A Statement About the Star Trek

And so our love/lust affair with JJ Abrams and his sexy genius brain continues well into its seventh year.

Goodness, gracious. Where to begin?

As promised, Mother's Day was spent in the Lewis/Barstow conjoined household at the cinema, where glorious Transformers trailers and buttered popcorn were enjoyed by all. Except for those who didn't eat the popcorn and those who have no desire to see Transformers. But I digress.

I don't think I need to go into the whole "it's an origin story, starting at the beginning, rebooting the whole franchise which was sorely in need of rebooting." Do I? Well, tough. I'm not going to.

JJ Abrams, henceforth known to The Move Girl as God, was not a Trekkie growing up, and was in fact a Star Wars dork, and for that we love him all the more. It made it even more palatable for Star Wars dorks like me to have no qualms about going to see a Star Trek movie. If anyone was going to make us love the Trek, it was going to be God. Yay God.

So we'll skip to what God does best... cheeky geektastic dialogue, cameos by Meghan Rotundi Blumberg/Carrie Bowman Flinkman, Greg Grunberg, that lame chick from the last season of Alias, and the dude who played Andrian Lazarey. I somehow now have simultaneous crushes on Kirk, Sulu, and of all people, Spock, who a week ago you could not have induced me to touch with a ten-foot pole.

Having gone to the cinema with three generations of people, some of whom had seen previous Trek films and some of whom hadn't, and walking out with everyone raving like lunatics about how excellent it was, is no mean feat.

Go see Star Trek. Now.

Also, a few housekeeping notes:
Yay, Lady Liberty! We salute your blogging prowess.
And if you have a burning desire to read what I think about trashy romance novels, go here. If you don't, then don't.
I know I was supposed to write something critical, but since I didn't, just wait until next time! When we will inevitably talk about how awesome the Lost finale was... *sigh*...