Miracle Of The Season

Go Ahead. Take A Break From Your Busy Holiday.

The 1993 film, Matinee ! was (one Dog's opinion; there have to be miscreant throwback troglodyte maniacs individuals out there who believe it's a cinematic gem) a failed coming-of-age movie set in Key West, Florida -- only an SRBM's throw away from the island of Cuba -- and during the Cuban Missile Crisis in October of 1962, no less.

One of its subplots was the arrival in town of a hucksterish film producer,  Lawrence Woolsey (John Goodman), who was out in The Sticks doing some audience research of a B-grade sci-fi movie before its full release. The real story line of the film was about the experience of two 10 to 12-year-old boys in Key West whose fathers were Navy aviators on end-of-the-world alert, and their Mom.

The only thing notable about Matinee was the B-grade movie being shown in Key west's local walk-in theatre, entitled MANT !, a typical man-exposed-to-radiation, mutates-into-giant-Ant story, the kind that would later become classic fodder for MST3K.  Snippets of this, uh, 'effort' were shown as a film-within-the-film as "Maintee" progressed; at least two of the actors performing in it, William Schallert and Kevin McCarthy, had appeared in actual sci-fi films in the 50's and 60's (McCarthy in the original 'Invasion of the Body Snatchers', among others; Schallert worked on scores of television series, most notably in The Patty Duke Show), which increases the Camp factor for Dogs of a certain age.

While Goodman had received top billing in this, uh, 'effort', his actual on-screen time didn't amount to much. It was noted that, when the last take of his character's last scene was completed, Goodman was supposed to have looked around at the rest of the cast and crew, said, "So long, suckers!", then walked to his convertible parked just off-set and drove off without another word or backward glance.

It's a miracle that someone took the time in 2013 to stitch these clips together into a coherent reconstruction. Isn't it?  Of course it is.

Because this is the season for miracles. Or, something. Isn't it?

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Judgement At Nürburgring

Give Up Your Arbeitsbruden

The New York Times reports that, in an attempt to be seen to "get to the bottom of its emissions-cheating scandal", The Volkwagen Group has "pressured [Volkswagen division] employees to tell what they know" and announced an amnesty program for any informants who would come forward.

In a letter to employees ... Herbert Diess, chief executive of the division that produces Volkswagen brand cars, said people who provided information would not be fired or face damage claims. Mr. Diess cautioned, though, that the company could not shield employees from criminal charges.

The offer applies only to union employees, covered by collective bargaining agreements, and is not available to managers or executives, or persons chosen at random on the street. The offer expires at the end of November.

The interviews with potential snitches informants persons who had knowledge of 'past practices' are held in an abandoned aircraft hangar at an undisclosed location in the Ruhr.

INNOCENT ARBEITER No. 1: "I only followed orders. Workers on the assembly line were told to install emissions sensors which were nothing but blank tabs of plastic. No sensors were put in at all... What? No, I never did these things myself, you understand. I only saw them being done by others. Will you give me this Amnesty in writing, please?"

INNOCENT ARBEITER No. 2: "... the emissions filters were just cloth bags, filled with CheeseWhiz. They forced me to do this. It was the only way I could get a promotion. Do I receive a reward for my confessions?"

INNOCENT ARBEITER No. 3: "I changed the code in the software package which operated the emissions detectors. Each time the car was mounted on a test machine, the software sensed this -- and the auto sound system would come on, playing Heino, singing 'Liebe Mütter' at 320 Decibels. This upset the emissions technicians so much that they would do anything to get the car out of their shop.

"I don't know why anyone should be surprised by this -- 'It's a massive conspiracy; a wholesale defrauding of governments and consumers; harm to the environment', blah blah blah. Doesn't anyone get it? Corporations do not care about anything other than profit. They will do whatever they want in order to get it. Period.

"You going to put that in your report? Nein? Imagine my astonishment."

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Random Barking: Turkey Day

Sad Vlad Eyes The Menu


Click To Enlarge -- It's Easy And Fun !

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Everything But The Headline

Trumpola !

The Republican party continues its descent: In a Reuters / Ipsos poll, 31 per cent of Republicans believe Donny is "the Republican candidate most trusted to manage the economy, deal with foreign leaders and serve as commander in chief."

