WILLIAM SHATNER, ROCKET MAN

There is no one who "interprets" a song like William Shatner. Friends tell me he's in on the joke, and the pompous, overwrought, pseudo-Shakespearean reading of lines is part of the gag, but I'm not so sure. Still, something fascinates us about the Shat. He's way out there, in his own universe.

This week the Dalai Lama visits the west coast, and Pope Benedict visits the east coast, so for a few golden days the country will be a holy man sandwich.

In such cosmic times, who else can we turn to for the galactic perspective, other than Captain Kirk himself? On a rocket, no less? Stuffed into a tuxedo, puffing a cigarette like an exhausted guest at a wedding reception, Shatner serves as a reminder that not all sentient beings have escaped human suffering or transcended the ego. He is the common man, weary, buffeted by fate, clinging against all odds to his delusions of grandeur. He is you and me. He is Shatner.