My parents are wacko.

But a good kind of wacko. My mom raised me on Star Trek, so I've retained a deep appreciation for it. In fact, Star Trek is looking pretty damn good these days, in light of George Lucas' complete disregard of certain cinematographic necessities. Here I refer to "dialogue" and "absence of crappy characters that are only good for misguided merchandise and cereal tie-ins." Note to Readers From The Future. I'm posting this on 16 May, so I reserve judgement of Episode III, Return Of The Star Wars That Kicks Ass. At least, I hope so. I have a strong suspicion that when I sit down for a good ol' Star Wars marathon, it's going to play like a small straight in Yahtzee: 3,4,5, and 6. We're just going to pretend the first two didn't even happen. But anyway. Mom's still pretty into Star Trek, and so my parents went to a recent cocktail party held on the bridge of the Enterprise at the Las Vegas Hilton. What? Oh. The NCC-1701 D. If that doesn't clear it up for you, you don't deserve to know.