  

And, more Republicans "would trust him with the nation’s nuclear weapons than most of the rest of their party's presidential primary field."  When asked, these same Republicans believed Elvis may have faked his own death, and that the Occupy! movement was financed by Commie Red Chinese Island-Building Oligarchs. 

"We need someone like Trump to stand up to the Chinese," said Bigelda Hure of Steeltown, Ohio. "It's time to kick butt. We need more narcissistic, sociopathic brinksmanship in our foreign policy. We need leaders who will continue to impoverish the vast majority of Americans for the benefit of 'The Owners'. That's what will make America great again. That, and more megamergers."

Meanwhile, Jebby ! attempted to reignite his flailing campaign. Standing in front of several people and a Superintelligent Parakeet at the parking lot of a Foodway in Tampa, Younger Bush waved away the advice of his critics. "I can't be someone I'm not," he said. "Chang The Mystic Warrior told me to say that." The Parakeet narrowed its eyes at Younger Bush, a sure sign that all is not well and will not be well.

Superintelligent Parakeet: Cute, But Don't Waste His Time. Ever.

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Ad From Days Of Future Past

Faux Ads From that terrible Dog;  Click & enlarge; it's easy and fun !

 

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NEWS -- ON THE MARCH !!

Turn Your Home Into An Arena Of Terror And Shame By Reading This

 

Dateline / Washington: President Boner To Go Away

President John Boner announced yesterday that he is stepping down from his position as Speaker-To-Animals in order to spend more time with his family and his expertly-crafted hairpiece. Upon hearing the news, Boner's family locked him out of his Georgebushtown Double-Wide home and he was forced to spend the night with a sheep, hooker, or kitchen appliance by himself.

Poor Boner. Since the exit of Lil' Eric Cantor, Boner had come under increasing pressure from members of the Amerikanischer Tea Partei who live in his pants to secede from the USA, end Medicare, divert the nation's Social Security funds to Lloyd Blankfein for His amusement, and provide treats to America's deserving wealthy.  Because Freedom. But Boner could not do this -- he could not wear his pants. The Powerbars that Be had a sad, and America didn't care, because Hillary!  Jebby!

Boner had been recently described by some Parteigenossen as "sick, old; his coat was no longer shiny and his nose was warm" -- clear signs, they said, that he should be taken out behind the House Barn and put down -- but humanely, with a shovel, or volume 2 of the House Rules.  Rather than allow himself to be publicly shamed, Boner ran away.

He is gone now. But we should remember his relentlessness, his turgid imbecility and Aspergerish mien withal. Remember how he sat behind the Pestident during the annual STFU Address and the teevee showed him making sour faces and farting into the seat cushion.

He accomplished so little for so many, and allowed the few so much; a Lickspittle Running Dog who cried on command, thought Gustav Klimt was a clothing designer, and who never stopped thinking of the Girl he left in his behind.

 (Britches 'n Cecil / ©2009 Paul Corrigan:  Hey -- We Want More!)

Boner was last seen with Britches and Cecil, thinking of additional, last-minute Crumby Presints he could leave for all of us, on his way Out The Door That Is America -- that's the one spray-painted gold, with that cheesy lamp beside it.

 Dateline / Again Washington: President Mikky To Go Away Too, Also

Righthandy Guy to President Boner, Kevin McCarthy looked as if he was set to become Presidenty himself. But like a becalmed Sturgeon in a reduced-watershed Sacramento Delta, he too failed to find enough Tea Partei to live in his pants. Then, he marched proudly out to expose himself before the Press. Many wanted to look away, but America is a strong place which no deodorant can tame -- so we looked anyway, and it was cheesy, but it was real.

Mikky Tells The Press The Truth About Potomac-Town

McCarthy told everyone that Chopin's Etude No. 3, Op. 10 in E Major, was the equivalent of Proust's  "Remembrance Of Things Past". Many agreed. Many more thought Chopin was a brand of Chinese frozen food, or an ice cream Treat For Our Wealthy.

Then McCarthy told the Press that he had been in Washingtown a long time, and knew the Trooth: Alien beings who felt nothing (because they were Plant Matter), who were birthed from huge seed pods, replaced us while we slept.  "You're next," Mikky said to America with a smile. "I haven't slept in a thousand hours, I don't have the votes, and I need a new face." And then he -- like 2% of the Frog species of the Earth this year -- was gone too.

