plastic stakes, ready to secure the base of the tent to the rock solid floor nature had provided us. I looked up to my best friend.

“Where’s the hammer, Tim?” I asked.

“Hammer… hmmm. It’s not in there?” he questioned.

“Nope.” I verified.

He turned to his girlfriend and asked, “Beth, did you bring a hammer?”

What!?! Why not just take my take out a pair of hedge clippers and castrate me right there! Asking his girlfriend if she brought a hammer so we could put up the tent? How emasculating! I stepped back as if hit in the gut with a sledge hammer, feeling emotionally sterile as Tim and Beth rifled through the hidden orifices below the hatchback.

Moments later he popped his head above the trunk and surmised “We forgot it.”

Tucumcari Mountain

Great men do great things at important times. This was my chance. This was my time! I had to save face so I could beat my Neanderthalic man-chest with honor. I quickly scanned the surrounding area like a predator on the prowl. Eventually I found my prey… a big, red rock. With tiger-like reflexes I closed in on the immobile object and snatched it from its family of pebbles.

Determined to prop up my canvas cave, I placed the plastic stake through the tent loop, pulled the base of the tent tight, diagonally angled the stake into the ground, raised my still warm rock carcass and swung with the force of Atlas.

You know, the sound of a rock hitting plastic is very anti-climatic.

Despite my Herculian efforts, the weak, orange plastic stake did not puncture the hardened rock of the New Mexico ground. With unflinching determination, I put a little mustard behind my next swing and struck the stake with such a force that it’s little plastic top sheered off and flied through the air like a royal head during the French Revolution.

That’s was unexpected. My Dad always brought a hammer. And our tent had metal stakes. I grew up in Florida, where the ground was made of soft sand. What the hell am I doing in a dessert trying to pound a plastic stake into pure rock with… a rock?

Using my college algebra skills, I quickly recalculated our actual stake-to-tent loop ratio and figured we could lose one and not know the difference. I reinserted another plastic stake into the loop, pulled the tent base tight, angled the stake, raised the rock and struck with all of my force.

Again, the stake head sheered off. “Off with its head!” I exclaimed in a faux French accent.

A retiree watched with bemused curiosity from the comfort of his RV at the camp site next to us.

“Need a hammer?” he chuckled.

Acting as if it were an unnecessary excess I replied “Well… sure.”

Using our K.O.A. neighbor’s hammer I slugged the plastic stakes into submission, eventually piercing the solid foundation and securing our tent to the floor.

Like after a great mammoth hunt, I was exhausted and hungry. Tim and I proudly marveled at our great accomplishment. Our reveling in self-congratulatory pronouncements was interrupted by the women complaining about being bored, hungry and bored.

Sure, they looked disinterested and completely unimpressed, but deep inside I knew that my masculine heroics were that of legend and would resound in their memories for years to come.

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Goin' Out To Cally - Part 15, (Text, Audio) Masculinity At Stake
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 14, (Text, Audio) Texas: Latin For Shoot Me Now
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 13, (Text, Audio) Cars, Crossroads and Cosmic Convergence
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 12, (Text, Audio) Tumbleweed Dreams
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 11, (Text, Audio) Wet, Rinse, Repeat
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 10, (Text, Audio) Divine Misdirection
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 09, (Text, Audio) Getting Nowhere Fast
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 08, (Text, Audio) The Cock Crows Nine
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 07, (Text, Audio) Is Jackass A Sign?
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 06, (Text, Audio) Leftovers
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 05, (Text, Audio) The Kiss Of Friendship
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 04, (Text, Audio) Scholastic Intimacy
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 03, (Text, Audio) Space Invaders
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 02, (Text, Audio) The Fourth Wheel
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 01, (Text, Audio) The Seed Planted

Goin' Out To Cally – Part 14, Texas: Latin For Shoot Me Now

Waiting for the girl you like to call you back. Staring at water about to boil. Watching paint dry. Having a colonoscopy. All of these have one thing in common; they unnaturally warp time in a way that makes you want to smash a ball peen hammer into your skull… repeatedly. Watching the western Texas landscape fly by your window for over four hundred minutes could now be officially added to that mix.

We were spoiled during our first few days by quickly moving through Florida, Alabama, Mississippi and Louisiana. Texas was different. You know, they say everything is big in Texas. You know why? Because Texas is the size of Pluto. It’s massive. If you were to take all of the egos in Hollywood, convert them to land mass and throw dirt on it, you’d have Houston, at best. Texas is THAT BIG!

The day before I was pleasantly surprised by the rolling green hills of eastern Texas, but about thirty minutes west of Dallas you begin to see the Texas made famous in television and movies. There’s a lot sand and dirt and sand and heat and sand and bushes and sand. For about ten minutes I kept thinking, “Wow, this is cool!” After that it became mind-alteringly monotonous.

To put it into perspective, let me state it to you this way… imagine the worst spouse you could ever devise, give them a squeaky, nasally voice with a severe allergy to silence. Take that spouse, give them long polished nails and have them scratch a chalk board. Get into a small sports car with that spouse and chalkboard and combine that with blowing an air horn in your ear and that’s almost as painful as the first hour of watching mound after mound of fine Texan sand move past your car window.

