This is kind of a departure from what I normally would like to publish on this web site but I just had to share this because I think it gives a hilariously beautiful glimpse of my family culture and where I come from. In my family, I am the oldest of four and have 3 younger sisters. As you can imagine, I know how to attend tea parties and have been known to occasionally wear a dress….
My second sister, Emily, recently moved her family to Utah from California. It was a difficult transition mainly because her husband (Philip) was having trouble finding work here and his employer refused to let him work remotely from Utah.
In order to make the following reading more understandable to the un initiated, Emily’s oldest son has autism. He is lower functioning and she calls him Bubba. (Or in this case, Commander Bubs)
Enjoy! (I know I sure did)
Captain’s log: stardate 54. …I don’t have the brain cells to count any higher than that anymore.
Our solo tour of the Fruit Heights Sector of the Utah quadrant has finally come to an official close. The Co-captain has finally transferred permanently to this starbase. It’s about time!! I have been trying to give him a full account on our progress thus far- on what we’ve learned about this planet, and the native species that reside here. He seems incredulous about a few of our adventures (like the bathroom mishap at the Klingon clerking convention…), but is optimistic about our future here.
First off, I’ve warned him that the official classification of Planet Utah as class M must have been a clerical error (or the Vulcan eggheads’ idea of a practical joke), as I found the atmospheric conditions to be barely breathable during the winter months. The crew and I have also been exposed to a few unfortunate alien germs: that awful case of Feringian Fernunculitis I caught a while back left me with a hacking cough for weeks! Fortunately, the phlegm wads turned out perfect for creating the most effective creeper-deterrent of all time; I expect to hoard this knowledge and market it as a “secret formula” to sell to the masses. I’d rather not describe the event in which I gained this knowledge, but suffice it to say… I don’t recommend wearing a plastic bag over the head at night when suffering from this particular malady. No matter how desperate you are to prevent continuous pillow-contact with the copious amounts of toxic mucous. Unless you’re a Crog. Then it doesn’t matter since, you know… you don’t breathe from your head.
But getting back to my report: I attempted to explain to the Captain the many idiosyncrasies of this particular station, but he still seems baffled by all the kitchenware I’ve managed to accrue since my transfer. I look forward to educating him about a certain waystation called “Deseret Industries.” It’s fantastic! I can get all my vintage Corningware, nose-plugs, and space helmets for CHEAP! Not to mention, the alien-watching is astoundingly better than even at Planet Walmart! Science Officer Bubs in particular enjoys watching the milling crowds at the DI. I figure he’s gathering intel for a complete hostile takeover of this entire planet system, but as long as I remain on his good side… I’m good.
Speaking of Commander Bubs, he has completed his final year in middle school/jr high. Most teens would melt their commanding officers’ eyeballs for forcing them to endure 4 years if intermediary school, but he seems to have found the whole situation amusing. ….Or he didn’t, and he’s planning to mete out retribution at anytime… I figure, as long as he continues to present me with peelow bops, ….I’m good. Unless he’s lulling me into a false sense of security….
Communications Officer Everlee has risen to the occasion. You may recall that I was hesitant to grant her request to be promoted to the position, given her proclivity for sullenness and lack of, well, communication, but I think we’ve rounded the corner; she’s displaying such behavior less and less. The issue now is that she seems inclined to emulate her father by hiding in dark spaces and jumping out at people. I fear that she may cause Ensign Izzerbee serious heart failure! I gently reprimanded Commander Everlee, after I finally got my raucous laughing fit under control, and told her that not only is such behavior not amusing, but it is also not acceptable. Unfortunately, I still had my hand stuck in Ensign G’s bed frame at the time (failed attempt to pinch him in his sleep without being detected), so I’m not sure I was taken entirely seriously.
Speaking of Ensign G, he still requests a promotion to chief security officer, but as I remind him daily, that job requires self-discipline, and a conscience. Both of which I fear he lacks, for the time being. That episode with the Vermichid, I ask you! In any case, he’s still bouncing all over the place, proving to my Co-captain the infinite amount (that number doesn’t require brain cells) of reasons why fathers are a, as the ensign put it, “necessary evil.” I suspect the Ensign appreciates the manly presence… until a reprimand is in order.
Ensign Izzerbee is still afraid of the strange electrical storms in this quadrant. She hasn’t even experienced the storms on planet Misery! Little does she know… But she is fearful, in any case, and requires much consoling and cajoling. I haven’t sunk to Romulan Ale yet (aka “Benadryl” here), but have entertained the thought as I silently remove her vicious little claws one-by-one from my face. (It’s removing her vice-like legs from my neck that has proven difficult… Her father’s family must have some octopus blood in there somewhere…) She does enjoy much about her new situation, but those storms she could do without. Such are my feelings on spandex.
Well, the Co-captain is settling in nicely. He should be able to enjoy the splendid scenery, as soon as his allergy to the local flora eases up enough for the swelling to go down. Hopefully, there’s no permanent damage- I don’t think eyelids are designed to protrude that far, but maybe he’s just morphing into a subspecies again. Or molting.
In the meantime, just know that we all survived. Barely. (Hey, as long as everyone is fed and semi-clean… I’m good!) And we can finally fully enjoy our mission to this quadrant! To boldly embarrass ourselves like no one has done before!!
This is Captain Mele, signing out.
… so I’m the musician of the 3 of us, Jana (the oldest) is a stage director, Emily is clearly a writer and Julianne is an incredible artist. We are all very different and yet there seems to be an incredible thread that connects us. I felt enriched when I read Captain Emily’s report. I hope you experienced the same.
Of course, leave a comment. I would love to hear what you think: