A White Shirt’s Story.

A shocking tale exposing corruption at the highest level - the human brain! This is a tale that could prove evolution is reversing.

Every few years I come to the point in my life where I stop and take an inventory of my bedroom closet. This is the time to give my clothes more attention and ignore the various trinkets occupying much of the shelve space and scattered here and there on the floor . The Clothes I considered out of date (my kind way of saying I can’t squeeze into them any more) are bagged and thrown into my car’s trunk (my car is loving called the Battlestar by staff and friends). I have every intention of promptly delivering them to Deseret Industries but find the old adage ‘out of sight- out of mind’ is true. They sit in my truck until I’ve driven by DI at least a dozen times.
On my last closet cleansing I discovered a few of my Space Center button down shirts were no longer wearable. One was destroyed by the careless application of bleach to a load of colored clothes. I don’t know how it happened and Mother denies any knowledge of the incident. It may have been me but I can’t admit I could be so stupid. It’s best to take the easy route and blame Mother. She can’t rely on her memory so she has no natural defense. I’m training her to just say “Im sorry”. That gives me the high ground where I can dispense forgiveness. Aren’t I the ever gracious and caring son? She may have the last laugh in the end. As she grows more forgetful I find her memory lapses may have dangerous and perhaps fatal consequences. She routinely forgets to turn the stove off. She always leaves lights on. Then there was the incident with her poor parrot. This story involved the wind, an unbalanced birdcage and an interesting and distracting episode of ‘Oprah’. We are lucky she doesn’t smoke or she would blow us all to Kingdom come with the oxygen she keeps by her bed for sleep apnea. Dad keeps track of her. Oh, for those that don’t know, my parents live in my home’s basement apartment.
OK, I got distracted........ There was the bleached shirt. Another shirt had a permanent food stain on the front. I’ll take the blame for that. I have an eating disorder. I sometimes have trouble finding my mouth when eating. When eating, I balance the food on the fork. When the food is stable, I bring the fork up to where I think my mouth is. That is where the disorder manifests itself. I find my mouth moved from the last time I ate. That leaves the food deposited equally on my face and the front of my shirt. I’m seeking treatment for this disorder but can’t find a doctor that takes me seriously. Without medical help I'm left to my own devises. I discovered the only way to treat this condition was to eat in front of a mirror. It took awhile but I’m getting use to eating all my meals in the bathroom.
Well, to make a long story short I discovered I was running short on Space Center shirts. I needed to place an order. I found the catalog from TTOD, the Space Center official supplier of shirts. I found a few I liked. I ordered two royal blue, two denim, and two white shirts. I asked that the Space Center’s logo and name be embroidered on the left side of each shirt. On the right side I requested my name. The order was placed and life went on.
A few weeks passed and the order was ready. I drove to TTOD and collected the shirts. I drove back to the school and opened the box. The Royal Blue shirts were beautiful. I’m told I look presentable in royal blue. It is my color. Years ago my mother did my colors. She refers to herself as a color consultant. If you give her half a day she will bring you into her studio, sit you down, strap you in and lock the door to prevent an escape. Once in her parlor she begins the process of using you as a curtain rod. Cloths of various colors are draped over your shoulder and around your face. Once properly tucked here and there to prevent slippage she begins pacing back and forth. She walks deep in thought while cupping her chin in her hand and making sounds through her clenched teeth. If the pacing didn’t bring some kind of mental resolution to her internal conflict she ratchets the experience to the next level. She reaches for the lamp. You face is illuminated in degrees of light from the ghostly florescent to the seductive reflective. Once all is said and done your ‘Season’ is pronounced. I was declared a Winter as a teenager and told to stick with the dark colors. The advantage to being a Winter is your always dressed appropriately for a funeral.
