“Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me …”

“…but if I sense the Dark Side on ‘em, they’re dead! Fuckin’ dead, you hear me?!”

So much for moving to Reservoir Hill …

So 13 houses ended up the magic number here on Linden Avenue. Come on over and drive by and see for yourself. It’s over now though. TechBalt.com lives but there are no more cheap homes in Reservoir Hill. The speculators are here. Not a darn person is going to sell their house on this street for under 200k. It does not matter what shape the house is in. So you may want to stop emailing me about Reservoir Hill. Sure I would love to talk about my neighborhood but I just cannot help you find a house anymore for under $200k. There is a lot of (irrational?) exuberance here when it comes to houses. Speculators suck. I will leave it at that. If you drive around here, most of the hood still looks like absolute crap. Thanks to all the speculators holding on to their slums and wanting $200k

Don’t get me wrong - it’s great news, I just wish I’d been able to take advantage of what was going on there before the speculators got their grubbies on everything.

… Go Anywhere, Do Anything Machine.

Run, Hummer H2. Run now.

Today at work sucked.

Yeah, I know, Gary’s on a rampage about us not breaking down boxes, and I didn’t break down the lettuce box - but dammit, everything was in the dumpster (as opposed to this morning when all our shit was out of the dumpster) so either the Mexicans at the Chinese place or the Mexicans at the bagel shop pulled all our crap out to fit their crap in but crap on a stick

Either way, I got yelled at about it, my fault!!!! and made to understand I’m in the doghouse. I also got yelled at about being snappy with Noah aka Worthless Shit Brain nevermind that he’s, well, a worthless shit brain who tapes signs to people’s backs (i.e., “I suck dick for nickle and dime”) or takes money out of driver’s banks to see if they’ll notice, and who - although he’s nineteen - enjoys calling people older than him, “son” … let me just say he’s an asshole and it’s very trying to work with him - and I use the word ‘with’ loosely.

(I guess Gary might be right about my requiring an attitude adjustment, but then again, so do most of the coworkers here).

I need to go back to Towson and figure out what I need to actually “for real” graduate - six credits, I think, if that? Really I just need to retake a few classes and drag my GPA up a point or thirty. Two night classes, but I feel totally unmotivated. It’s like, what’s the point?

I mean, I know what the point is, I just need more days like today to drive the point home … I guess.

My credit score must be getting better - four credit card offers today. All through the shredder. Yay, me.

Do I want to buy a house? Or do I just want some big goal to give my life focus? Because, sure, I’d like a place, but not if I’m sacrificing other - better - goals* to get there.

Don White’s Timonium Chrysler-Plymouth - which is in Cockeysville, just so you know - has a big inflatable Jeep. I want to take a photo of it. Seeing it was the only joy I’ve had today.

(I stopped in the parking lot and just looked at this bright orange Jeep, cat puke is what it reminded me of, but I wanted to just buy it for the fleeting happiness the purchase would give me - there was a candy apple green one, too, it was nice - I have to reign myself in, make a list of goals, get myself on track, do something - anything).

*Like buying a Jeep.

Captain’s Log Stardate 8978.26. We have diverted from our colony transport mission to investigate what appears to be a duplicate of the Sol Star System. I do not enjoy having one hundred and nine colonists aboard my starship longer than necessary, but it’s not every day you find a copy of your home planet.

“Confirm your sensor report, Mr. Spock,” the captain of the Starship Enterprise ordered.

The tall Vulcan bent over his sensor equipment, but everyone knew it was merely a formality. Mr. Spock was never wrong - the image on the viewscreen was accurate.

“Sensor report confirmed, Captain,” Spock said a moment later. “We are orbiting Earth, Class-M, population … two billion, seventy-nine million.”

“A duplicate Earth,” Kirk corrected. “Earth - the real Earth - is two hundred light years behind us.”

“We have encountered other duplicate Earths before,” Spock correctly observed.

“How many can there be?” Kirk wondered. “And we’re just one ship, out of a fleet of seventeen exploring this region of the galaxy. It’s almost like someone is building Earths one after another … but why? Why Spock?”

“Perhaps some sort of quest for the ultimate truth, Captain,” Spock said.

“Captain,” Lt. Uhura interrupted, “I’m detecting radio signals from the planet. Faint –- multiple channels, sir, but … it’s odd …”

“How is it odd?” Kirk stood from his command chair and stepped over to his communications officer’s post, directly at the rear of the round-bridge.

“Sir, it’s as if there is - or, rather, was - an entire network of communication relay stations, audio and visual, yet, they aren’t being used, I’m only detecting automated signals. No live programing, as best as I or the computer can tell.”

Kirk turned towards the viewscreen. The Enterprise was in a high orbit, approaching the Asian subcontinent over what was, on the real Earth, the Indian Ocean. Here, for all Kirk knew, it was the Slaribartfast Ocean “You detected satellites, Mr. Sulu, didn’t you say?”

“Hundreds, sir,” the helmsman confirmed. “Astrophysics is running simulations now to verify this, but it seems that at least a third of these satellites are in varying stages of decaying orbits.”

“How is that … Spock, any evidence of a nuclear exchange?”

Spock arched an eyebrow. “That would explain the deteriorating satellite orbits, Captain, the population would have no way to adjust them without the use of ground-based control stations. However…”

“Yes, I know, if there was a nuclear exchange on that large of a scale, would there be over four billion life forms? And would there even be buildings or structures on the planet to be broadcasting - even automated signals?”

“Wiological veapons, Keptin?” Chekov asked.

“The population count would seem to indicate otherwise, Mr. Chekov,” Spock said. “Nor do our ships’ sensors indicate any poisons in the atmosphere inconsistent with the early 21st century on your own planet Earth, Jim. It is a mystery – in addition to not using their broadcast technology, it would appear that many of the populations’ forms of mass transit - air, ground, sea - are not in use, nor have been in some time.”

“Captain?” Uhura interrupted. “I’m detecting some radio traffic, sir, not an automated signal, either.”

“Where’s it coming from?”

“The North American continent, sir, I’m having trouble pinpointing it beyond the Pacific Northwest. It sounds like … I don’t know, sir, the voice - male - keeps saying that they’re safe, to head for them, bring supplies.”

Spock and Kirk exchanged a knowing look.

“We won’t find answers here,” Kirk scowled. “Sulu, keep all science departments studying this planet. Why is the population not utilizing their technology? What is going on? It makes no sense. Chekov, ask Lt. Commander Giotto and two of his security men to report to the Transporter Room, and page Dr. McCoy to join us. Spock, with me – we’re going down.”

*END TEASER*