Mind Trek: Mindfleet Academy

While the rest of the world prepares for the premiere of Star Trek: Starfleet Academy, where cadets train to become Starfleet officers, I found myself wondering, as my head hit the pillow, just what a training academy would be like for Mindfleet officers.

Deep in REM sleep, I materialized on the bridge of the GMS Coastal Voyager to find the entire senior staff gathered around the command console, and Princess Amy looking decidedly joyful. I know! Amy joyful?

Meeting on the Bridge

"Ambassador!" Lieutenant Joy called to me, practically bouncing at her communications station. "Perfect timing! We were just about to send for you."

"Send for me? What's going on?"

Princess Amy nodded toward the viewport, where an official transmission was displayed. 

"We've received a communication from Mindfleet Command. They're launching a new program—advanced training for mesolimbic crews who want to expand their capabilities and effectiveness."

"Mindfleet Academy," First Officer Reason added, striving to conceal his enthusiasm. "The program promises to improve crisis response protocols and develop advanced emotional navigation techniques."

"And we want in," Amy said firmly.

I blinked. "You want... training? But you've already navigated the Melancholy Nebula, handled the Klang Ho incident, and completed the Mission to Mohs, without once violating the Prime Directive.

"Exactly!" Joy interrupted. "We've proven we can handle crises. But imagine how much more we could do with advanced training!"

Chief Anxiety's voice crackled over the intercom from Engineering. "Aye, they're offering advanced systems integration, and—the part that really caught my attention—mindfulness-based stress reduction."

"You want to learn to worry less?" I couldn't keep the surprise from my voice.

"I want to learn how to worry smarter," Anxiety corrected. "The Academy's engineering program is taught by the finest minds in the United Federation of Emotional States."

Dr. Downer's voice spoke from the ship’s infirmary, "They're offering coursework in the therapeutic value of sadness. Finally," she exclaimed, "someone understands that I'm not a malfunction to be fixed, but a vital part of the crew."

I looked around at the collection of my personified emotions, the parts of myself that had only recently learned to work together. They were seriously excited.

"So what's the catch?" I asked because in my personal experience with the limbic system, there’s always a catch.

The Training Mission

Princess Amy's expression shifted, her excitement tempered by her "command challenge" face. 

"There's an evaluation process. We have to prove we're ready."

"They're sending us on a trial mission," Reason explained. "It will be a test of our ability to handle complex emotional situations. It's scheduled for the winter solstice—the Mindfleet holiday vacation period."

"Perfect timing, really," Joy added, though her usual brightness was edged with nervousness. "We'll have the holidays to recover if we don't make the cut."

"We'll make the cut," Amy said with the confidence of a captain who'd faced down alien abduction requests and existential nebulae. "But we need to prepare."

I looked out the viewport into a vast neural network of deep mind, where an array of synapses fired off and on, creating a dazzling display of electrical impulses, looking like a starfield in the darkness of inner space. "What are the details of the test?"

"They haven't given us specifics," Reason sighed. "That's part of the test—coping with unexpected situations. But scuttlebutt has it that applicants must deal with multiple simultaneous challenges, but nothing as demanding as the encounter at Farpoint Station."

The remark was followed by profound silence until I spoke. "So, basically, everything we've already done, but with someone grading us on it," I observed.

"Precisely," Amy said. "Which is why we need you with us, Ambassador. You're our conscious observer. If we're to prove we deserve a spot in the Academy, we need you to document everything we do and, most importantly, how we do it."

Chief Anxiety's voice came through again. "It's only the most important evaluation of our operational effectiveness in the history of Mindfleet. But I'm sure everything will be fine. Probably. Oh dear, I should run additional diagnostics—"

"Chief," Amy interrupted gently, "this is exactly the kind of thing the Academy training can help with."

"Right. Yes. Of course. I'll just... run a few diagnostics anyway. For practice."

The Levity Factor

"You know," I said, “Maybe we should consider going beyond just managing the crises the academy throws at us, and focus on doing it with grace and maybe occasional joy."

Joy perked up at that. "See? Like I always say, happiness isn't just for the good times. It's what gets you through the hard times."

"And concern isn't all about worry," Anxiety added. "It's about being prepared."

"And sadness isn't weakness," Dr. Downer said firmly. "It's the wisdom to acknowledge reality."

"And logic isn't cold," Reason contributed. "It's the framework that helps emotions work together effectively."

The look on Princess Amy's face suddenly changed, and I recognized it as the look that meant she was about to make a speech. 

"We've navigated emotional nebulae, handled alien encounters, and survived overwhelming challenges. If the academy is looking for crews who can work together under pressure, then they're looking for us."

"So we're really doing this?" I asked.

"We're really doing this," Amy confirmed. "The training mission happens just before the winter solstice. You need to record it all, Ambassador, and tell our story to the world."

Looking Ahead

On the winter solstice, I'll be publishing a detailed account of the GMS Coastal Voyager's training mission—a journey that will test everything this crew has learned about working together and navigating the emotional nebulae of Mindspace.

In the coming New Year, I will post a regular series of episodes, using the framework of Star Trek's hopeful future to explore new aspects of the inner journey toward better mental health and self-understanding.

A Note on Timing

For those keeping track, the Starfleet Academy television series is set in the 32nd century and follows the first new class of cadets in over a century training to become Starfleet officers. 

Our new Mindfleet Academy series will be an inner journey taking place in a parallel universe, not in the distant future but right here, right now. Coastal Voyager officers will be the first class enrolled in advanced emotional training--ever!

Ambassador's Log, Preliminary:

Somewhere in the vast administrative systems of the United Federation of Emotional States, a committee is preparing a scenario that will determine whether this crew is ready for advanced training or must return to standard operations.

Either way, it promises to be an adventure worth chronicling.

Worst Songs! Really?

Welcome back to where we’re stuck in the 80s. I mean if those two iconic songs, “Video Killed the Radio Star” and “I Want My MTV”, were a blog, it would be The Circular Journey!

I always listen to Rick Springfield's show that airs each week on Sirius XM radio. The songs he plays on each show are related to a specific theme.

Recently, the theme was Worst Songs of the '80s. I know! How could I not listen, right? It turns out the songs were compiled by Rolling Stone Magazine, and after listening to the program, I must say, 'What were you thinking, Rolling Stone?'

I think you'll know exactly where I'm coming from as soon as I begin listing some of the songs. Before I do, I must tell you that the list wasn't compiled by the magazine's editors; it's the result of a readers' poll.

For the record, I personally disagree with most of these selections. In fact, I love a lot of these songs. But enough of my editorializing, let's start the review. 

10. Rick Astley – ‘Never Gonna Give You Up’

So this is one of the worst songs of the 80s? But consider that the song was so popular back in 1987 when it was released, that decades later, in 2008, the song became part of a meme that was inescapable. Maybe the people responding to the poll had simply heard the song too often. As for me, I can't get enough of it, and that goes for most of Rick's work.

9. Taco – ‘Puttin’ On The Ritz’

Really? Irving freakin' Berlin, the greatest American songwriter, gave us this song way back in 1929. It has been recorded by some of the best, from Ella Fitzgerald to Fred Astaire to Judy Garland. Sure, the über-European performer Taco recorded a sweet/creepy synth-pop version of it, but I think it's awesome, and everyone who voted for this song is just plain wrong. Shame on you.

8. Toni Basil – ‘Hey Mickey’

"Oh Mickey, you're so fine, you're so fine, you blow my mind..."

The readers have a point with this one. It is a pretty annoying song, but maybe Toni Basil deserves to be graded on a curve. She was a cheerleader in high school, and besides, MTV didn't have a lot of videos to choose from in 1982, so they played it all the time.

