Captain's Log: Stardate 10854.1
Last night, in the middle of the channel between Eastchester and Little Neck Bays, a family sat on their 22-foot vessel with multiple fishing rods mounted on the sides and all lines cast to the deep waters below.

And for all we know, the family was suffering in today's economy; laid off from work, trying to make ends meet, and hoping that the sea would provide a big enough fish to feed them for the days ahead - perhaps after several days of starvation beforehand. This fishing trip could have been their last hope before homelessness and digging through garbage cans for morsels of nourishment.

Fuck that, we're racing! The Enterprise whooshed past the little boat at Warp 5. The fishing lines went "Weeeeeeeeeeeezzzzzzzz". The father cut the lines and all hope for fish was lost. The children cried.

But, we were doing well. Besides, what good is a fish dinner without an engraved silver plate to serve it on?

We were doing so well, that if it hadn't been for a bad tactical decision of following the tides instead of the winds (my fault - but the same mistake made by several other top-performers last night,) we would have been in great position - perhaps even a winning one.

Our spinnaker sets were extremely well done, even with the hourglass on the first set (quickly undone by the masterful foredeck team) and our jibes were also close to perfection now that we were studying our procedures and have new rigging tools in place. Our take-downs were perfect, including the very uncommon take-down-jibe maneuver at 46A.

And we did it all while being cursed at by some snot-faced children on some 22-foot piece-of-crap fishing boat.

After the race, we towed the committee boat home (don't get me started) while the crew dined on Ensign June's snacks, which included Japanese fried dehydrated squid. When asked if I'd like some, I simply replied "Rather die." Personally, I've seen more appetizing stuff grow on the bottom of the boat. And, I think the smell would have improved if they marinated it in that special dressing that is in the head. If more and more of this stuff makes its way into our country, it might be time for another bomb. Or two.

At least dining at the Snug was a welcome change, despite that, apparently, the length of the french fry isn't close to as important as the girth.

It looks like a Womens Skippers Race mission is in our future, but I'm skeptical about having enough crew for the Day Race on the following day. The question remains: who will be our woman skipper? Do I let them switch the helm like they did last year or do I let one take the glory? And if so, how do I pick the one? Experience? Ability? Jell-o Bikini Wrestling Match?

Stay tuned...