Dateline / You Know Where: Sad Vlad On Every Corner

Sad Vlad Desperately Seeks Totoro Approval. Think We're Kidding? Maybe. Or, Maybe Not.

Strutting and preening in a way designed to make even the simple Yak desire him -- Sad Vlad, The Putin, Botox Wrestler and All-Around Guy, got the better of everybody, again, by driving his military vehicle into downtown Middle East and parking in a handicapped zone.

The Nato, an all-but extinct creature in Europe, looked on and whinnied or grunted or keened -- you know; that noise that Natos make. Other major countries stood around and watched, fuming, with arms crossed, the very picture of being offended by simply unspeakable rudeness. Well; I never, they huffed.

"That's your fucking problem," Sad Vlad replied as he loaded a crate of Extra Pony-Size Trojan-Ezy into his armored car. "You never. I always."

Many Tea Partei members in that America found themselves curiously aroused by the melding of manliness and Cluster Munitions. If only we could do that, they thought to themselves privately as they watched the Russian BombCam footage on teevee. If Lil' Boots were here, then President Cheney woulda shown that Eye-sis. Guess we'll have to root fer the Russkis!

And Sad Vlad didn't stop there. He was spotted in a submersible, dashed down to Crimea, jetted off to New Ork and told a roomfull of people that Russia was On The March and would Be Great Again, by Soso's Last Underpants!  ('Soso' =  a nickname for 'Joe'; you can fill in the rest if you are licensed to do so.)

Vlad said he was building a new coalition with that Iran, and kicking the indecisive, candyassed Amerikanyets' Middle Eastern foreign policy to the curb. Bizarre Al-Asshat, Killer Dentist of Syria, would be propped up. Screw the Saudis and the UAE and those guys -- they'd come around, or else. He'd put a saddle on a Nato and ride it around, or he wasn't the Leader Of The Fee-Based World. "Take that, John Carey," Sad Vlad bellowed. "My face job is better than your face job!"

Fortunately, Sad Vlad said all this in Russian, without formal translation, and the roomful of people he was speaking to were a busload of tourists from Canada in the Tiki Room of a Holiday Inn in the South Bronx. Vlad's wranglers hustled him back to the big UN building in time for him to address the assembled nations and say more or less the same things. "Come and get me, Coppers!" Vlad growled, then looked up towards the heavens and shouted, "Top Of The World, Babushka!"

Dateline / Murrika: TRUMPOLA !

Be Still, My Weasel. (Photo: David Becker / Reuters)

Donnyboy can no longer control the Weasel Who Lives On His Head. It speaks to him; it purrs. He has listened and repeated whatever it says.  Whatever it has told him to do, he has done. And because the USA likes warm cheese and Amerikan Idle, and everything is now Reality Teevee, the antics of Donnyboy's faux-bling candidacy has fascinated the Americans (but not as much as whatever Sports Franchise Product we are supposed to be watching now).

Citizens understand in their bowels that they have no power. That the Game Is Rigged, in ways which -- if we bothered to read documents on Wikileaks -- would induce vomiting. So life for the powerless becomes theater, "Reality Teevee"; and suddenly the spectacle of politics makes sense: It won't make any difference what we do. We don't choose -- "They" choose.

You buy many things. You toil at jobs. Daily, you consume your own body weight in foods rendered from sugar, whale fat, and abused animals. You text. A lot. You watch teevee. You daydream about Taylor Swift and unconsciously imitate that little hop-step she has perfected. You keep saying It's possible for anyone to become rich in America; we're the land of opportunity. I can win the Lottery. I can make a profit in the Market.

Against that backdrop of rabid hope, a Donnyboy candidacy not only makes sense; it has an odor of inevitability about it (which smells just like the interior of a 1939 Mercedes).  Hell; in these conditions, even a Grand Turtlebear Bachmann candidacy makes sense.

But now, Donnyboy's luster, all Palmolive and Sprinklies from the soda fountain, has begun to soften in the heat. The Weasel is tired, and whispers even more nonsensical things for Donny to repeat. It dreams of escape -- of leaving Donny bald, with the Weasel finally able to live in seclusion, where it can repair itself from the PTSD it suffered during Donnyboy's marriage to Ivana.  It dreams of a Mrs. Weasel.

