Stardate 11465.8

Captain's Log: Stardate 11465.8
I could not imagine a better night last night. Clear skies, great breeze and, imagine this, no postponement from the race committee. We got out to the starting area early, hoisted the main and cut the engine, leading us to euphoria!


I'm sailing! I'm sailing! Ahoy! I sail. I'm a sailor. I sail. Out on a boat. Way far away from the dock. With the wind and the sky and everything.

Missing for the night was Ensign Ceaser, who was out playing a gig with his band, Just Nuts, making yet another example of when Just Nuts breaks my balls. The band is pretty good, however, and here is a shot of Ceaser playing for one of his more attractive younger groupies:



Maybe it's a good thing that the band doesn't know how to play Eddie Money's "Take Me Home Tonight"....

As for the race, things went amazingly well. We started with great speed and in first (a little early, but we slowed to be on the line on time) and never looked back. We had fast tacks and great roundings, reaching speeds in excess of Warp 7 going downwind. As we passed boats that started 5 minutes ahead of us, we knew that the competition in our division was back there, but after some time, we couldn't figure out where.

The crew did a fantastic job of sail handling between discussions of hippies and pot brownies (I still can't figure out why pot brownies are widely accepted, but if you make one batch of crystal meth cupcakes they label you a bad person.)

Especially impressive was the work of young David Beaver Jr., who has become the best genoa tailer that the Enterprise has seen in years. It's a little scary sometimes to see how close his hands get to the winch drum when cleating or taking a wrap, perhaps thinking "does anyone really need all ten fingers?", but nevertheless, it is decided that he be given a full officer's rank, moving him from Acting Ensign to Ensign. This also makes David the youngest officer in history on board the Enterprise.

We crossed the finish line first, far ahead of the others, which is a great victory, but always wondering if boats like Saudades and Mr. Tap Toe will finish several hours (or days) later and correct on us. The real victory came later that evening when the results posted:


First baby! We got it right! Awesome!

And just when I received my winter storage bill....

Stardate 11463.8

Captain's Log: Stardate 11463.8
Last night's conditions could not have been better. 70's temperatures, clear skies, and a steady breeze from the South-southwest direction, giving the racers a great variety of courses. And how does EBYRA respond to this? With another postponement, of course. For what seems like the thirtieth time in a row (this was race 12) we all bounced around waiting for the committee boat to get its act together.

Usually it's because the crew doesn't show up on time. Last night it was because the boat stalled, couldn't be restarted, and they were drifting downwind through the J-24 fleet. I called Chaika to suggest they go out there and tow them to the starting area before they ran ashore at Bronx's Co-Op City and were either killed for their wallet contents or converted to crack whores.

Why didn't I go out and tow them? Fuck that. I did two decades of work for this organization. I'm EBYRetired!

Besides, there's a far better way to deal with this situation. Red alert. Shields up. Arm photon torpedoes.



Missing from the crew last night was Commander Richard, who was stuck in New Mexico (at an art show, not Area 51) and Lt. Kurt, who texted me from a Friendly's Restaurant in Albany blaming his kids for not getting to City Island in the afternoon as originally planned.

So, naturally, we replaced Kurt with a 70ish year-old woman named Elizabeth. Naturally.

Handling the main, however, became a new challenge for us, so it was determined that Dave would handle both the foredeck and the mainsail.

That was when my wife said "Well, we don't want Dave running all around the boat doing all that work tonight."

"We"?? Speak for yourself woman. Run, Dave, Run!

And despite what we all thought would be disastrous results, it all actually worked -- and worked really, really well. It worked so well that a new adjective has been assigned to my father, one that I'm sure that every man past the age of 70 dreads to hear.

Obsolete.

Our start went well, our tacks went well and, get this, even Ceaser grinded the winch well.

That one needs to be repeated: Even. Ceaser. Grinded. The. Winch. Well.

Holy hell -- it was like yacht racing in the Twilight Zone. We crossed the finish line in second place, admiring our performance and joyfully leaving behind the crippled committee boat at anchor in the middle of the bay.

We finished the night with Tostitos Tortilla Chips, Diet Pepsi and Golden Oreo Cookies. You know, just to make sure we're all vitamin-fortified and healthy for the next race.