My sister noticed this trio with their pet human walking on the shore of Lake Michigan in September. Later I was down at the beach with my camera and recognized them from her description…
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| From my photo album: Notes |
Well I’ve been appointed Captain-For-A-Day of the good ship Elitist Bastard, and it’s shaping for a damned interesting voyage. “The Company” will soon realize their mistake but it will be too late to do anything about it once we’re under way. They’ve sent out a landlubber captain who can’t even swim, let alone tie fancy knots. So I’ll exercise a bit of democracy, and rely on the experienced crew in an informal way. 
The ship doesn’t look like much, (and this heavily doctored photo is pretty old) but looks can be deceiving. She’s a “research” vessel, or was; an icebreaker even in her day more than capable of sinking an attacking vessel should the need arise. Not that the other ship would have a chance to radio for help now: during the last refit a few nasty surprises were installed. Still officially a research vessel, the press release says the giant capacitor bank, rail gun, and microwave emitter of absurdly high output capacity have something to do with icebergs.
Each railgun shot is supposed to be officially logged, at least if it’s made with officially supplied ammunition. But I can’t be expected to write down every little detail. For instance, if a crew member happens to smuggle in ammunition of their own design, we might just load and fire it for fun.
I waited by the gangplank, wearing a silly blue uniform trying to look all captain-y, smoking some good Cavendish and listening to small waves lapping against the ship. In the distance, fishermen hauled in their catch and an occasional shout or horn could be heard. None of the locals knew, or so I believed. It was peaceful.
First to arrive was Cujo359, carrying two document folders, both containing intel for our navigator. One was about not Pounding on the table if he got in a fog where he couldn’t actually see the shoreline.
His second one expanded on that idea: if we ran into rough waters while under way, it probably wasn’t Muslim supervillians on the rampage. When it’s all-hands-to-stations and gunwhale-under, there’s little benefit to pointin’ fingers at the sailor mannin’ the pump next to yours. With a billion Muslims in the world and only a middlin’ few actually terrorists… sometimes, it’s the storm that’s at fault, no?
Once we get moving, we’ll unseal our orders, which may be in the form of a Power Point presentation. So it was ‘specially fortunate that Efrique hobbled up reporting for duty. Despite being recently sidelined by illness (I can relate!), he hauled himself to his feet and crafted exactly the guidance that was needed: Ten, no eleven! things that shit me about research seminars. He was concerned whether it was up to Elitist Bastard standard, but as you’ll see, no worries…
Best it come from one o’ the crew, though it’s a subject dear to me heart. Me father was one of the pioneers of classroom media, back in the days when a “slide” was a small plastic square with a rectangular bit o’ film in it. His rule was that you had to be able to read the slide while holding it at arm’s length, before he’d let you drop it in the projector. Many more of the old man’s points are brought to the present day by Efrique’s list. I recommend it to crew and passengers alike (yes, there are passengers on every voyage; they’re called “readers” and hopefully “commenters”. But like the crew they have their own job to do).
Blake Stacey’s powerful step could be heard the length of the dock, and ‘e appeared to be haulin’ a couple sailors at once (one under each arm) whom he assured me would be happy to wake up onboard at sea. One of them was Thomas Levenson, whose papers explained at length and in smashing detail why, if that pompous old fraud George F. Will should arrive requesting to be admitted on the voyage, he should instead be thrown unceremoniously off the dock. The seal on the papers read; Why newspapers are dying – George Will has reached his sell-by date edition.
The other sailor happily dreaming in Stacy’s grip was Mark Chu-Carroll, whose papers entitled The hallmarks of crackpottery, Part 1, two comments fisked two kinds of ignorant puffery. When a fool says common sense is better than expertise, or that one needn’t even understand an idea to argue against it, we’ve got just the ammunition for ‘em. Mark’s examples were a bit North of the Captain’s maximum mathematical latitude, but the meaning is clear enough. When he wakes up, he and the navigator will have a grand time discussin’ it.
Admiral Dana Hunter arrived well ahead of the deadline, packing a number of heavy charges and inviting me to pick two of them. Difficult, that, but since I’m currently reading Dawkins’ latest book, I chose
Review of Greatest Show On Earth, and GSOE, Mark II, Q&A with Richard Dawkins. That’s right: the admiral’s own notes on an appearance by Dick the Dawk hisself in her Seattle stomping grounds.
She’d expressed a concern that we’d be sure to reserve the stateroom for her, but I may have deceived her on that point. You see, this month’s Elitist Bastard (so named because the carnival is onboard, as “Air Force One” is any plane on which the president rides) has no staterooms. Even the captain’s cabin is standard issue. Sorry, Admiral, you’ll have to make do with an ordinary bunk, and you’ll be surprised how comfortable they are when you’re tired. But if we should encounter the infamous ship Answers In Genesis, your ammunition will be just the ticket. In fact, the tradition I just made up is the crew member who made the ammo gets to push the red button to fire it.
As with the heavy ammo hauled aboard by John Pieret: Counting … and holding … noses. It will come in handy if the Disco comes in our sights, demandin’ access to educational shipping lanes. They’re of the mistaken opinion that science is a popularity contest, and Pieret will school them otherwise, just below the waterline.
Only a few hours to go, and Chris Rhetts strolled down the dock as alert as any sailor has any right to be. And he’s right ready to school the cons we might encounter underway, on the difference between “blaming America” and blaming Americans. He’s had enough of that, and them, and ‘e says it’s Time for a game changer. It won’t go well for the FoxNooze” if they should happen by. I’m goin’ to suggest Chris ‘n Cujo take the same table at mess an’ see what they come up with.
Very well then: raise the gangplank! All stations reporting green! Engines ahead… Wait! Who is that running down the dock?
It’s that mysterious grad student who goes by the name “Z”. Hold! Let down the gangplank, the ship hadn’t actually started moving yet. Her payload design titled Bipartisanship is overrated will be built and loaded into the railgun to fire at the Republican Appeaser, should that vessel be unlucky enough to encounter us during the voyage.
And somehow, I suspect we will. “Research”, you know.
And just to show that we’re, you know, fair – and not too unbalanced, I brought some jamming equipment specially made for that comedian who goes around giving medical advice. Nonsense is nonsense, except when it’s deadly nonsense. Then it’s time to deliver a little vaccination of our own.
All right, we’re moving. If ye expected to be on the crew roster but I missed yer application among the Viagra ads and Nigerian business opportunities, email me again and we’ll test out that experimental transporter to get ye aboard. It’ll probably get most of yer molecules back in approximately the right order, pretty much.