The denim shirts were next out of the box. I was please and proud of myself for the selection. I could wear denim with many other colors and nobody disputes the longevity of the material. That was then - but my opinion has been modified. Our ever fashion conscious, and consistently at the top of the Space Education Center’s Best Dress List, Flight Director Kyle Herring took one look at me in my denim shirt and curled his nose. The curling of Kyle’s nose is the kind of reaction that could send the designs of the great fashion houses of Europe to the department store’s Bargain Basement.
“You realize that denim went out years ago don’t you?” he asked. That statement paired with the curled nose was taking direct aim at my fragile self esteem. At the start of the day I felt well dressed and by mid day I felt like the Emperor with no clothes.
“No I didn’t realize but I don’t care,” I replied, ashamed with myself for using such a childish come back.
“Well, if you don’t care how you look then what can any of us do?” he responded with a underhanded wave of his hand, the kind used by the master to dismiss a servant. He walked away in his pressed pants with perfect cuffs and designer shirt complete with monogram on the front pocket.
“Herring,” I said with clenched teeth under my breath, thinking the same thoughts Seinfield thinks when finding Newman at his front door.
After much deliberation I decided to keep the denim shirts as a statement. Although you may find me inhabiting a place in current space time, there is a nurtured part of me still in the past. My denim shirt is the bridge between my two worlds.
The last shirts to come from the box were the two white ones. Now, I know I look good in white. Winters look good in white. It contrasts our olive complexions (or so I’m told by the resident expert). I held it out to check the embroidery. That is when I saw something unbelievable. The company that embroidered the shirts used white thread on my white shirts ! I couldn’t believe what I saw. Surely they were intelligent enough to see that white thread on a white shirt might be difficult to see! The proof that their Common Sense brain circuits were in a state of atrophy was in front of my eyes. I just couldn’t believe it.
I wanted to take the two white shirts back to my supplier and show him the proof that he should consider employing a new seamstress for the embroidered shirts but decided a cooling off period was in order. I hung them up in the closet and left it for a few days. I find if I fly off the handle I can say things I regret - so I have a standing policy - if I get really angry I leave it alone for at least 24 hours. If I’m still fuming after the reflection then I’ll take action. A couple days passed. My anger morphed into fits of disbelief. The emotional transformation evolved further from disbelief to fear. What was this country coming to? Why have so many people decided that their God given common sense wasn’t needed in today’s world? Any idiot sitting at the machine could easily see that white thread on a white shirt wouldn’t work. Why wouldn’t they change the thread to a noticeable color - or call me and ask for directions. So why didn’t they? I honestly think they didn’t want to be bothered. The order didn’t tell them to change thread colors for the white shirts. If the ordered didn’t spill out their directions in explicit detail then why take the time and bother to try to get the job done right. After all, what could I do? Whatever action I took wouldn’t make a squat of difference to them.
I’ve decided to keep the shirts and wear them as a lesson to my students and staff at the Space Center. I want all of you to take notice when you see these abominations. I want you to remember the lesson of the White Shirts. Always use your common sense wherever you are. Always go the extra mile for friends, family , and customers. Let the White Shirts ring out a warning for all to hear - the world if full of stupid people and they don’t even know they’re stupid. It is our job to help them find their common sense. It is our job to spur them into action and use their brains when they are awake. Staff and volunteers, I want to hear you say “Lesson Learned” when you see me in one of these White Shirts.
OK, it is time to put this problem to bed. Everyone enjoy their weekend and I’ll see many of you in the trenches this next week.