7. Bobby McFerrin – ‘Don’t Worry Be Happy’

This song makes me happy, and that's all that matters to me. Interestingly, Mr. McFerrin isn't all that fond of the song, according to Rolling Stone editors: Mr. McFerrin stopped performing the song years ago, saying he "just got sick of it." 

6. Falco – ‘Rock Me Amadeus’
I understand this one making the list. I never appreciated the song, not now and not then. It just doesn't have much going for it.

5. Men Without Hats – ‘The Safety Dance’

OK, if you don't at least smile when this song begins to play, then you aren’t completely human. The song is pure joy. In the early 1980s, New Wave music fans began dancing by what became known as "pogoing," bouncing up and down to the upbeat, exciting songs. Some dance club managers considered the movements dangerous on a crowded dance floor.

The frontman for the Canadian group, Men Without Hats, wrote the song in protest of being thrown out of dance clubs:

“We can dance if we want to. We can leave your friends behind, cause your friends don’t dance, and if they don’t dance, well, they’re no friends of mine.”

4. Wham! – ‘Wake Me Up (Before You Go Go)’

Admittedly, this song isn't Wham!'s best work, but even their bad songs are good. This one was a massive worldwide hit. Too bad they broke up soon after its release. Anything Wham! recorded is good with me.

3. Chris de Burgh – ‘Lady In Red’

The closer the songs get to the top of the most hated list, the better they seem to be. Even the Rolling Stone editors called this a "wussy" song, but you know what, I sing along every time it begins playing. De Burgh wrote this song about his wife after seeing her in a red dress across a crowded room and not realizing it was her. How can you not love the song?

2. Europe – ‘The Final Countdown’

I take back what I said about the songs getting closer to the worst song. The Rolling Stone readers were right about this one; it's a bad song. But still, I can’t hear this song without thinking of Gob on Arrested Development. He used it as the intro to his magic act. Will Arnett was a hoot on that show.

1. Starship – ‘We Built This City’

This song was a blow-out for the most hated song by the Rolling Stone Readers Poll. It has appeared on several lists of the Worst Songs of All Time. But we all know the real reason it's hated. Not so much because it's a terrible song but because to the Woodstock generation, their great rock band of the 1960s was reborn as a sleek, corporate band named Starship. And that seemed like the final nail in the coffin of their youth.

And before I leave the subject of Rolling Stone's worst 80s songs, I want to ask, How is it possible these songs didn't make the list? 

• It's Raining Men by the Weather Girls
• Pac-Man Fever by Buckner & Garcia
• Eye of the Tiger by Survivor (I know, some of you are going manic; put it in the comments--flame on!

And in closing, I must wonder, if these songs are considered the worst songs of the 80s, just what do Rolling Stones readers consider the best songs of the 1980s? I'll attempt to answer that question in a future post.

Merv Movie: Pleasant Surprises

Welcome back to The Circular Journey, and an episode that's not one of my usual philosophical musings, but a review of the movie, "Merv," a Christmas rom-com filmed entirely in Wilmington, my hometown, which I somehow failed to document during its entire Wilmington production in 2024.

Last night, I watched the film on Netflix, and despite the reviews that ranged from lukewarm to outright dismissive, despite preparing myself for disappointment, despite Princess Amy's running commentary about my questionable life choices—I actually enjoyed it.

Low Expectations and High Anxiety
It was with considerable embarrassment that I learned "Merv"—starring Zooey Deschanel, Charlie Cox, and a wire-haired terrier named Gus playing the title role—was filmed entirely in Wilmington while I was busy missing it. Somehow, Daredevil himself was in town co-parenting a depressed dog, and I documented precisely none of it.

I went into last night's viewing carrying not just the weight of missed opportunity, but also the burden of critical consensus. The reviews I'd read were decidedly underwhelming. Words like "slight," "flat," and "bare minimum" appeared with alarming frequency. 

