Daleks Love Donuts

Another Guest Blog by Pocket Dalek

Pocket Dalek: Can I share your maple cinnamon roll?
Other Daleks: Sorry, there's already four of us here.

Pocket Dalek: Can I share your sprinkled cinnamon roll, please?
Other Daleks: No way!  You called dibs on the chocolate chip pancakes last weekend!

Momma?

Two donut holes, and an egg white omelet of my very own?
Wow.  Momma not only loves me,
she's concerned about my cholesterol.

A very-relieved Pocket Dalek

P.S.  Wait, I don't have a high LDL count, do I?

Revisiting Alien Nation

I received a set of the “Alien Nation” movies for Christmas, so before I watched them, I refreshed my memory by rewatching the original series.  This TV show ran for one season on the Fox Network, from 1989-1990, and then was cancelled due to lower-than-expected advertising revenue.  But the show struck a chord with viewers, and four years later, the first movie, “Dark Horizon,” was made.  Its acceptance led to four additional movies in the next three years.

The stories spring from an event that predates the series’ inception, when a space ship lands on Earth.  The aliens, known as Tenctonese, or Newcomers, disembark shortly before the ship explodes.  The series envisioned how Humans might adapt to the forced inclusion of a quarter of a million Newcomers on Earth.  We view this through the eyes of two Los Angeles Police Department detectives, the Human Matt Sykes, and Newcomer George Francisco.

Returning to the world of “Alien Nation” was a special treat, as I had loved the series when it aired.  Unfortunately, the stand-alone nature of the TV movies meant that several characters had to be simplified or excised.  Each movie therefore lacked the richness of the former series, but benefitted from more complex story ideas, and a more tightly honed plot. 

As a bonus feature, most of the actors reunite in director & executive producer Kenneth Johnson’s home in 2007 (ten years after the final movie aired) to discuss various aspects of the show, and its impact upon their world.  Gary Graham, who played Matt Sykes, mentioned how enthusiastically a group of stature-deprived people greeted him at a Hollywood function.  Eric Pierpoint, who played Newcomer George Francisco, told of entering a subway car in New York City, and not being able to leave for half an hour (long after the train reached his intended stop), because of all the people of different races who recognized him and wanted to tell him how much the show had meant to them.  As Kenneth Johnson summarized, every socio-ethnic group who has ever felt prejudice, or been marginalized, bonded with the Newcomers. 

On a personal level, watching the original series, and the TV movies, reminded me how easy it can seem to treat others equally, but how difficult it really is.  Take, for example, Albert, a Newcomer who works as the janitor in the police station.  At first, he seems mentally handicapped, but as the series progresses, we realize that Albert is just as smart as everyone else: he simply has different gifts and abilities.  Yet some characters never see past their initial impression.  Thus, they treat him poorly, and never realize how special he truly is. 

A high school instructor once told me, “Marriage is about bad smells.”  I think I understand what he meant.  When we go out in public, we do our best to make a favorable impression, visually as well as odor-wise.  Due to their different physiology, Newcomers eat and drink different foods than we do.  Imagine going into a restaurant and having dinner, while at the next table, the Newcomer family is eating small mammals such as weasel or beaver, or organs like the spleen or pancreas.  Their bodies cannot tolerate cooked food, so these choice morsels are served raw.  And instead of drinking alcoholic beverages, they drink sour milk.  Imagine working with such people, and having to smell their food (and their breath) all the time.  This goes beyond their other body odors we would have to learn to tolerate.  Maybe we could adapt to people who looked different.  But would we really choose to eat with them, or work with them, if the smell of their bodies and their food threatened to make us ill?

In “Harry Harrison’s Final Message,” I wrote about how tolerance is different from acceptance and love.  Ironically, those who preach the virtues of the former many times only succeed in further isolating and marginalizing their opponents.  I’m not sure if I really could adapt to Newcomers as Matt Sykes does throughout the course of “Alien Nation.”  I don’t know if I could put aside such huge differences, and come to regard Newcomers as close friends.  But the real test of whether one can accept the group is to first accept the individual.  And who better to start with than the Alberts of the world, who most need our acceptance, our friendship, and our love?