Mr. Williamson

English Drives Me Crazy!

You think English is easy???
1) The bandage was wound around the wound.
2) The farm was used to produce produce .
3) The dump was so full that it had to refuse more refuse.
4) We must polish the Polish furniture.
5) He could lead if he would get the lead out.
6) The soldier decided to desert his dessert in the desert.
7) Since there is no time like the present, he thought it was time to present the present .
8) A bass was painted on the head of the bass drum.
9) When shot at, the dove dove into the bushes.
10) I did not object to the object.
11) The insurance was invalid for the invalid.
12) There was a row among the oarsmen about how to row
13) They were too close to the door to close it.
14) The buck does funny things when the does are present.
15) A seamstress and a sewer fell down into a sewer line.
16) To help with planting, the farmer taught his sow to sow.
17) The wind was too strong to wind the sail.
18) Upon seeing the tear in the painting I shed a tear.
19) I had to subject the subject to a series of tests.
20) How can I intimate this to my most intimate friend?

Let's face it - English is
a crazy language. There is no egg in eggplant, nor ham in hamburger; neither apple nor pine in pineapple. English muffins weren't invented in England or French fries in France . Sweetmeats are candies while sweetbreads, which aren't sweet, are meat. We take English for granted. But if we explore its paradoxes, we find that quicksand can work slowly, boxing rings are square and a guinea pig is neither from Guinea nor is it a pig.
And why is it that writers write but fingers don't fing, grocers don't groce and hammers don't ham? If the plural of tooth is teeth, why isn't the plural of booth, beeth? One goose, 2 geese. So one moose, 2 meese? One index, 2 indices? Doesn't it seem crazy that you can make amends but not one amend? If you have a bunch of odds and ends and get rid of all but one of them, what do you call it?

If teachers taught, why didn't preachers praught? If a vegetarian eats vegetables, what does a humanitarian eat? Sometimes I think all the English speakers should be committed to an asylum for the verbally insane. In what language do people recite at a play and play at a recital? Ship by truck and send cargo by ship? Have noses that run and feet that smell?

How can a slim chance and a fat chance be the same, while a wise man and a wise guy are opposites? You have to marvel at the unique lunacy of a language in which your house can burn up as it burns down, in which you fill in a form by filling it out and in which, an alarm goes off by going on.

English was invented by people, not computers, and it reflects the creativity of the human race, which, of course, is not a race at all. That is why, when the stars are out, they are visible, but when the lights are out, they are invisible.

PS. - Why doesn't 'Buick' rhyme with 'quick' ?

You lovers of the English language might enjoy this .
There is a two-letter word that perhaps has more meanings than any other two-letter word, and that is 'UP.' It's easy to understand UP, meaning toward the sky or at the top of the list, but when we awaken in the morning, why do we wake UP ? At a meeting, why does a topic come UP ? Why do we speak UP and why are the officers UP for election and why is it UP to the secretary to write UP a report ?

We call UP our friends. And we use it to brighten UP a room, polish UP the
silver; we warm UP the leftovers and clean UP the kitchen. We lock UP the house and some guys fix UP the old car. At other times the little word has real special meaning. People stir UP trouble, line UP for tickets, work UP an appetite, and think UP excuses. To be dressed is one thing, but to be dressed UP is special. And this UP is confusing: A drain must be opened UP because it is stopped UP. We open UP a store in the morning but we close it UP at night.

We seem to be pretty mixed UP about UP ! To be knowledgeable about the proper uses of UP, look the word UP in the dictionary. In a desk-sized dictionary, it takes UP almost 1/4th of the page and can add UP to about thirty definitions. If you are UP to it, you might try building UP a list of the many ways UP is used. It will take UP a lot of your time, but if you don't give UP, you may wind UP with a hundred or more. When it threatens to rain, we say it is clouding UP . When the sun comes out we say it is clearing UP...

When it rains, it wets the earth and often messes things UP. When it doesn't rain for awhile, things dry UP. One could go on and on, but I'll wrap it UP, for now my time is UP,
so........it is time to shut UP!

Life on the McAuliffe Command Station.

Hello Troops,
The following is a fictionalized account of current events at the Space Education Center. Read it carefully and you should find most of the Space Center's news and events. Look for future installments. Who knows, you might even be mentioned in a future story.

And Now,
Life on the McAuliffe Command Station.