Seven hours later we were still watching the rolling dunes grace our peripheral vision. So, crossing into New Mexico was like giving birth to a porcupine. It hurt like hell getting there, but you sure were glad when it was all over.

Tim pulled out his AAA Trip Ticket that outlines your path, gas stations, restrooms, dining and lodging options and stated we were only thirty-five miles from our next destination.

Tucumcari, New Mexico… home to a tragic Indian love story and the beginning of an ill prepared, problematic camping experience.

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Goin' Out To Cally - Part 14, (Text, Audio) Texas: Latin For Shoot Me Now
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 13, (Text, Audio) Cars, Crossroads and Cosmic Convergence
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 12, (Text, Audio) Tumbleweed Dreams
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 11, (Text, Audio) Wet, Rinse, Repeat
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 10, (Text, Audio) Divine Misdirection
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 09, (Text, Audio) Getting Nowhere Fast
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 08, (Text, Audio) The Cock Crows Nine
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 07, (Text, Audio) Is Jackass A Sign?
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 06, (Text, Audio) Leftovers
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 05, (Text, Audio) The Kiss Of Friendship
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 04, (Text, Audio) Scholastic Intimacy
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 03, (Text, Audio) Space Invaders
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 02, (Text, Audio) The Fourth Wheel
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 01, (Text, Audio) The Seed Planted

Flight 93 Hero Rediscovered His Catholic Faith Prior To Sept 11th

From Newsmax.com - a great article about one of the passengers on Flight 93. Thomas Burnett was one of the passengers who led an effort to retake the plane and apparently both he and his wife had a premonition of his early death.

What is even more inspiring is his return to his Catholic faith prior to the event, even forgoing lunch in order to attend daily mass and also saying the rosary.

You can read more about this great man with great faith here at the Newsmax.com website.

Stryper - Reborn

I was walking through Best Buy last night and a new Stryper CD, called Reborn, caught my eye. Stryper was a rock band that came out in the mid-80's that brought Christ to the heavy metal scene. They were the first Christian band to cross over to mainstream success. They were heavily criticized for being both Christian and heavy metal, but who more needed the word of Christ than heavy metal fans. The name Stryper comes from Isaiah 53:5, "by his stripes, we are healed" referring that through the wounds of Christ we are healed of our sins. They wore yellow and black outfits, had big hair and tossed out bibles to the crowd during their concerts. Their albums Soldiers Under Command, To Hell With The Devil and In God We Trust sold millions of copies and a couple of Top 40 hits.

In spite of all of the theatrics, best of all Stryper were excellent musicians. It had been 15 years since their last release and I was curious how the latest CD would sound. To my great satisfaction, Reborn is an excellent album. Reborn is more rock than heavy metal and all of their songs are either God speaking to us or us praying to God. The songs are catchy and full of spirit. If you're a Stryper fan, then I strongly recommend getting a copy of Reborn. It is receiving great reviews and is worth a listen.

Goin' Out To Cally – Part 13, Cars, Crossroads and Cosmic Convergence

Somehow, waking up in Dallas gave me a sense of movement, accomplishment, a sense of making progress on our journey. Being the last of eight children, our parents never had a lot of money and our travels were primarily limited to visiting family in the northeastern part of the country. We almost always camped on our journeys, so staying in a nice hotel like the Red Roof Inn felt like a gift, an added bonus for taking the trip. With every state line we crossed as we headed West meant I was entering unknown territory, like Lewis and Clark, except on paved roads with fast food restaurants, air conditioned restrooms and, of course, sans native residents wanting to kill us.

That morning I convinced Tim to let me take the first drive of the day. Sitting behind the steering wheel, with the car successfully repacked, I was suddenly aware that our luggage had created a massively dangerous blind spot. Basically, the entire back hatchback window was blocked by our finely organized belongings. It did not daunt me, however, as in college I had to drive a large van with an extended back for my student aid position, so maneuvering a slick, speedy hatchback out of a parking lot was no problem at all, no matter what sight limitations challenged me.

Or so I thought.

A moment after sliding the stick into reverse and easing the Acura backwards, the car shuttered with a small “thunk!” I had hit something.

I got out of the car to find a small scratch on the back bumper and an equally surprised man from Los Angeles staring at the back of his rental car. As L.A. Man and I exchanged insurance information, Beth stewed with an excessively agitated “I told you so” look being equally distributed between Tim and myself. Tim calmed her as we re-entered the car, showing friendly confidence in me by allowing me to continue to drive his almost new, newly scratched sports car.

I’m sure to Beth’s surprise, I carefully continued out of the parking lot and made it to the interstate without hitting anyone.

