Stardate 11467.7

Captain's Log: Stardate 11467.7
FUCK!!!! When I got to my Honda Pilot this morning, there were dead fallen leaves on it and it just pisses me off.

No, I'm not some tree-hugging hippie nature-loving freak. It's just all now dawning on me that there are only two races left this season, the days are getting shorter and shorter, and we are now back again entering the "Brrrrrrr" months -- Septembrrrr, Octobrrrr, Novembrrrr and Decembrrrrr. Kids back in school, the Enterprise set to be hauled next month, and before you know it, we'll be seeing Santa's fat ass all over the place.

I need to calm down and not get ahead of myself. After all, last night was more summer-y than we've had for some time -- mid 80's, clear skies, and, oh yeah, not a breath of wind anywhere on Eastchester Bay.

The entire racing fleet puttered around the (late again) committee boat, hoping for a sign of a puff that could build into a 10-15 breeze, giving us a fast-paced night to remember. But instead, the only ones doing the work last night were the engines.

And even though crew conversation flowed from email protocols to opera to genetically-engineered tomatoes (Seriously -- you can't make this shit up,) we were getting a bit bored. So, as any other immature middle-aged man would do, I started to futz around with my Garmin GPSMap 2006, reset the track memory, and went on to make some radical maneuvers -- slow turns, fast turns, reverse, etc.

There was some concern by the crew as to what I was actually doing, but I had a plan -- a mission -- and I was going to carry it out to the very end.

Yes, I was using the Enterprise's engine, helm, and GPS tracking to write my name on Eastchester Bay:

It's actually harder than you would think -- and as proud as I was in accomplishing this task, I was equally as thankful that my parents did not choose to name me Cornelius or Sebastian.

Meanwhile, Captain Paul Strauch of Andiamo kept begging me to call the race committee to tell them to cancel the night so we can all go home, to which I reminded him that I am EBYR-etired and no longer have any responsibility towards the management of racing on the Bay. And that still stands when those that do manage EBYRA are nowhere to be found.

And then I reminded Paul that if he wants me back, he'd have to put out a hit order on Baby-Daddy Nanni.

There was a while there where we were considering arming the photon torpedo buckets and water cannon phasers to do some surprise attacks on other competitors, but between Andiamo, Eagle, Saudades and the Committee Boat, it was too much of a target-rich environment. As I was about to pick up my radio mic and ask if anyone has heard three horn blasts, the committee blasted their three horns and cancelled the evening's activities.

Here is a photo of the wind at its peak last night:

It's a good thing we considered the reef -- a full reef.