Category: WWdN in Exile

It was bound to happen sooner or later, and though I’ve known this was coming for a few months now, I was still really sad to read confirmation that Star Trek: The Experience is closing September first.

Offering a sad commentary on the state of the Star Trek franchise, the Hilton Hotel in Las Vegas will shut down Star Trek : The Experience this fall.

Part simulator, part environment, part museum and (of course) part gift shop/restaurant, the Experience opened 10 years ago during the height of popularity for the Star Trek: The Next Generation movies.

But, the exhibit isn’t drawing the fans it once did — just as the franchise is fading off the public radar. While J.J. Abrams is hustling to save Star Trek on the big screen, it’s too late to save it in Vegas.

The Experience will always be special to me, because, as I wrote in the Geek in Review (excerpted from Dancing Barefoot):

The Transporter Chief says, “Welcome to the 24th century. You are aboard the starship Enterprise.”

She could have said to me, “Welcome to 1987, Wil. You are on Stage 9.”

She touches her communicator and says, “I have them, Commander.”

Jonathan Frakes’ voice booms over the comm, “Good work, Lieutenant. Please take them to the bridge.”

We leave the transporter room and walk down a long corridor which is identical to the ones I walked down every day. I realize as we walk that, in my mind, I’m filling in the rest of the sound stage. I’m surprised when we don’t end up in engineering at the end of the corridor. Instead, we are herded into a turbolift, where we enjoy some more special effects. The turbolift shakes and hums . . . it’s infinitely cooler than the real ones we would stand in for the show.

When the turbolift doors open, and reveal the bridge of the Enterprise, I gasp.

The bridge is a nearly-perfect replica of ours, with a few minor differences that are probably imperceptible to anyone who didn’t spend the better part of five years on it. The hum of the engines, which had only existed in my imagination on Stage 8, is now real. I stare at the view screen, where a beautiful starfield gives the appearance of motion. I remember how much I hated doing blue screen shots on the bridge and how much I loved it when they’d lower the starfield. When I looked at those thousands of tiny mirrors, glued onto a screen of black velvet, I could lose myself in the wonderful fantasy that this spaceship was as real as the view.

I am consumed by hypernostalgia.

I am 14-years-old, walking out of the turbolift during Encounter at Farpoint. Corey Allen, the director, excitedly tells me, “Picard controls the sky, man! He controls the sky!”

I am 15-years-old, sitting in my ugly grey spacesuit at the CONN. My fake muscle suit bunches up around my arms. I feel awkward and unsure, a child who desperately wants to be a man.

I am 16-years-old, working on an episode where I say little more than, “Aye, sir.” I want to be anywhere but here.

I am 17-years-old, wearing a security uniform for Yesterday’s Enterprise. I am excited to stand in a different place on the bridge, wear a different uniform, and push different imaginary buttons.

I hear the voices of our crew, recall the cool fog that hung around our trailers each morning from Autumn until Spring.

I recall walking to the Paramount commissary with the cast, on our way to have lunch meetings with Gene before he died.

I have an epiphany.

Until this moment, all I have been able to remember is the pain that came with Star Trek. I’d forgotten the joy.

It’s obviously an important place to me, though I don’t expect it be nearly as important to anyone else in the world. I’ve always said that it’s something every Star Trek fan should, uh, experience, at least once.

They say that the props and things from the museum will be returned to Paramount, where I hope they’ll be put on Star Trek: the Tour . . . though if past is prologue, Paramount will likely have them looked after by top men.

I’m speaking to professional artists and designers. If that’s not you, skip this and listen to Leif Garrett.

Okay. Earlier today, I said:

It’s years out of date, so I’ve been considering either closing or updating the WWdN Cafepress store. I can’t design for shit, though, and even if I could, I don’t have time to do it.

Rather than just close it down, I thought I’d pose a question here: I’m sure there are lots of good designers and creative people who read my blog, so if I had a contest to design things like shirts and stickers and stuff, would anyone be interested in participating?

The winner would get a signed Happiest Days hardback and credit + links to the winner’s website, blog, store, whatever.

Response is mostly positive, but some designers were offended by my suggestion to do this thing as a contest. After reading their comments, I totally understand why, especially after reading the links to No Spec that they shared with me. I didn’t think about it until after I read those comments, but I get the feeling that contest is a loaded term in the design community, and though I spoke to this in a comment on my earlier post, I want to be really clear about my thinking, so I’m posting much of that reply in this entry, so RSS readers who don’t read or post comments can see it (I’ve also edited and expanded upon it a bit):

I’d never write something for free, unless I was getting some other form of compensation. One of the main reasons I stopped doing live sketch comedy shows was the poor investment:return ratio on time and money. There was a time when it was totally worth it to me to get nothing more than the joy of a performance out of the whole thing, but over time, something in me changed. It wasn’t adequate compensation anymore, so I stopped doing it.

People ask me to contribute to various blogs all the time, just because it would be neat; I always decline, because I write here, and for other places that pay me for my time and energy. But if I got a chance to do something like be an unpaid boingboing editor for a week, I’d do that in a heartbeat, for obvious reasons. This is why I thought I’d offer publicity and a signed book as compensation.

I didn’t even consider that it would offend, but thinking about it now, I totally respect that some (most?) designers would feel disrespected or demeaned by my idea, and I totally support and understand those designers who choose not to submit designs to me. You absolutely deserve to get paid for your time and effort, and if what I’m offering as compensation isn’t worth it to you, I completely understand.

See, if I had the money to pay someone for the work, I’d do that, but since the store isn’t a real big part of my business model (selling books is) I don’t have any budget to spend on it. To be clear: if this sort of thing offends you, please accept my apology; it’s not my intention to diminish you or your profession.

Contest is the wrong term, I guess. Maybe if I said that I’d be willing to trade credit, links, promotion, and an autographed book, it would be less offensive?

I want to be really, really, pedantically clear here: I totally respect the training and experience that goes into being a successful artist and designer. It was never my intention to demean anyone’s work or experience, take advantage of anyone, or exploit anyone.

So, let’s try this again, in a different way: I’m considering revamping the WWdN store (the alternative being just closing it down) but I don’t have the time or skill to do anything worthwhile with it on my own. I can’t afford to pay hundreds of dollars or more to commission designs. So here’s my idea: if you’d like to submit something to me, kind of like what Jonathan Coulton did recently, I’ll trade you exposure and publicity, as well as an autographed hardback of The Happiest Days of Our Lives.

Comments are closed on this post, but can be left on my post from earlier today, where there’s already an interesting conversation happening.