Dragon Dave

Related Dragon Cache entries

Harry Harrison’s Final Message

The Cat Who Liked Opera

A guest blog by Dragon Dave’s Wife

Dragon Dave’s blogs on his dogs reminded me of the pets I had while growing up.  Along with the family dog, we always kept a cat or two around the house.  During my high school years, two kittens came to live with us, one for me and one for my sister.  These kittens were sisters like us, and each had their own personality.  One would run off and hide when company arrived.  This scaredy cat was named Heidi.  She was my sister’s cat; she was white with gray spots and a gray tail.

Unlike her sister, my cat welcomed guests.  In fact, she expected not only to be petted, but for each guest to give her some of whatever food was being served. She was named Polly Anna.  She was a sweet, tiger-striped tabby with a white chest and four white socks, only one of her socks had a hole in it and a gray toe poked out of it.  Her name was often shortened to Polly Cat or Polly.  She usually let me pick her up and carry her about, but she always put her paws on my shoulders and dug her claws in, to make sure she was safe.  She refused to be babied, carried around upside down, or on her back.  I still can feel the pinpricks of her claws on my shoulders.  

Polly taught me how to speak Cat, and I can still get a cat to look at me with a few well-chosen sounds.  As with most cats, Polly had her own vocabulary of different sounds, from happy purrs, greeting miats, to demanding meows that sounded like "Now!"  She made a particular cry when she brought me presents.  Usually, these consisted of items like corn husks, green beans, twigs, and small plants, but occasionally she brought me the odd mouse.  Polly proved a good hunter, adept at catching mice in the barn and the occasional bird, although she never caught the pheasant that she stalked in the field behind the house.

At night, I took her to my room and she slept at the end of my water bed.  (She was a great foot warmer).  Some nights she refused to settle down and go to sleep, but sat at my door and asked to be let out into the living room.  I eventually realized that those were the nights my parents watched the operas on the local public broadcasting channel.  So when I opened the door, Polly would proceed to the couch and curl up to enjoy the music, not returning until after the music died away.  I believe her favorite opera was "Der Fledermaus."  

When I left for college she stayed at home with my parents, but when I returned for vacations or short visits, she was usually the first to greet me, sitting on the shelf by the door as if waiting for me.  We always enjoyed our time together.  Polly got lap time and tidbits from the table.  I got her love.  For seventeen wonderful years, she enjoyed a life full of laps, petting, table scraps, hunting, and, of course, the opera.

Dragon Dave’s Wife

What the Yorkshire Dales Means to Me

Stan Lee’s Comikaze awakened us to aspects of pop culture we were unfamiliar with.  Our explorations of Malibu Creek State Park and Point Dume allowed us to remember what made some of our favorite movies and TV shows so special.  But after two weekends away, I could not set my attention, or focus my willpower, upon any worthwhile task.  Instead, my mind grasped the white flag, and waved it furiously. 

This is not a situation I can allow to continue, for my dragon characters eagerly await their novels’ publication.  So for today, I’m using this post to remember what the Yorkshire Dales means to me.  In doing this, I hope to rebuild my focus and recharge my willpower.  I hope you’ll find reading this worthwhile.

A field outside Hawes.

This was the work of a moment.

An unexpected view, captured forever.

Yet for me, it represents the tranquility of the Yorkshire Dales.

I know that life there is not easy.

I wonder if I could endure all the rain that makes these fields so green, 

as well as the other extremes of weather the locals endure.

I can only imagine the unending duties of the farmers, 

a list that only grows longer, even as they mark off each task completed. 

It’s a mix of feelings, all jumbled together but individual too,

It includes tranquility, serenity, caring, and of course, love.

Yes.  I think love most of all.

For you have to really love what you do, the people you’re doing it for, 

the animals you’re tending, and the land you work, work, work.

You have to love the small businesses you run, the limited options, 

and the community in which you live.

In an age of technology, of industry, of globalization, to willingly cut yourself off 

from so many modern conveniences, so many options, 

so many ways to embrace anonymity, 

and take on so much responsibility, 

suggests a love for a certain way of life. 

I think that’s why the Yorkshire Dales have been preserved as a National Park. 

I think that’s why the area looks so little changed from James Herriot’s day. 

Love, Beauty, and the Yorkshire Dales: the three are synonymous.  

I salute everyone who lives there, and makes it such a special place.

Dragon Dave