Martha Mason, who spent six decades of her life encased in an iron lung, passed away recently. Her obituary notes that she excelled in academics as a young woman, had a brief career as a columnist for the local newspaper in her small North Carolina, and eventually wrote an autobiography entitled Breath. Even though more portable ventilators eventually became available, she chose to remain in the iron lung because it “let her breathe without tubes in her throat, incisions or hospital stays, as newer, smaller ventilators might require.” The obit also describes how she still managed to enjoy a rich social life that might not have been possible outside a sleepy Southern town. She had frequent visitors and hosted many dinner parties. She was one of a dwindling handful who still use iron lungs as a form of life support.

I have a hard time imagining what Mason’s life must have been like on a daily basis. And that seems ironic, considering that many of you reading this blog might think the same thing about me. I don’t care how many visitors she had; the isolation and immobility must have weighed heavy on her at times. But she made the most of it, which is all any of us can hope to achieve.

I knew that J.J. Abrams’ entry in the Star Trek franchise was going to be a reboot of the mythology. Five television series and ten movies have created a crushing mass of continuity that would give any screenwriter a migraine. But wow, they weren’t kidding about the “reboot” part. I can’t say much more without revealing major spoilers, but one plot point left me agape in shock and thinking “Wow, that took balls.”

And that’s probably why this is the most invigorating Trek movie since Kirk and Spock went whale sightseeing in The Voyage Home. It’s got all the best things of classic Trek. That shiny futuristic optimism. Cool-looking starships that get into some spectacular battles. Familiar characters with familiar quirks. And hot green women. But the movie also adds some new elements to remind us that this isn’t the hippie-dippy Trek of Roddenberry’s time. We see that Vulcans can be total douchebags. We see that Kirk and Spock weren’t always best buds. We see that Spock and Sarek both share a thing for the human ladies. We don’t see Kirk’s stunt double.

I’m really curious to see where Paramount takes the series from here. A sequel is already in the works. But the original continuity still spawns countless books and comics. Will all that fall by the wayside or will the studio tend to each universe separately? It seems like keeping both up and running would create even more opportunities to cash in, but it might require the average fan to start keeping a flowchart to keep track of events.

And because I’m a hopeless geek, I’m going to allow myself one nitpick. A water turbine? On a starship? Really? I was so reminded of the scene in Galaxy Quest where, upon discovering a particularly bizarre obstacle built into the starship, one character says to the other: “It makes no logical sense! Why is it here?”

Sometimes the English language’s elasticity can get a little annoying. The latest flash-in-the-pan neologism to get its moment in the digital sun is thrisis. A thrisis is that moment when you realize you’re now in your mid-thirties and you still can’t figure out who you are and what you want to be when you grow up and you can no longer ignore the fact that you’re getting kind of old and uncool. Or something.

I’ll confess to be a little more aware of life’s complexities in the last couple years, but I’m not feeling compelled to hit the panic button just yet. My prediction: “thrisis” will have a slightly shorter half-life than “metrosexual” but slightly longer than “rickrolled”.

A few of my friends are currently contemplating or actually completing master’s programs in public policy, which has stirred up my own latent ivory tower leanings. I’m not sure an M.P.P. would do much to further enhance my career prospects–my law degree has served me pretty well in that regard–but I think I would enjoy wonking out with other policy geeks for a couple years. And I write a mean term paper. But school costs money and I’m not eager to saddle myself with a fresh load of debt. And, if I’m being completely honest with myself, I like only having to worry about finishing my next book club reading. I’ll have to be content with listening to my friends’ academic exploits and proofing their papers.

On the way home, I passed a little kid and his mother on the sidewalk. I heard the kid say “Mom, what’s wrong with him?” And I thought that was actually a pretty perceptive question. A little self-analysis can be quite healthy so here’s my attempt to articulate a response to the question “What is wrong with me?”

• I’m a terrible procrastinator.
• I own way too many pairs of khaki pants. 
• I never read any Milton.
• I can’t seem to get through a day without rolling my eyes at someone at least once. 
• I get annoyed when people use “impact” as a noun verb.
• Have you seen the size of my head?
• I use the term “dude” with alarming frequency. 
• When I want to relax, I backup my files.
• I can spot the differences between the original and director’s cut of Blade Runner.
• I blog stupid lists when I’m desperate for content.