This was Donny's last Fifteen Minutes, and it came with commercials.  Only, Donny believed it was real; the Weasel -- old, bleached and tired -- knew better. As it always has.

Dateline / Murrika: We Who Are About To Die Want You To Go Instead

Be Selective.

As a Dog, I sleep. I enjoy the sleep. I doze where and whenever I have an opportunity. But you tend to miss stuff, and when you discover (for example) that the Selective Service Act is alive 'n well in USA -- just when you thought it was safe to put your hand in a fishbowl; Ha Ha Ha Ha, but WTF???

...yesterday’s emphasis on battlefield prowess with the people skills required of troops more recently focused on counterinsurgency. At a time when U.S. military action has become defined by targeted airstrikes, ships jockeying in the South China Sea and a reluctance to place boots on the ground, the Army is seeking to reassert itself on the strategic stage, experts say.

About a week ago, Selective Service pamphlets began showing up again in U.S. Post Offices across the country. With conflicts on the rise across the globe, the U.S. program has once again shifted into high gear to register all eligible U.S. males, legal and illegal, between the ages of 18-25 in the event a U.S. military draft becomes necessary. The timing of the move is sure to raise questions about what may be shortly coming down the pipe in terms of an “inevitable” global conflict.

And it turns out to be true. Male animals between 18 and 25 must register. Must. Well, I mean; Holy Shit. When did this happen??

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You Have My Attention Now And That Isn't A Good Thing

Oh The Humanity

I assumed that one idea behind Hitchbot (the solar-powered robot who could interact with humans on a limited basis, its travels tracked by a GPS chip) wasn't only a potential teaching moment around how we relate to technology.  The little robot was an electronic version of the kidnapped Lawn Gnome. It was impossible not to look at it and anthropomorphize.

The Canadian artists who created it knew that Hitchbot's progress required the good will and active assistance of humans who would (anthropomorphizing, again) treat it like a stranger or (given its size) a child who needed help.

The Bot was a visible extension of our better sensibilities towards each other. You could treat a fun-looking inanimate object with kindness -- the way you would hope to be treated if you had set out on a journey; On Your Own, With No Direction Home; needing a ride and shelter.

The Hitchbot turned into an event that people could photograph, Facebook about, Twitter about it.  Clearly, the Bot got taken to parties, and into people's homes; things occasionally got a little loose -- but the little guy was treated well. He was passed, hand to hand, through the world -- shared, in a way.  Proof the human community still functioned and small kindnesses were still offered, illusory as though all that may be.

None of this solved the sectarian religious struggles of the Middle East, or solved World Hunger™. It had nothing to do with politics, social inequality or the vanishing of the Megafauna. The Hitchbot was a symbol of good feelings; it went Trans-Canada without incident. It went all over Germany and the Netherlands, and returned home.

Then, its Canadian creators decided to send the little Hitchbot across America -- down the Northeast Corridor, and bound for California -- the label around its can-shaped head said, "San Francisco Or Bust!".  It got as far as Philadelphia before some lowlife wannabe gangsta punk kiddie stomped it into the gutter.

Pathetic Excuse For Sentient Life (Philly.com; Click To Enlarge)

The person who found what was left of the robot, and posted what appears to be security camera video (above) showing it being kicked to bits by its suck-ass nihilistic whorespawn assailant, did not say how they came by the footage. Some people floated the idea that the attack on the Hitchbot was "a prank", and the security cam video a fake.

It doesn't matter. Whatever the motivation, someone in fact deliberately smashed the Bot, and shit all over what it had come to symbolize in the process. It was a useless, pathetic gesture.

And, know what? I wasn't surprised. This is the US of A, the Land of Jo Benet and O.J. Simpson; "Lil' Boots" Bush and Crazy Moose Lady and Grand Turtlebear Bachmann; of Hillary! and Herr President Obama, and Larry Summers laughing with Kenneth Lay, and millions of people losing their jobs and their homes. It's obesity and Goldman-Sachs and on-demand porno -- and some stupid asshole wearing his baseball cap backwards (you can see it in the actual video) as he stomps on an electronic ambassador of good feelings, tears off its arms and its head. That's a lot of effort and violence; yeah; the whole world gets to see that.