Why do I need a blanket? I wake up each day buried in paper work. It follows me where ever I go. No other way to describe my life. Most of the paperwork comes from my first responsibility - the training of new Starfleet cadets. There is a never ending supply of them arriving and departing daily on the yellow Express Liners. They stop first at the Command Station for their orders. With orders in hand they are assigned to training stations on either the Magellan station or the Starships Voyager, Odyssey, Galileo, or Phoenix. I got up, showered, dressed, and stood by my bedroom window watching the yellow liners make their final approach with their eager occupants.
"Admiral," a female voice sounded from the wall speaker. "You asked to be informed when the senior officers arrived. The Voyager, Odyssey, Galileo, and Phoenix are all docked."
"Is that you Lt. Clegg?" I questioned. "I thought you had a few days off for the Intergalactic Astronomical Extravaganza!"
"Wrapped up Sir. Back to as normal as life gets here at Command," she responded.
"Where are they?" I asked.
“I’m not sure. They could be anywhere. I’ll track them down and tell them to gather in the shuttlebay. Do you need anything else?” Lt. Clegg was polite in her question but the tone of her voice indicated a desire to move ahead with the day’s work.
I stood up from my desk and stretched. A pylon of the McAuliffe Central Command Station stretched across my viewport. I walked over and gazed out. The docking clamps were in view. The boarding ramps were being extended like open arms welcoming a slowly advancing starship.
"Clockwork - perfect clockwork," I thought knowing the Command staff ran the station as efficiently as German trains. My attention was arrested and refocused on a set of flickering lights up near the Command and Control Center (C&C).
"Some kind of short," I muttered as I zipped up my jacket and turned away from the port and headed toward my cabin door. With a swoosh it opened and I was out in the hall. I touched my com badge and waited as I walked.
“Connection?” the almost sexy voice of the Central Computer inquired.
“Chief Robinson,” I answered.
“Stand by,” she responded. I took great pride in the new voice of the Command Computer. For years command computers universal wide had the voice a grandmother would use having found you in her cookie jar. The new voice, recently installed on half the ships and stations, is one of a younger woman . The hint of annoyance replaced by the almost perceptible sound of desire.
“Robinson here,” my attention was drawn back to the moment. “What can I do for you Admiral?”
“Chief, do you know that you have a flickering docking light on pylon three?” I asked. I knew questions like this kept my people on their toes. I had to maintain my reputation of being a details man. “You know what I always say, take care of the little problems and the big problems take care of themselves.”
“Anything else sir,” was the Chief’s response. His voice sounded a bit put off.
“No, I’ll see you soon enough for our weekly maintenance review. Oh, one other thing, I hear a certain Commander Long of Starfleet Engineering installed new ship control panels right off the Magellan’s Command Deck. How are they working?”
There was a pause. I heard the Chief talking to someone else in the room. His hand was over the comm badge.
“Admiral Daymont’s Office reports the panels are in and powered but not functional. Command Long should have them fully functional in a week.”
I let the conversation end. It achieved its purpose.
I think I counted at least 20 "Good morning Sirs'" on my way to Ten
Forward Lounge. This was my first stop for a quick working breakfast with Lt. Clegg and Lt. Houston. My usual pre-ordered slimming meal composed of lowfat cottage cheese on a cracker - sprinkled wtih some kind of salad seasoning and a Diet Coke was waiting on my table. I sat down and dove into the feast. Once my mouth was full, and before I could spill anything on my uniform, Lt. Clegg gave me her report on the ship's activities for the past week. Commander Lorraine Houston entered the room half way through the report. She sat down, took out her PAD and listed off the ships sending cadets for training. There was the USS Morningside, USS Noah Webster and the USS Manila. She reported that all was going well. Her next report was on the uniforms in development. All going according to schedule.
"A busy week coming up?" I asked her as I finished the last of the coke.
"When isn't it?" she responded as she grabbed her papers, finished her yogurt, and moved toward the door. "Oh, I'll have the cake baked and ready for Lt. Metta Smith's Birthday party on Saturday,” she continued speaking as she left the room with a wave and an exhausted grin. She was off to run a group of young cadets through their first stellar navigation course in the station’s Starlab.
"You’ll make Admiral soon if you keep this up," I shouted as the door closed. In the round window of the door I saw a fist with thumb up appear and disappear.
The lounge was quiet again except for the rustling of paper.
“Anything else sir?” Lt. Clegg asked as she rose from the chair.
“I guess not considering your already on your feet,” I responded. I got that look and knew it was best to let her get on with doing the real work of the station. She disappeared down the corridor. The highly polished wooden doors of the lounge closed quietly behind her.
