Uncle Fun and Sparky Land

 

 

     Sparky and Miss Moose had also better keep an eye out for Klingon wessels—er, vessels—off the starboard bow…it doesn’t look like the crew of the Enterprise is on top of that, either. Be that as it may (and I don’t see why it should, but that’s a discussion for another time), the illustration that heads this posting serves a dual purpose: not only is it a sop to fans of Trekkie in-jokes everywhere, but it also ties in with a general theme of discovering one’s true place in the universe.

     This, in turn, ties back to Star Trek. The latest movie based on the venerable TV franchise about the interstellar exploits of red-shirted cannon fodder has boldly gone where other movies have gone before, and is on screens from here to Rigel 7. This particular Star Trek features the resurrection of Khan, a genetically-augmented megalomaniac originally portrayed by Ricardo Montalbán.

 

 

     Señor Montalbán is no longer with us, but Khan lives on, incarnated by another actor. And this, as Spike Milligan would say, is where the story really starts, because Khan the Star Trek character is a native of the Indian subcontinent, which Montalbán and the actor playing New Khan most decidedly are not.

     (Quick footnote: I mentioned Spike Milligan because he took an embarrassing turn as a Caucasian playing a Pakistani in a long-forgotten sitcom called Curry and Chips. Google it if you must, then avoid it like the plague.)

     For my part, I’m not terribly bothered by the whole thing. Maybe South Asians will look different in the future—and if they do start leaning towards the “European” end of Indo-European, it’s probably a darn sight better that they resemble Ricardo Montalbán than Peter Sellers in The Party.

 

     …to say nothing of preventing everyone involved from being upstaged by Gavin McLeod’s toupée. As a further piece of devil’s advocacy, I’ll remind you about the all the people named Khan who aren’t from anywhere near India…fine folks with first names like Genghis, Kublai, Aga, Gus and Sammy. Okay, not so much the last two—but it was worth it for the humour value of a cheap pun.

     And this is where the story really starts, because a cheap pun is at the heart of it all. To fully fathom the dubious witticism that follows, it’s imperative that you know who Penn and Teller are. For those of you still unfamiliar with the duo after three decades of international renown for magic, comedy, and exposing scams, Sparky has kindly taken up his best (or at any rate, his only unbroken) Crayola to sketch a quick aide-memoire:

 

     My apologies to fans of Penn and Teller, and of good draftsmanship. Anyway—and this is where the story really starts—it all began when The Cousins Lad’s friend John Hefner (yes, he is a first cousin once removed of that Hefner, and thanks for asking) started a Facebook thread about the ethnologically-creative casting of New Khan and Montalbán Khan alike. Various and sundry alternatives were suggested by those responding to the initial post; being who he is (and we can’t do anything about it, so why bother trying?), The Cousins tabled an idea of his own—and I quote,  

“Or they could have retconned by saying that Khan had been split into two separate beings, cast Penn and Teller, and had them work the Long Khan and the Short Khan.”

     To really get the joke, I suppose you should also know what the long con and the short con are. Look it up—that’s your homework. I can’t give everything away, you know…the pursuit of knowledge is its own reward, and all that jazz.

     The story doesn’t end here, though. In fact—and this is where the story really starts—this is where the story really starts. Taylor Martin, a magician of no mean prestidigitational ability himself and a friend of both the Hefner who is not that Hefner, but a cousin of that Hefner and the Cousins who is not a Hefner, but is a cousin, but not a cousin of that Hefner, passed on the comment to his friends Penn and Teller. Their electronic responses were as follows, and I quote:

 

 

     (Why, then, did Sparky have to draw you a picture? Because he felt like it—why else does he do anything?) Interestingly, Penn and Teller’s words, when put together, sum up the general public’s reaction to what The Cousins passes off as his “A” material…“funny—I like that”. It’s as if they weren’t expecting even to have a reason to smile quietly to themselves, and were caught pleasantly by surprise. This is usually because they’ve already heard the “B” and “C” material…or worse.

     Questions of joke-making talent aside, such approbation by noteworthy personages would be grist for the mill of any savvy publicist:

     Alas, The Cousins Boy prefers to shun publicity. Not for his myopic eyes the glare of the limelight, no siree. Even though he characterizes recently winning an authentic vintage replica baseball cap in a trivia contest as “the pivotal and defining moment of my entire existence”, he’s quite uncomfortable with the attention that even this minor windfall may bring. The community of minutiae-obsessed headgear aficionados is not exactly rife with stalkers and paparazzi, but, as Recluse Cousins reminds us all, “how many nutcases did Sharon Tate have to meet before she stopped being safe?”

     Alright, the answer to that question has to be “at least two”, since she was Roman Polanski’s girlfriend, but I see what he’s driving at. And this is where the story—at least the part about knowing one’s place in the universe—really starts. You see, The Highly Esteemed Cousins is not among those who believe in the modern version of the royal touch—he knows that a brush with celebrity won’t cure him of being a social leper. Truth to tell, he has a fondness for the fringes of society…and the society of fringes. All things considered, it’s quite reasonable for T.H.E. Cousins to feel this way. Don’t forget—his family name originally means “sorry—I can’t remember who you are…but aren’t you distantly related to someone I should know?”

Uncle Fun