Thanks, kiddie. That's your America; thanks for sharing.  And while it isn't an image of people being barrel-bombed in Syria, or having their homes destroyed by wildfires or tornadoes, it was the functional equivalent of beating a child or stomping a puppy to death -- just because you're living The Faux Thug Life and you're All That and want lots of hits on UTub.

Give Him The Keys. Now.

Tell you what -- if it's an avatar of chaos and thuggery that you want in America, let's resurrect Ed209. Make him the symbol of "community", but in a way that really represents the Good Ol' Boy USA, the Kiss-Up-Kick-Down USA.  That's the kind of country the pudgy little-dick in the video lives in.

And, since we live in a country where making others fear us is as axiomatic in foreign policy as it is on the street, Ed's reappearance wouldn't be given much notice. You know where we live: Drones. 400 channel digital teevee. Gigantor trucks. Email, Internet and Cellphone surveillance. Southern Megachurches and President Boner and Tubby Ol' Mr. Sessions; The Very Wealthy Koch Brothers  and The Very Serious People and the manufactured excitement of  Hillary!  Jebby!  

The Hitchbot was a small reminder that we can live in a different world; but this is one of those moments when I'm reminded that it's just as likely we're on our way down La Chute, where all Empires travel on their way to the bottom; where we'll get everything we deserve (and an extra helping, Because Freedom).

So let's put Ed209 back in action. Let him hitchhike across America. I'll bet he'd make it in record time.

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Where Der Elites Meet

More Kulturschande

(Original photo: 2015 Reuters / Michael Kappeler / Pool Photographer)

London Financial Times: Donald Trump 'Pillaging' Greece, Ass...

Hey, We Didn't Say It

(Screenshot: FT Online, June 16, 2015; Video Section)

The Donald, in all his bling-like faux splendor, appeared today before members of the media (all present wondering whom they had enraged to be stuck with such an assignment), and made his by-now-expected quadrennial announcement that He, and The Weasel Who Lives On His Head, are again running for the Republican nomination for President of these United Sates.

El Donaldo used Neil Young's "Rockin' In The Free World"  (better, I'm guessing, than excerpts from Scene de la foile from 'Lucia de Lammermoor', particularly as Don doesn't look that good in a torn dress). Young blasted back at Donny via Twitter, and Cindy Lauper called out both The Donald, His Weasel and his wife for "fat shaming" on Celebrity Apprentice.

Meanwhile, in other, less important news, Greece and TPTB in the EU, IMF and ECB continued to reenact the playing-chicken scene from Rebel Without A Cause; Prime Minister Tsipras plays the role of James Dean, and Angela Merkel plays Sal Mineo. We all know how that ended up.

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Reprint Heaven: Look; I Don't Make This Stuff Up

Trolling For Submerged Vehicles

Obligatory Small Animal Photo At Beginning Of Blog Thing

Sniffing around the Intertubes, I found this.

“When is Ben coming home?” Edmund said.

“They told their dog they’d be back in a week,” the muddy boy said. “So… four more days, then. Their dog hates boats, which means anytime they leave on a sailing vacation their dog has to live outside and kill his own food and put up with me doing whatever I want to it.”

“Do you know which song unlocks the trapdoor in Ben’s cottage?” Edmund said.

As the muddy boy handed Edmund the carton of milk, Edmund saw that on the boy’s wrist someone had lettered, in mud, the letters M O N G O.

“I don’t know anything about songs,” the muddy boy said as he peeked into his bag.

Edmund gestured at the muddy boy’s wrist. “Did Mongo write that on you?”

“Yes.”

“You know Mongo?”

“I am Mongo. Who told you I wasn’t Mongo?”

“Nobody,” Edmund said. “But if you’re Mongo, I’m supposed to tell you something.”

“Then tell it.”

My original suspicion was that James Joyce had been reborn and has been using my name. However, it's part of a serial post-modern Intertubes novel entitled The Numberless, created by Ts’ui Pên, a Chinese writer now living in Italy (and thereupon, I am convinced, hangs a really good tale), translated by a person at Vanderbilt University and published by Potboiler Press.

