COLUMN: My life as a Sci-fi Enthusiast
I am a Sci-fi fan – not a fanatic as some people think, but I do dabble a bit here and there in science fiction. But nothing weird or anything. So I decided I would walk through a typical day in my life, just to show how normal I really am to the non-believers.
The Stardate, I mean, it is a typical Monday and I wake with the melodious tunes of the theme song from “Star Wars” in my compact disc alarm clock. I love classical music; I have John Williams’ theme song to “Superman,” all of his music he wrote for “Star Wars,” “E.T.” and “Jurassic Park.”
Anyway, I typically slide out of my queen-sized bed and smooth out the wrinkles in our limited addition “Dune” comforter, careful not to wake my wife, who is wearing the Deanna Troy nightgown I bought her for Christmas.
I shower and dress; my clothes fitted desert-style of course, and head down for breakfast. I can’t get my build-your-own-replicater set to work quite right, so I settle for a bowl of Corn Flakes.
With breakfast out of the way, I step outside to my transport, a stormtrooper-white 1991 Mitsubishi Galant with the heart of the Millennium Falcon and the seating capacity of a small runabout. As I strap myself in, I start the engine and speak to the twinkling stars above saying, “Red five standing by.” Then I head to work.
My cubical at work may be a source of the misgivings some people have for me because I do have a few sci-fi knickknacks about. I have all three of the original “Star Wars” movie posters hanging up, a life-size cut out of Capt. Picard, a newborn worm of Arakus living in a 50-gallon fish tank filled with sand, a model of every ship in the Federation and the Rebellion, Princess Leia on my computer’s screen saver, in her Jabba’s palace outfit of course, and an exact replica (scaled down a bit) of the stargate from the 1994 blockbuster movie “Stargate,” sitting at the door of my cubical.
Once I get done with my work – which, by the way is at an intergalactic call center where I assist people to repair their cardiovascular stimulus devices (a.k.a. fix treadmills) – I typically open my tri-corder, I mean my pocket p.c. and then turn on my communicator, I mean my cell phone, and call the post office to see if my latest Doctor Who video has come yet.
When I get home I spend some time with my bobbins, or “children,” as my wife likes to call them, the older named Beverly Crusher Casselman and the younger Padme Amidala Casselman. My wife is pregnant, and if it is a boy I really want to either call him James T. Casselman (for obvious reasons) or maybe Mike.
After dinner, I like to put on my Jedi robes, slip on my Yoda slippers and drink some Earl Gray tea as I read up on the latest second-rate “Star Wars” or “Star Trek” novel.
As you can see, I am not really that different from the average Joe, and anyone who thinks differently can take his opinion and hyperspace it to the Delta Quadrant.
Bryce Casselman’s column runs every two weeks in the Encore section. E-mail him with comments at yanobi@hotmail.com