I admit, I've been a Trekkie since childhood. It's my mother's fault; she always had The Original Series playing in the background (and *only* TOS) and as I grew up, the familiar sight of Kirk, Spock, and McCoy became as comforting to me as the sound of a parent's voice, or the snuffle of Rudy, our pot-bellied pig, against my palm. Kirk, always so brash, usually so ridiculous, chasing women (and sometimes other, scarier aliens); McCoy, so acerbic, so homespun, so lovably cantankerous, a remnant from my South (but not as I knew it); and most of all, Spock.
Spock. Oh, Spock. A thousand dreams of fevered adolescence were crafted by your long, thin fingers, a thousand golden screenshots haunted by your stern, ascetic face. The only episodes I memorized were the ones that told *your* story. The only videos I stole from my mother and brought to England, to play on a decrepit, half-dead VCR until it burned out and I had you on DVD anyway, were those in which you had more speaking lines than Kirk.
In "The Devil in the Dark," I admired your compassion and understanding. In "The Naked Time," I was equally transfixed by your soul-wrenching inner pain and your mind-boggling ability to do complex maths in your head. In "The Enterprise Incident," I was awed by your dedication to duty and your loyalty to your captain (but I would've slapped you, too). In "Journey to Babel," when your father lay dying and your mother pleaded with you to save his life, I was torn by your dilemma; as your people, say I grieved with thee (but again, I would've slapped your face, too).
In Amok Time, when your heart was flame, MY heart was flame. And, given the chance, I would never have run off with Stonn, I would have waited, at the appointed place, until the appointed time, and we could have been One together (like in "The Way to Eden," because those hippies can't really understand you, but I can)...
...Do you see? Do you *see* how I get carried away?
I'm going to post this now. Either that, or delete it and pretend it never happened.