But, I'm only a Dog, and no one listens to me -- though I do happen to like boats, so long as I'm not actually on them. And, I don't live "outside", and don't kill my own food. I go to a restaurant, like anyone else; even if I have to use a child seat and have difficulty with the silverware.

There. Now you know everything. Except about Heino.

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MEHR, MIT AROOO:  All fans of Umberto Ecco and the Illuminati series, and anyone who enjoys those nifty 9-11 conspiracy videos posted on UTub, take note: in going back to check the links in this post (as the Intertubes has a way of marching on), we discovered a tiny mystery: The novel I'd quoted from had disappeared. And it didn't appear to be as it seemed.

The section quoted above was indeed from a postmodern, online novel, The Numberless -- however, the domain where it was posted, thenumberless.com, has expired.  It did exist, however (and proof can be seen courtesy of The Wayback Machine), but there are no search engine references to the work. 

Thankfully, the Wayback cache did keep a link to the email address at vanderbilt.edu of the novel's 'translator', Matthew S. Baker, and a search for him shows that he is quite real and very much extant.  Formerly of the MFA program at Vanderbilt University, he has had a children's novel, If You Find This, just released this year by Little, Brown publishers.

Baker's claim in posting The Numberless online was that it had been penned by Ts’ui Pên, a Chinese writer living in Rome, and that Baker had translated it from the original Italian.  Putting Pên's name into the vast whirl of the Googlemachine shows one reference  -- to a 1941 short story, "The Garden Of Forking Paths", a collection of short works by Jorge Luis Borges and published under that title.

It's a story set during WW1, involving espionage and a search for Hermetic knowledge.  Pên is mentioned as "a learned and famous man" who resigned as governor of a Chinese province "to undertake two tasks: to write a vast and intricate novel, and to construct an equally vast and intricate labyrinth ... in which all men would lose their way." Ts'ui Pên was murdered before completing the novel. The draft he left behind was confusing, contradictory and made no sense to later readers. The labyrinth he mentioned was never found.

However, the novel Ts'ui Pên wrote was the labyrinth -- his attempt to describe a world where all possible outcomes of an event occur simultaneously, each one itself leading to different possible futures.  Today, given String Theory, The Multiverse, and even stories like "One: A Novel", this vision is hardly new -- but in 1941, notable.

And Heino is still around.. 

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Second Star From The Right

And Straight On 'Till Morning
Leonard Nimoy  1931 - 2015

Not all that many people affect a wider world; the number that have a positive influence are even smaller.

El Rog (that's pronounced "Raj") The Magnificent at my Place Of Witless Labor™ spoke over the Great Wall Of Cubicle a while ago and advised Leonard Nimoy has died. The visual image which immediately popped into my mind was the character he made immortal, Spock, as he'd appeared in the first JJ Abrams reboot of the Star Trek franchise, and so my first thought was Spock, dead? No; that's not possible. It took a few seconds to remember Nimoy in any other way, and then the news seemed not only possible but not unexpected. Now He Knows What We Do Not.

As Lynda Barry tells it, television was role model, teacher, and refuge for several generations. It was all those for me, and due to an odd twist of pre-frontal cortex which allows me to recall the complete dialogue of specific films nearly intact, I would remember the faces of character actors who appeared in films and different television series (which would lead to posts like this, and this, and this one).

I watched Star Trek when it was new in 1966, and a new concept for television -- a science fiction episodic television program (the audience could 'get involved' with the lives of its characters, and their relationship with each other, to create a backstory to support the arc of the series).  It's true that 'The Twilight Zone' had appeared in 1959, and One Step Beyond not long after; then "Outer Limits" in 1964, but each of their episodes were separate presentations, a series of short stories.

Star Trek was the first of its kind, and it made all the other series that followed, Star Trek-related or not, possible -- ST Next Generation; ST Deep Space Nine; ST Voyager; Starship Enterprise; Babylon 5; Stargate; Battlestar Galactica (original, and the remake); Space 1999; even the Saturday morning Thunderbirds! marionette series.

It also made possible a long string of other sci-fi and fantasy-related programs that we take for granted, today, from X-Files and Roswell to the SciFi Channel. 

