Deep Space Whine

...When last we saw Lenslinger, the methodical 'tog was leading a dangerous mission through a week long dimension of overnight shifts... 

CAPTAIN'S LOG: Stardate 10.11.12 / L-3 Landing Party. 0420 -- After taking random exit, wedged vessel in parking lot Alpha-113. No lifeforms noted. Partner emerging from hibernation. Generator engaged... Mast deployed. Exiting capsule alone…

CAPTAIN'S LOG: Stardate 10.11.12 / L-3 Landing Party. 0430 -- Surface mixture of gravel and  curbing. Smells of urine. Atmosphere otherwise safe... Dull orange glow on quadrant's edge.  Com Link established. Exploring perimeter on foot... 
 
CAPTAIN'S LOG: Stardate 10.11.12 / L-3 Landing Party. 0445  -- Origin of glow determined. Pinstriped Eatery - partially darkened. Granny's Biscuit Shack. Outer hatches locked. Will return to collect samples. Back in capsule. Partner applying facial putty...   

CAPTAIN'S LOG: Stardate 10.11.12 / L-3 Landing Party. 0450 -- Sensor package deployed. Tractor beam set. Bars flying. Partner upright. Engaging spotlight. Star Command contacted. Standing by ... Partner Alert -- CUE! Drone ... activated. 

CAPTAIN'S LOG: Stardate 10.11.12 / L-3 Landing Party. 0500 -- First Contact! Stumbled over inert life form behind waste containment pod. Biped, possibly stunned. Upon waking, requested nicotine delivery device. Goes by Lenny... Source of urine smell determined...

CAPTAIN'S LOG: Stardate 10.11.12 / L-3 Landing Party. 00525 --  Com Link activity temporarily delayed. A strange malaise has overtaken the capsule... Partner mood darkening... lamenting career choices. Ominous shadow now falling over craft... Lenny?  

CAPTAIN'S LOG: Stardate 10.11.12 / L-3 Landing Party. 0540 -- WE'RE ALL GONNA DIE! THE NINE VOLTS ARE MISSING! AIR RUNNING OUT! LIGHT BULBS BROKEN! SEND HELP NOW! CABLES FRAYED! JETTISON POD! LENNY IS GOD!

CAPTAIN'S LOG: Stardate 10.11.12 / L-3 Landing Party. 0545 -- A-hem... Crew no longer in peril. Nine Volts located, Air Supply Fine. Light bulb only loosened. No help needed. Cables taped. Cancel pod jettison. Disregard deification of life form. Over.

CAPTAIN'S LOG: Stardate 10.11.12 / L-3 Landing Party. 04550 -- Order restored aboard craft after unplugging Carbon Monoxide detector. Possible feeling effects of Gamma Ray exposure. Partner on phone with agent. No sign of sunrise. Leaving capsule to buy Lenny cigarettes...

CAPTAIN'S LOG: Stardate 10.11.12 / L-3 Landing Party. 0750 -- Returned to craft. Equipment stripped. Partner missing. Only fragrant aerosol cloud remaining. Signs of struggle. Relocating to Biscuit Shack. Pack of bedraggled travelers who live there now my people. Tell wife love her. Abandoning hope... Taking microphone flag. Over... OU---

Detachment Forming

They may look harmless, but this motley clot of operatives can bathe the airwaves with toxins or truth, poison water cooler talk with drops of honesty and spread a great malaise across the land. Not bad for some former camcorder dorks! I can say that, 'cause I'm one of 'em. And while my shoulder roll is well within specs, my powers of perception are off the chart. It's what allows my type to plop down and chill, shut out the world and just go numb, all while sweeping the perimeter with a jet pilot's eye. At least that's what we tell ourselves as we hover over timelines. Truth is, we're no more qualified to fly than your average pizza delivery guy, but watching life zoom by on a tiny screen does  leaves us diving for the horizon. You'd scurry, too - if both bailiffs and waitresses yelled "Hey Mom" your way.

As any TV stevedore who's schlepped for more than a fortnight will tell you, it's an eye-opening experience. Grimacing Senator, Star Command Drop-Out, Self-Proclaimed Mermaid: at one time or another they've all clamored for my camera's affection. Fend off the gang at Occupy: Waffle House a few times. You're sense of security (not to mention smell) will be left scattered, capped and shattered. So if you happen upon a huddle as such, approach with extreme caution. Their corporal form and aptitude for lassitude belies a pack animal's paranoia. Yes, these students of insouciance are trained to frame and poised to pounce. They are the foot soldiers of the Fourth Estate and upsetting their scrum would be no more advisable than stepping in a bucket of rattlesnake. Isn't that right, fellas? ... Fellas?

You know, if I'm gonna talk you up like this, you could at least put your phones down.