As I put the car into fifth gear and settled into my shift behind the wheel, I pondered the unfortunate event in the parking lot. Considering the random nature of the universe, what are the odds that a man from Florida, driving a car he does not own, would back into a man from Los Angeles, driving a car he does not own, in a parking lot smack dab in the middle of the country? I mean, think of all of the people in California. Now think of all of the people in Florida. How many of those two groups would happen to be in Texas and how many of those would be driving cars they don’t own and how many of those would have stayed at the Red Roof Inn in Dallas, and how many of those would have parked in my blind spot and how many of those would have backed up at the same moment in time that I put that car into Reverse and how many of those would I have actually hit?

If you really think about it, what happened that morning was incredibly special!

I doubt I would have been able to convince anyone else… or myself, for that matter. I actually felt terrible. I just damaged my best friend’s car to kick off the third day of our trip. Normally, a trip such as this would strain any friendship. Add to that beating up his new car… well, that sure won’t soften the journey any.

The best thing I could do is to wait and let the event slip slowly into the ether. Eventually another conversation, another landmark, another state line would cross our paths and we’d all be focused on the next big adventure.

For now, I kept my eyes fixed on the road, staring at the arid Texas landscape quickly passing us by.

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Goin' Out To Cally - Part 13, (Text, Audio) Cars, Crossroads and Cosmic Convergence
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 12, (Text, Audio) Tumbleweed Dreams
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 11, (Text, Audio) Wet, Rinse, Repeat
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 10, (Text, Audio) Divine Misdirection
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 09, (Text, Audio) Getting Nowhere Fast
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 08, (Text, Audio) The Cock Crows Nine
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 07, (Text, Audio) Is Jackass A Sign?
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 06, (Text, Audio) Leftovers
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 05, (Text, Audio) The Kiss Of Friendship
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 04, (Text, Audio) Scholastic Intimacy
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 03, (Text, Audio) Space Invaders
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 02, (Text, Audio) The Fourth Wheel
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 01, (Text, Audio) The Seed Planted

Illegal Immigrants Rally

Illegal immigrants from all over the country rallied yesterday to show just how valuable their participation is to our economy.

I think its a great idea... I just hope the INS was out with their cameras, took pictures, followed them home and deported them.

Here's my take on how to solve the illegal immigration issue:

• Severe financial punishments to companies that hire illegals including paying a huge fine, paying for lost taxes and the cost of deporting the illegals back to their homeland.
• Mexico's government is so corrupt that waiting for them to make their economy more robust is a lost cause... or at least a long term wait. Until then, we have to secure our borders, whether that be by troops, walls, etc. Bush convinced me terrorism is a threat. Believing that means leaving the borders open is insane.
• When illegals currently serving time in our prisons are done, they are deported. (I think they currently are).
  
• The cost of keeping illegals in our prisons with life sentences or on death row is deducted from financial aid currently provided to those countries.
• The cost of healthcare for illegals in our country is deducted from financial aid currently provided to those countries.
  

Will fixing this immigration issue effect our economy? Short term, things will cost more. Long term, the cost that illegal immigrants put on our health care system, our prison system and not paying taxes will be a great economic benefit.

If you want to get into this country, follow the laws. If you don't follow the laws on how to come in here, why should we believe you will follow any other law placed in your way?

If you want to come here legally, we'll welcome you with opened arms. If not, then you're a criminal, end of story. Expect to be treated as such.

Why New Hampshire?

Anyone know why the Lord wants us to go to New Hampshire?

With dates of my Mom's 80th birthday changing, it has left us with potential conflicts. Probably the most time we'll get up there during the new date is a long weekend, so the family and I decided to still take some of our vacation days in the originally allotted time in early June, where we had no conflicts.

So, we wrote down all 50 states and put them into a hat. We said a quick prayer and offered up our travel plans, asking the Lord to send us where ever He wanted. Gabe pulled first, DC second, Dea third and I was last.

The first time, there was some confusion on the rules, but New Hampshire was picked twice of the four choices. We decided to do a do-over and tried again. This time, Gabe pulled Texas, DC pulled Florida, Dea pulled New Hampshire and I pulled Montana.

We threw away the other states and put those four back into the hat and pulled again. Three New Hampshire and one Texas.

I put Texas in one hand, New Hampshire in the other and asked Gabe to pick.

New Hampshire.

Behind my back I juggled them around and asked DC to pick.

New Hampshire.

Behind my back I juggled them around again and Dea picked.

New Hampshire.

So, it appears the Lord wants us in New Hampshire. We did a quick scan on the internet and couldn't find much of obvious interest up there. Does anyone have any divine insight as to why the Lord wants us to go to New Hampshire?

We sure are curious.

Spark Of Caution

Last night, I sat in my movie room multi-tasking... I was watching the Lightning get bumped from the playoffs by the Senators, I watched the DRays blow a save and lose to the Red Sox while on the phone with work about a server issue. While juggling these three things I noticed sparks suddenly fly out of the ceiling fan above me.

I turned off the power and, with the help of my wife, took down the fan. It appears that the vibration of the fan caused a small back and forth motion that wore down a wire shielding, eventually exposing that wire to metal, thereby causing the sparks.

My only thought as I drifted off the sleep was "Thank God I was awake." If the sparks had started to fly after we were all asleep, there's a good chance our home would be little more than smoldering remains.

A special nod to our guardian angels for coming through.