Stardate 11364.1

Captain's Log: Stardate 11364.1
The evening started with me lugging the repaired warp core (the genoa) into my car, out of my car, onto the launch, off of the launch, and on to the foredeck. Either that thing is getting heavier, or I'm getting older. And, after much consideration and calculating all of the decisive factors, I have determined, without a doubt, it is getting heavier.

Don't argue with me about it. I'm the captain.

Once attached and ready to go, the crew started to board, starting with the return of Ensign Ceaser followed by my father, Commander Richard.

But something was off about Richard today... and my wife was the first to notice:


Look carefully -- he's wearing two different sneakers. Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I present Exhibit A in the competency hearing.

Exhibit B is his fascination with "Peeping" Tom Wesselman, followed by his assurances, over and over, that this is art:


Sorry, but it was stuff like that underneath boats during the bottom-paint application months that got my yacht club in so much trouble with the Environmental Protection Agency. That dark blue looks an awful lot like Interlux Micron CSC and that yellow looks like Petit Vivid.

So, on to the race. We moved out to start at Mark H, a current fad-fetish of the now EBYRA Commodore, where the line was short and the tidal currents were close to two knots. That's right, H had a wake.

We set ourselves up for a run to the line, but I, somehow thought half of 2:40 was 1:40 and we were approaching the line about 20 seconds ahead of schedule. I tried a couple of S-moves, but Bouliner was in the way and we had to duck her stern and try -- try -- to force her over the line early, yet also keeping our distance knowing Bouliner's history of collisions and the close call we saw earlier between Prevail (on leeward) and Breakaway (on windward). From what we could see, it was close. Any closer, they may have to do a name change to Breakapart.

Going right was the way to go, as demonstrated by High Heels and New Freedom who both gained some ground on the looooooong windward leg. As the night went on, the wind got lighter and lighter, sealing our dismal fate. We ended up crossing the finish neck-to-neck with High Heels, who we give oodles of time to.

There's only three more races to go and our quest for the $30 pickle dish continues. Next week, unfortunately, Lt. Kurt won't be joining us because his family is taking him to his parent's farm in the country. I did warn Kurt, however, to be extra careful. When I was young, we had an Old English Sheepdog named "Barnaby" and there was a time when my father told me he was going to take him to the farm in the country -- where he'll have lots of land to play around in.

Watch your back, Kurt.

And if you have doubts, here's a shot of me and Barnaby in the early 70's:


Check out those pants! Stylin!!!