I made myself comfortable--comfy pillow, hot tea, and settled in, fully prepared to spend two hours confirming that yes, I had indeed missed nothing of consequence.

I was wrong.
The film opens with a song called 'Christmas is Going to the Dogs,' a song by the group Eels, and a song I first heard in 'The Grinch that Stole Christmas.' Hearing that song immediately set a tone I wasn't expecting—playful, self-aware, and genuinely charming. 

The central theme is that Anna (Deschanel) and Russ (Cox) recently ended their relationship, but continue to share custody of their beloved terrier, Merv. The setup is Boston in winter—though those of us familiar with Wilmington's geography know better—and the dog is shuttling between Anna's tidy apartment and Russ's disaster zone every week.

The premise that co-parenting a dog is a rom-com engine—actually works better than I expected. Maybe it's because both leads commit to the inherent silliness. Or maybe I'm just a sucker for a sad dog who needs his humans to get their act together.

The Quotable Moments
Early in the film, when Russ announces he's taking Merv to Florida for a beach vacation to cheer him up, Anna responds with a line I'd never heard before but will absolutely be using in the future: "Go to Florida on vacation; come back on probation." I'm claiming the line for my own use.

But the line that will live rent-free in my head forever comes later, when Anna returns from a disastrous dating app encounter. Her friend asks how it went, and Anna delivers a one-sentence explanation that somehow conveys everything: "He buttered my bread."

I had to pause the movie to fully appreciate this. Short, to the point, and the perfect tone of resigned disappointment. From this day forward, whenever things don't go my way in social interactions, I will simply say, "...buttered my bread," and those who know will understand.

Kure Beach as Florida
The "Florida" beach resort where most of the action takes place is actually our own Kure Beach, which did an admirable job of playing a warmer, more tropical version of itself.

In one scene, Russ tells Anna that the water is warm, clearly setting her up for disappointment. She touches the water and immediately recoils—it's not balmy South Florida.

The fake snow (the filming took place in June) is noticeable if you're looking for it. But honestly? It's no more distracting than most location stand-ins. I've suspended disbelief for worse.

The Labradoodle That Wasn't
Regular readers may remember that in an earlier post, I speculated about whether our terrier hero might find romance. I had my fingers crossed for a Labradoodle subplot—the meet-cute at the dog park, the slow-burn canine chemistry, perhaps a shared tennis ball moment.

It never happened. Merv remains romantically unattached throughout the film. His role is focused entirely on reuniting his human parents rather than finding his own happily-ever-after. Am I disappointed? A little. Would a dog romance subplot have been too much? Possibly. But I still think there was room for at least one meaningful Labradoodle interaction.

Slutty Seniors and Pool Dancing
About halfway through, the film shifts gears during a resort party that one attendee describes as a gathering of "slutty seniors." The energy level jumps considerably, the side characters get their moments, and the whole thing builds to a "Dirty Dancing" homage that ends exactly where you hope it will—in the pool.

It was this sequence that won me over completely. It's silly without being stupid, romantic without being sappy, and commits fully to the bit without winking at the camera. 

My Ruling

If I have one genuine disappointment, it's that Merv himself—despite being the title character—doesn't get quite enough to do. Gus the Dog is charming, his depression is convincing, and his eventual joy is earned. But I found myself wanting more actual dog adventures.

The movie is not going to win awards. It won't revolutionize the romantic comedy genre or redefine what streaming Christmas movies can be. But it's warm, funny, and sweet without being cloying.

Cox and Deschanel don't really have chemistry, but the supporting cast is game for the silliness, and Gus the Dog is, as advertised, a very good boy. Most importantly, it works as comfort viewing. Sometimes that's exactly what I need: something pleasant and entertaining that doesn't require deep analysis but rewards me with genuine charm.

So, despite the lukewarm reviews, even though I missed documenting its entire production, I'm telling you that "Merv" is worth adding to your watch list.

Just be prepared to never butter anyone's bread the same way again.

