As I avoided getting ready for the day by knitting and watch TNG, something boy wonder Wes said struck me. “Worf is feeling culturally and socially isolated,” he said in regards to Worf’s recent strange behavior in the episode “The Icarus Factor.”
The “ding, ding, ding” sound effect went off in my head. Though I like where I am right now, there are no perogies, black and gold banners, or known faces. I am, in fact, feeling culturally and socially out of place if not isolated.
I could have walked around Pittsburgh blindfolded. The repetitive rhythm of knitting in sync with an episode I’ve seen multiple times is enough familiarity for me to focus and not get too down.
Maybe a I need a little pain stick action, though.
Anyway, this is what I’m working on. Hard to tell, but it will someday be a beautiful lace knit hat. Original pattern’s here at Knitty.com. I’m using some pretty purple thin wool I bought a few years ago at the Maryland Sheep and Wool festival.
There’s a wool fest just a few hours north of SF next September. So, I can’t move back to Pittsburgh yet.
I will be visiting Imagiknit tomorrow with a coworker/fellow knitter. She too has been homesick, longing for her New England. What does one do? Stay positive. Or, if you’re a Klingon, you get tazed by John Tesh.
For more information about the Klingon Rite of Ascension, see this video.
We’re seeing nothing but California licence plates now. In fact, we don’t think that we’ve seen a single Pennsylvania plate since somewhere around Ohio. We would have noticed. It’s like we’re the only one of our kind, just like Lt. Cmdr. Data until that one Star Trek where he finally discovers his evil twin.
The Gilgal Gardens in Salt Lake City features a Sphynx of Joseph Smith and a statue of the Bible’s Daniel with a boulder for a head. Some of the rocks in the garden are engraved with a series of numbers which form no comprehensible pattern — strange artefacts calling out from the past with an inscrutable message, like in that one Star Trek where the alien probe converts the Enterprise into one of their ancient palaces.
Wyoming is the home of Dick Cheney, a world renowned notorious madman, and I can understand why. The scenery here is enough to drive you insane. It’s flat, yellow prarie followed by another flat, yellow prairie. The roads are hot, and straight. There are no rest areas anywhere, only more road. It’s no surprise that we’ve taken to holding extended conversations with the cat’s toy mouse, Mousey, kind of like that one Star Trek where the little girl has an imaginary friend. I think it’s called Imaginary Friend. Mousey wants to know why we can’t take this exit into some town. But the town is gone, Mousey. It’s just a ghost town now. There’s nothing out there but pioneer bones and coyotes. And coyotes eat mice.
The sign on Perkins’ front door read “WE DO NOT ACCEPT PERSONAL CHECKS.” While stepping into the door of this La Crosse, WI establishment, I said aloud, “What is this, 1995?”
It’s as if we stepped into the Guardian of Time portal, and I would meet my 1995-self. Meeting 12 year old Yuta of the clan Tralesta, I would save myself from ordering the Country Style Eggs Benedict, thus preventing the extermination of an entire clan due to indigestion.
The cats have been looking up out of the window with their eyes as wide as they go. Last night, as the only car on 90W at about 2 am, there were so many stars in the sky, it looked like a netting of smoke. Each of the cats just stared still out the window at the sky. When I was young, I bent my head as far as it would go so that I could look up at the stars from the rear window as my family and I rode on highways.
Now the cats are cuddled together napping. They’ve never really done that before. They’re surely friends.
I am officially 1000 miles from home. (around Jackson, Minnesota)
We just passed a building in the middle of a corn field that has an octagonal rotunda in the front labelled RV/MH HALL OF FAME. It must be where the finest champion Mobile Homes and Recreational Vehicles are enshrined, kind of like how Capitan Picard has those gilded models of old starships in his office.
I’m trying to take great photos of the things we see on the road. We just passed a giant white barn labelled “Home Of The Fulton County Fair.” It looked brilliant, but by the time I saw it and grabbed the camera, we had passed it already. And I can’t very well just hold the camera permanently at-the-ready just in case I notice something awesome. Look, a flock of blackbirds just took off. If only I could get messages from just a few moments in the future, like in that one Star Trek where time was a time-loop but then Data sent a message back in time to solve the problem. I would just send a message to my past-self, “Get the camera. Something great is about to happen!” and then I’d have the best photos ever.
My laptop is plugged into the car via a power inverter, which is probably just like the one that Geordi uses in that one Star Trek where the Enterprise gets sucked into the energy vortex causing a temporal anomaly.
Oh good lord, that green road sign up ahead clearly reads “Fangboner Road.”
This is a trip, but it’s also a freaking journey. I keep forgetting that this is not a round-trip. We’re not going to swing back east and we’re not ever going to have to drive through Ohio again. We’re going all the way to the Pacific ocean.
What is the name of the creature that Klingons keep as dog-like pets? Nina, my fluffy cat, sat on my lap for a bit while continuing on 80W in IN. She’s like those ferocious Klingon doggies to me. I wonder if Worf ever found himself covered in cat fur and cat dandruff during the long shuttle craft ride to Starfleet Academy.