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I Think I’m Captain Kirk, Part 2

Sorry for the delay; I know 6 days is not “coming back tomorrow” but I had an injured child (all fine, a bit of a scare rather than an actual injury, but she still missed some school and I missed some sleep and then it was the weekend and I just didn’t blog).

And *now*, I’m being forced to use this new draft-composing-screen, and I hate it (read: the font is too
small/zoomed out, and I don’t have the dosh for new glasses, so I’m probably going to look for a new blogging platform, rather than ruining my eyesight and giving myself daily headaches).

Or I’ll just type it somewhere else, and copy/paste, because anything else is such a faff…

Anyways, to continue the saga of why I think I’m Captain Kirk:

In my little group of friends (and it *is* a little group; say about the right size for a bridge crew, plus a couple of medics and an engineer) I do tend to call the shots. I’m a great one for asking everyone’s opinion, and then making the decision myself. That’s pretty much the essence of being the captain, right? And I do sometimes make the most wrong, silliest choice (Kirk) and wind up violating some sort of Golden Rule of Behaviour (Prime Directive) because *I* thought it was the right choice (oh, Kirk-Manda. Kanda. Mirk. Moving on). For all his idiocy, Kirk *also* manages to save the day fairly regularly (in spite of a lesser intellect, using his gut rather than his brains, and a general impulsivity that should *never* pay off, but often does) and that’s me, much as I wish it were otherwise. Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy when my ill-reasoned gambles pay off… I’m just not quite as jolly about it as Kirk is, in spite of being equally as prone to betting on long shots.

I am also–and this is really the basis of my argument, even more than the “calling all the shots even when
someone else has a better idea” thing–a total trouser-hound. The female equivalent of Kirk’s skirt-chasing
modus operandi. “Thirsty”, as a friend of mine has described me. I mean, I don’t shag around *as much* as Kirk does, but hey. That’s the 23rd century. STDs/STIs have been pretty much eradicated, and birth control is automatic and side-effect free. (Plus, Kirk’s having sex with aliens whom he could *never* impregnate, in most cases–and likely, couldn’t catch anything off of them anyway–some guys have all the luck.)

Whereas me, I’m stuck among my own species, being female and of child-bearing age, having to play things quite a bit safer than Captain Kirk ever had to. I’ve potentially snogged as many aliens as he has (technically, Kirk and I are the aliens, in both our cases–I’m in a foreign land, which makes me the foreigner in the equation, and he’s usually far from Earth on a distant planet or out in space) but I’m woefully behind, in terms of actual shaggage… even so, the will is there. I just have the sense not to do anything *too* risky. But as for what we actually get to see, when we watch Kirk romancing all the pretty aliens… that does pretty much look like me at a works’ Christmas Party/general night on the town.

And my final point: I have to be *someone* from Star Trek, and by process of elimination… I mean… 2 of my closest friends are a doctor (McCoy) and an computer ninja who does complex math in his head (Spock). Also, my sister informs me that, as a general science lover and my original right-hand-man, she is *also* Spock (fair, as he was the Science Officer as well as computer-whiz and second-in-command; I’m imagine it *does* typically take 2 humans to do the work of 1 Vulcan). I have brown hair and eyes, a la Kirk, and I’m not bad-looking, in a kind of ordinary, meaty-looking, Midwestern American way (Kirk). I even have some Native American heritage, as Kirk does. I’m a shoe-in for Kirk.

Either that, or I’m actually a villain and just don’t realize… the Romulan Commander from “The Enterprise Incident”, anybody?

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