The crew of the NCC 1701 were a family, and Leonard Nimoy's rendition of the science officer and XO was spot on, right from the beginning; I can't imagine another actor in 1966 who could have brought more to the role (Try and imagine it. Go ahead). The series was a popular success, but even with a large write-in campaign from fans, NBC cancelled it; episodes in the spring of 1968 were the last.

In the1970's Nimoy joined the cast of Mission: Impossible, replacing Martin Landau (who ended up as the star of -- yes; 'Space 1999', with his MI co-star and then-wife, Barbara Bain).  When Star Trek's creator, Gene Roddenberry, finally received financial backing to produce "Star Trek: The Motion Picture", Nimoy returned to his Spock role. But, the movie had a poor showing when it was released in 1979 and for a time it wasn't clear whether there would be any sequels. Nimoy began looking for other ways to reinvent his career -- as a writer, an artist, as a stage actor.

Four years later, with a different director and script, The Wrath Of Khan (with another decent character actor, Ricardo Montalban) appeared, and was a success -- even when the unexpected happened; Spock sacrifices himself to save his ship, its crew, and the officers on it that were his family.
  

 "I was, and always shall be, your friend." If you saw the film when it was released,

tell me you didn't feel just a little misty when he spoke that line. 

There would be another four star Trek films with the original cast  -- two of them written, and directed, by Nimoy. In 1987, he directed Three Men and A Baby for Disney Studios -- a big hit, financially. Nimoy continued directing other productions until 1995.

Over the last twenty years, Nimoy had been candid that as a person, it hadn't all been a bed of roses; he had suffered with an alcohol addiction since the late 1960's, but had conquered it. Even as he grew older he continued to do what he did best, to act -- his appearance as the reclusive Dr. Bell on the series, Fringe, and reprising Spock in the 2012 Star Trek reboot, were his last hurrahs as an actor.

Nimoy and Zachary Quinto at the opening of Abram's Star Trek (2012)

Through the original series and the motion pictures, Spock's character was about resolving inner conflict, the Path Of Logic versus human instincts. But Nimoy's character, which he did a good deal to shape, was also about loyalty, compassion, and Right Action.

For generations of people who grew up watching Nimoy as Spock, the character showed a bridge between our illogical selves and Something Larger, in a positive way.  The planet Vulcan may not exist, but that there might be a choice between instinctive or unconscious behavior, and some level of clarity achieved through discipline, does. No matter how that is internalized, it's a powerful message.

And, it's not a stretch to say that Nimoy's role as (arguably) Star Trek's most popular character helped to popularize science fiction on television. This was different from the B-Film sci-fi that was churned out in the 50's and 60's  -- it made science fiction acceptable as a dramatic form, The Human Dilemma in the vast reaches of space. Without Trek on television and in film, there might have been a very different and less nuanced 'Star Wars' (all six of them), or Blade Runner, Alien, or "Interstellar".

So, another Mensch leaves us -- I hope, for another continuing adventure.

Kirk:  I think its about time we got underway ourselves. 
Uhura:  Captain, I have orders from Starfleet Command. We're to put back to Spacedock immediately ... to be decommissioned. 
Spock:  If I were human, I believe my response would be, "go to Hell" -- if I were human.
Uhura:  What are your orders, sir?.
Kirk:  Second star on the right -- and straight on 'till morning.

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Reprint Heaven: The Droids You're Looking For, Not

A Brief Business Analysis Of Episode Four

(From November, 2011. Because it is funny, and you all seem to like it so.)

You realize, of course, that the entire Rebellion could have been stopped in its tracks if one checkpoint at Mos Eisley had been on its toes.

Large organizations can operate using top-down management structures, but risk increases as functional groups become silos that are a handicap towards reaching organizational goals -- and at the worst times, leading to extreme, 'Black Swan'-style failures, as demonstrated here.

Plus, one result of this Epic Fail was that we were condemned to sit through Episodes 1 through 3.

---

And at some point, long, long ago in a galaxy far, far away... In managing resources, there have to be clearly delineated and documentable disciplinary processes -- generally beginning with a verbal warning; written warning; and finally a Performance Action Plan, where the areas of concern and specific performance benchmarks for the employee are clearly defined, is issued.

If the employee can't meet these benchmarks, they are terminated from Imperial service and end up working for Pizza The Hutt.

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