Resign already, you blow hard.

I’m not a resident of the fine State of New York, so I don’t have a proverbial dog in this proverbial fight, but for some reason, I just can’t keep my fingers silent, and here they are, tap-tapping across my keyboard. Someone: stop me.

I’ve remarked a couple of times that I think the overwhelming reason why George W. Bush received the Republican nomination in 2000 was because of plain old simple name recognition: the Republicans were sick and tired of Bill Clinton, and they wanted a return to the Ronald Reagan era. They found their golden boy in the Texas governor, a man with an extremely similar name to his father, former President, and Reagan’s second. I think this trumped all considerations of capability: on the merits, at least, choosing your nomination from the Bush family, I still think Jeb would’ve been a better choice.

I oppose political family dynasties. The Republicans have the Bushes, and the Democrats have the Kennedys. When I say “oppose”, I don’t mean that they should be dragged into the streets and shot, or even that their descendants be forbidden from running from office, but I do believe it creates a feeling of entitlement. In her book “American Wife”, Curtis Sittenfeld’s George W. Bush stand-in character tells his future wife he’s going to lose his run for Congress, but that’s okay: he’s only laying the ground work for a potential run for something bigger later on.

So it’s no secret by now that Carolina Kennedy, daughter of John F., wants to be nominated by New York’s governor to Clinton’s soon-to-be-vacated (if not already) Senate seat.

I have nothing against Caroline Kennedy. By all accounts, she’s an admirable woman who involves herself as an advocate for social causes. By all accounts, she would indeed be a fighter for New York, and a good candidate for that seat. Considering that Kennedy’s administration was seen as “Camelot”, it’s really not unfair to suggest that Caroline was — is — America’s Princess.

But would she even be considered if her last name wasn’t Kennedy?

I find myself in a morally tricky place. I want to oppose her because of her last name, and also because of advantages she’s gotten that haven’t actually been her fault: certainly, a child doesn’t determine what family they’re born into.

At the same time, those advantages are ones that she’s not afraid to, y’know, take advantage of: would Caroline Smith be front page news on CNN.com for asking to be considered for the seat? Probably not. On the other hand, she’d probably be a good senator, using her position to help the guy I voted for President, and helping the citizens of New York. If not nominated, she’s probably capable of winning the seat in an election, and if that be the case, what quarrel could I possibly have with those voters?

So: I’m stuck.

And I’m really glad I’m not David A. Paterson.

Majel Barrett’s association with Star Trek began pretty early on: she was Captain Pike’s second-in-command for the show’s original pilot, “The Cage”, and later played Dr. McCoy’s Vulcan-loving nurse/sidekick Christine Chapel when the show was picked up.

On The Next Generation, she played Deanna Troi’s mother, the horndog Lwaxanna Troi, “daughter of the Fifth House of Betazed, the Holder of the Sacred Chalice of Rixx, and Heir to the Holy Rings of Betazed”, plus Federation Ambassador-at-Large and general pain-in-the-ass (she also made appearances on Deep Space Nine in that role). In addition, Majel “played” the voice of the Starfleet computer on TNG, Deep Space Nine, and Voyager. With all that, she was also wife to Gene Roddenberry, the Great Bird of the Galaxy and, y’know, the guy who created Star Trek.

So I was sad to read that she passed away this morning.

Roddenberry succumbed to a short battle with Leukemia at 12:27 AM on December 18 in her Bel-Air home. She passed away peacefully, surrounded by her son Rod Roddenberry and family friends. She is survived by her only son Eugene “Rod” Roddenberry Jr. The family has asked that in lieu of flowers, donations be made in her name to the CARE Organization or Precious Paws both of which share Roddenberry’s love for animals and dedication to animal rescue.

Rest in peace, Majel.

I get drunk off happiness.

Here’s what I mean: home, alone, drinking, I can drink four or five Bass Ales while watching a longish movie, and not feel drunk. Put me in a social setting, where I’m relaxed, and even one beer is enough to get me red-faced stumbling about, a natural extrovert (which I’m not) hugging everyone who doesn’t dodge me fast enough.

I get drunk off happiness. I think this is really, truly, the case.

Office Holiday Party was tonight. I just got home. Not many people showed up, and it’s a good thing: we arranged for a club-room in a Rockville apartment building our recruiter lives in. Pool table, bar, many drinks — including a delicious hot cider-mix thing — and a short stumble from the Metro.

If you were on a Silver Spring-bound Metro train late Thursday night with a group of loud white drunk idiots, well, that was us, and, uh, sorry. Topics of discussion ranged from assassination, to how little work we do, to why my team leader showed up five minutes before everyone left.

I’m a little drunk as I write this. I’m sleeping in tomorrow and going in late.

Also, a big kick: got a link from an NPR blog. Sweet.