In the beginning,
Startrek was my universe,
Mr. Spock my mentor,
Checkhov my first love.
The Federation was my parliament, and the galaxy my playground.
Things change. The stars have dimmed beneath the glare of the street lights beyond my window, technology has moved beyond my meager means, and Captain Kirk's image is eternally tarnished by shilling for laxatives.
I welcomed my first computer into my home with awe verging on worship. Its name was DarkStar. I memorized all of it's attributes, I learned its code, spoke it's lingo. I upgraded. And upgraded again, then lost the crashing dinosaur to bad-sectors. After its third incarnation, it lost its name, its mystery and its status. It is now simply a box. An expensive, energy sucking, hopelessly obsolete box. I have lost the faith.
I am, I solemnly declare, a Luddite. I prefer the stars above the trees to those on the screen. I want to feel the wind in my hair, not the whoosh of starships in hyperspace, and I want to smell damp earth after the rain. All the universe exists within our experience. Or, as my mother would say, "go play outside".