There was a cough from the corner of the room. I looked over and saw someone reading a newspaper at a small table for two. It was hard to tell who it was in the light. He had a plastic cup with protruding staw in front of him. Next to that was what appeared to be the largest apple fritter I had every seen. He occasionally laid the paper down, looked out the window and stirred his drink. It was Command’s Chief Network Officer. Schuler was his name - Bill Schuler. Sort of a different person. Sometimes quiet and sometimes just the opposite but always mysterious. There were the rumors of course. As far as I could tell he had no connection to Federation Intelligence but who would know if Intelligence was doing its job correctly. I did know that he spent most of his time with the Command Computer Systems, only occasionally taking a tour of duty with ships of the line. His duty record was impressive but incomplete. His record had a six year period showing “Officer on Special Assignment” as his only duty.
"Perhaps Section 31," I wondered in a whisper.
He glanced toward my table and caught me looking in his direction. I immediately looked elsewhere. A moment later he walked by with a quick salute.
,"Sir." he respectfully said while putting his newspaper under arm. He walked quickly while putting something in his pocket.
"One of these days I'm going to have you followed," I said under my breath as I gathered my things and walked out the other door toward the shuttle bay.
I arrived in the Shuttle Bay at 9:00 A.M. The Shuttle bay was the hub of activity at the Command Station. Ships and shuttles came and left twenty four hours a day. Just watching the hustle exhausted me.
Just as expected - standing there by the Voyager’s shuttle were the Senior Officer’s of the Station’s Fleet.: Commander Perry of the Odyssey, Admiral Daymont and Commander VandeBoss of the Magellan Station, and Commander Warner of the Phoenix. They were talking quietly among themselves.
"What's going on here!" I said as I walked up to the group.
"Reviewing the list of new cadets assigned to our ship’s and station for training,” Lt. Commander Warner replied for everyone. “We’ve noticed some of these new cadets you are sending us are very young. I mean very young.”
“Are they bringing their own Pampers or do we need to order them special?” Commander Perry asked with a smile. The others in the circle laughed and nodded in agreement.
“Well, we take what Command gives us,” I answered. “You’ll find talent in any group,” I added, liking to end most thoughts on a positive note for morale. “I’ll be up to the meeting in a few minutes. You may all go to the Briefing Room and wait.”
The Senior Officers worked their way out of the Bay and into the nearest turbolift.
I continued my morning walk around the station and strolled over to a large window overlooking the orbital shipyards. The New Galileo was under construction. Commanders Carroll, Herring and DeBirk were going over the week's construction schedule.
"Are we on schedule?" I asked. I got a positive answer with a complete "Request to Purchase" list from Herring (aka, the Fish).
"What does he want now?" I wondered as he shoved the paperwork in my direction. He was asking for a digital amp. How was I suppose to understand what a digital amp was? Who does he think I am? Come on, we all understand my function around here. I'm the person they like to hang pretty medals on because I know how to talk in public and make everyone look good. I'm like a Christmas Tree. I get the nice ornaments. I get to stand around and get looked at. Everyone else keeps the place running - right? Herring, you know the routine, just give me the papers and I'll sign them. Just don't stand too close, you might take the sparkle off the medals. If you have any other questions talk to Lt. Clegg.
Just then a little fella wearing glasses, dressed in an olive green t- shirt, jacket, and pants walked by with clipboard in hand. "They need you on the Bridge Sir," he said in stride.
"Got to finish the inspection before my meeting," I said as I headed for the bridge.
It was a short jump in the turbolift up to the Command Deck. The doors slid open and a voice shouted, "Admiral on deck!" I walked around the room. All seemed in order. I stopped by Commander Daymont, younger brother of Admiral Daymont, and thanked him for the fantastic logos he created for the station’s starships. I moved on and was handed the morning reports from Lt. Metta Smith, acting Officer On Duty .
“Metta, give me the abbreviated version of this," I said handing back the stack of papers I sat in the Station’s Command Chair and shifted positions so the new cadets could see the glittering new pin I was awarded last year for over 25 years of service in the fleet.
Metta started reading the reports. I was shocked to hear of Network Engineer Schuler’s foot surgery. I had just seen him in the Lounge. He looked normal, or as normal as he ever looked. There was something unnerving about him which forced everyone to stay low and off his radar. There were other items on the day’s agenda. Lt. Clegg stepped forward to say she would take care of the rest. I sat in my chair and looked over the vast starfield in the main viewer
"Carry on," I said and settled into my chair listening to the buzz
of voices doing what it takes to keep a Command Center running. I had forgotten the small gathering, several decks below, of my Senior Officers. I wondered why Lt. Smith was smiling and Lt. Clegg was laughing to herself as she disappeared around the corner into the Ready Room. They were going to leave that error to me as a lesson to get myself a daily planner. Well, the lesson could wait. I dosed off to the quiet hum of station life.