I’ve been watching a lot of TV lately. It’s amazing, the educational value of
television. I used to learn from Big
Bird. Now I learn about him. Did you know that Mitt Romney hates Big
Bird? It’s true! The TV told me. It’s also true that Obama hates economic
recovery! TV told me that too! Don’t even get me started on Lindsey Lohan! Did
you know that she’s not a virgin? I swear! I saw it on TV.
You know what else I saw on TV? It’s unbelievable! I saw a Rob-piphany. That’s right! Last
night, while the Pirate Queen underwent dreamland mutiny complete with
real-land flailing, kicking, and punching her RobBlogger, I retreated to the
couch. That’s when I saw it, as I
flipped through channels.
“…unwanted facial hair to your husband’s scalp!”
No not that.
This was real. This was
about 55 Cancri e.
The diamond planet. That’s where I’m taking my next
spaceship. It’s where my parents
hid the Boyd millions. The TV didn’t tell me about the millions, but It did
tell me about the planet, and I’m quite capable of reading the stars. It’s as easy as connecting the dots.
Come along! I’ll explain everything…
Ring! Ring!
Ring! Ring!
Ring! Ring!
“mmm…yello?”
“Hi Dad! It’s
me, Rob!”
“mmm…yah…er…who?”
“Me! Rob. Your son!”
“My son doesn’t call before 4 am.”
“He does when he’s found the hidden family fortune!”
“I told you son, your grandfather said he was taking his accordion
with him, and that’s where we’re leaving it.”
“Not those riches.
The family diamonds.”
“The wha--? Are you talking to Dr. Phil again?”
So the phone call was off to a rocky start, but that’s how
most planets are. My dad’s smart, he picks things up quickly, so I explained
about the Boyd diamonds: a whole
planet of them waiting to be discovered.
See, they’re technically not Boyd diamonds, yet, but they’re in the
news, and they will be Boyd diamonds. Oh yes they will be mine.
See there’s this planet, 55 Cancri e, we’ll call it
Boydtropolis for now, cuz that’s what I’ll name it when I plant my flag there,
so to speak. Boydtropolis, it’s a Super-Earth circling a sun in cancer. That’s
the crab constellation, not the melanoma.
The planet is about 40 light years away, about 280 years in cat years so
I’ve told Persephone she can’t come.
Mew-mew.
She took it well.
So did my Dad. See for him family is everything.
“So, let me get this straight. You called me at 3:30—“
“3:35.”
“Yeah. 3:35 to tell me that you’re leaving for a planet 40
light years away to claim it and collect diamonds.”
“Exactly.”
“Do you know how long that will take you?”
“40 light years.”
“I see you’ve thought through this.”
Most dads would hang up here. Not my Dad. My dad keeps
going. He knows a good idea when he hears one. See, once I travel those 40 light years, there’s a planet on
the other side made of diamonds. A planet of diamonds? That’s enough to make Ernst Stavro Blofeld sit up and take notice.
“Right idea Mr. Bond.”
“But wrong pussy.”
Of course. I’ve told you. Persephone can’t
make the trip. That’s why I’m going alone. I’m like a miner 49er rushing to California
only to discover it amok with hippies.
“Take your stinking paws off me, you damned dirty ape.”
Wrong “folly of
man” discovery, sorry. The coffee must be wearing off. Or maybe I’m soaking in
all this TV rays. They say there are a lot of rays in space.
Anyway, they
may have rays in space, but they don’t have apes or hippies on
Boydtropolis. First, the crust is
made mostly of diamonds; diamonds are as attractive to apes and hippies as Bernie
Madoff trading cards.
“Ooh, look!
They form a pyramid!”
Second,
Boydtropolis circles its sun a little closer than Earth circles our sun. The surface
temperature is right around 3,900 degrees. Hippies and Apes don’t do well in that kind of heat. Me? I’m
not worried; it only gets that hot during the summer. And it’s a dry heat.
Besides, the days are shorter, I’ll work at night, and wear a mining light.
“And you have a space ship that travels the speed of light?”
Asks Dad.
“Not yet, Dad.
That’s where you come in.”
“Of course it is…Hang on” There’s a rattle on the other side
of the phone.
“What’s that sound?”
“Aspirin bottle [gulp,
swallow]. Continue.”
“I need to borrow some money from you—you know for the
spaceship.”
“Have you tried your mom? She might be more willing to
help.”
“Because Grandpa worked with NASA?”
“OK. That works.
Sure, because her father worked with NASA is a great reason. Call your
mom.”
“I already did.”
“Oh.”
“She said to call you. She said that if anybody knew about
coal to diamonds and the tight pressure required for that, it would be you.”
“I see...”
He did see. He said a little more about how he missed Mom’s opinions and other things like that. If this were TV there’d be a laugh track here followed by a slow fade to commercials here.
When we came back from commercial we’d wrap things up. This is where Dad would reach through
the phone, rub my head, call me a “scamp” and give me the money I need for
Boydtropolis.
“Son, you can’t be a moron all your life.”
“That’s not what you told me in High School.”
“Yes, well my perspective has changed. So you really think you can endure
4,000 degree—“
“3,900 degree, Fahrenheit.”
“--temperatures
to mine diamonds and bring them back home in ship with a---what did you call
it—An FTL drive?”
“Yeah, FTL, Faster Than Light. They have them on Stargate.”
“Of course they do.”
“And no, I know I can’t take 3,900 degree temperatures. That’s silly. I’d burn up. I have a different plan.”
“And no, I know I can’t take 3,900 degree temperatures. That’s silly. I’d burn up. I have a different plan.”
“Oh, do tell.”
“I’ll tow the planet back to Earth, that way I can mine it
in safe, short intervals. I got the idea from Bugs Bunny.”
“Brilliant.
Well unfortunately I don’t have the kind of money required to tow a
planet. We’re strapped, and it’s a little outside my range. See, it requires a special laser lasso
that needs to be licensed and permitted by the space towing commission. The permit alone is far more than I can
pull together on such short notice.”
“And that’s why I wanted to talk to you about digging up
Grandpa. We need his accordion.”
This is where my
dad hangs up.
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