Star Trek: The Next Generation is 25-years old this week. I gave myself the length of the soundtrack to the landmark two-parter, “Best of Both Worlds,” to write about it.
Thinking about The Next Generation (TNG) feels like recalling a favorite schoolteacher or remembering old dorm pals. I was nine when TNG debuted. I was, what, sixteen when it took its final bow in 1994.
I watched TNG on broadcast television, when the episodes were new. I watched it on video tapes, noting hints of the larger galactic backdrop and studying how the stories were built. I watched late-night re-runs of the show on the couch in my college dorm’s common area, canoodling with the woman who would become my wife.
Once, I was stoked with fervent fandom. I didn’t watch the show every week, I read it, text and subtext, drinking in what was on stage and behind the scenes. We had a subscription to Starlog at the house, when I was growing up, brimming with TNG news and interviews.