Final Thoughts
As I watched the credits roll, I found myself thinking about missed opportunities—not just the obvious one of failing to document the production, but the smaller ones we encounter in daily life. How often do we write something off based on other people's opinions? How many pleasant surprises do we miss because we've already decided something isn't worth our time?

Not Again, Amy!

My morning meditation often resembles sleeping, and I was deep in The Zone when the phone rang, shattering the fragile peace. By the time I emerged, there was a message from Island Irv, wondering why I wasn't at Luna Cafe.

When I arrived, Lily was waiting at the counter, radiating boredom. "Where's the Islander?" I asked. She shrugged, grabbed a mug, and asked a silent question with one raised eyebrow. I nodded: the usual."

"I wouldn’t know what old men do with their time," she finally said, pushing my latte along the polished wood countertop. "They never do anything sensible."

She placed my latte on the counter. "He’s probably feeding ducks at the riverwalk. That’s what a lot of old men do. At night, they watch television, and during the day, they feed the ducks.”

I could have simply said thanks and walked away, but Lily's a good egg, and I wanted to get her out of her negative mood. But she spoke before I could think of something sufficiently witty.

"How was your drive?" she asked. "Any traffic?"

"None to speak of," I said. "It's been a pretty good morning, so far. I haven’t run over anyone, and my car managed to avoid the curbs. How's your morning?”

“About the same.”

I suddenly thought of the perfect remark to make my exit: "Lily, I'm on my way to Carolina Beach to document the filming of RJ Decker. It’s based on a Carl Hiassen novel—it’ll be like the Coen Brothers come to Carolina Beach."

"Oh, that will be fun," she said. "I wish I could go with you."

"Maybe next time," I said, and I waved a finger in response to her bon voyage. Once behind the wheel of Wind Horse, I took a breath and punched the starter button.

"Maybe I should come with you," Amy said, materialising in the passenger seat of my car. "Skinny runt like you shouldn't be sneaking around a secure film set all by yourself."

"I appreciate your offer," I told her, "but riding shotgun isn't part of your job description."

"Don't think I got much of a job description," Amy countered. "Seems to me I do whatever's got to be done, and right now I've got nothing else to do except sweep the floor."

Her talk of sweeping floors made no sense for a figment of my imagination. I considered rebutting her remarks, but that never works with her, so I gave it a miss.

"Amy, this is photo documentary work," I heard myself say. You don't know anything about that."

"I know other kinds of stuff," she replied, "and besides, I don't think you know very much about documentary work, either."

I was too offended to make an immediate reply.

"Don't get me wrong," she continued, "I'm a firm believer in denial. I mean, why deal with unpleasantness today when you might get hit by a bus tomorrow? But you, Genome, you can't rely on denial alone."

"What are you rambling about now, if anything?"

"It's because you're visually challenged," Amy said.

"You're wrong there, sister. I'm a visionary! If I were visually challenged, would I have created the Artist's Journey podcast?"

"Genome," she sighed. "When I say visually challenged, I mean ugly. When are you going to get that nose fixed?"

I stared out the windshield toward the riverfront six blocks away, wondering if driving into the Cape Fear River would help me feel better.

"Stop!" I said with perhaps a little too much topspin. "We'll both pretend we know something about documentaries."

"Now you're talking," Amy said. "I'm fired up. It's going to be hilarious watching you screw this up again. Talk about entertainment!"

"Yeah, well, let's just focus on getting some usable video. I've got to have a victory today, even a small one; my reputation is getting thrashed by all the failures we've had lately."

"See, that’s the problem with you,” Amy said. “You’re a glass-half-empty person. One of my outstanding qualities is my positive personality. You’ve got to learn to think ahead, like you should have gotten t-shirts printed with Fire Marshall on the back. That'll get you in anywhere.”

"Oh, right," I said in a stinging way, "that's a great idea, and I know one place it will definitely get you, and in a hurry."

"Oh that’s nothing to what I’m capable of, Baby," Amy said, warming to the topic. "Wait till you see me at Carolina Beach being an assistant video documentarian. I'm going to kick butt in that department."

She talks tough, but the truth is, she and I are both pretty wimpy when it comes to actual butt kicking.

"Right," I said as I started the engine. "Let's go pretend to know something about video documentaries."

“Well, you can’t go on site like that,” Amy said. “You’ve got to lose those shoes," Amy insisted. "Never gonna get away with infiltrating the film set with your head and wearing those shoes."

My blood pressure was rising again. "What do you mean by that crack? Ms. Wonder once compared my head to the dome of St. Mary's."

"Isn't she sweet?" said Amy.

And from that point on, the day went steadily downhill. It wasn't as bad as it could have been. It wasn't as bad as it's been in the past. But it wasn't good.

“No disrespect,” Amy said to me when the filming wrapped up and we were back in the car, “but you’ve done better.”

She was right, again. I once drove my mom's Toyota Avalon to Starbucks and got hit by someone who ran a stoplight as I crossed Fayetteville Street. The Avalon got t-boned, knocked into the next lane of traffic, headed in the opposite direction it should have been going. Hard to top that.

On odd days of the month, Amy wakes up wanting to work with me rather than boss me around. I only want to work with her on even days of the month. So, as we left Carolina Beach, the only documented thing was the utter failure of a documentary, but hey, at least I didn't run over anybody, and Wind Horse mostly avoided the curbs. 

That counts as a victory in my thinking, and it’s a definite improvement on the great Avalon incident. Not getting t-boned is something to be grateful for. Now, if you'll excuse me, I think I'll go have a lie-down for some deep meditation.

Rogue Algorithms

I've recently been tormented unmercifully by a spate of heinous pranks that could have come only from the Sewer Harpy sisters. I'm talking about those frustrations that seem too minor for therapy, yet too overwhelming for sanity. 

 My worst challenge this past week, came from malfunctioning technology. I struggled with the recommended image size for the header on my Printify pop-up websites—the instructions specified 1200 by 400 pixels.

That’s not a standard image size, in case you’re unfamiliar with these things. Nevertheless, I carefully followed the instructions—down to the pixel. But when I checked the mobile version, it only displayed the middle third of my carefully designed image. 

It was like presenting a beautifully framed pet portrait masterpiece, only to see it cropped into a close-up of a dog’s ear. No offense to the charm of dogs—I just want my whole design to show.

After going to a lot of time and trouble to create an image with that weird format, I had to then go through a random, trial-and-error design competition against an algorithm that clearly despises me.

But that's just the tip of the iceberg of frustrations. On Friday, I was forced to contend with a rogue garbage truck, which, after months of reliably rolling through in the late afternoon, decided to make an unscheduled 9 AM attack run, when my full can of garbage was standing mournfully on the drive, waiting for me to come out and guide it to the curb.

Now I have a garbage can full of evidence, sitting there like a domestic witness protection unit, waiting in smelly suspense for another seven agonisingly long days.

To add insult to injury, if that's the term I want, the deluge of scam texts has become so constant and so aggressive—begging for money, offering me non-existent prizes, or trying to sell me a warranty for a car I don't own—that I've accidentally overlooked important messages.

I even filed one communication from my bank under "Obvious Financial Fraud" because it was sandwiched between a plea from a Nigerian Prince and a text informing me I’d won a lifetime supply of artisanal yogurt.

This week’s torment by the digital demons and inconvenient schedules can make even the smallest frustrations feel like a coordinated, personal assault—especially when your life coach is a spoiled little brat of a princess.

These minor battles—from algorithm-driven design competitions to surprise early morning ambushes by normally faithful city employees are simply the cost of navigating the 21st Century, if we can believe that’s its real name.

Thankfully, I have help from that modern wonder worker I call Ms. Wonder to help me sort it all out. It’s what I call the witless protection program.