To Ground Control: Need More Pichon

I am high. I am high above the Earth. I am high above the Earth in this tin can they call a spaceship. My name is Jim Barr. I am a professional clodsmonaut searching for the legendary Apes That Dance Around A Granite Slab. I drink wine. Lots of wine. If you think this story is slow, try the movie. One big bathroom break. The crew consists of myself, Dave and our on board calculator, the H.A.L. 3.14159. We call him Pi, and he hates it. So this is the future: everyone wears white outfits, speaks in drugged dulcet tones and seems capable of enduring searing cattle prods of boredom. The future… space is riddled with junk. Ritalin is a food group. And symphonic versions of Ted Nugent classics are pumped into the black holes of the thoughts of humankind. So. It has come to this. “Dave,” drones Hal, in a liquid sneer. “Please don’t call me Pi. I really hate it.” “Maybe you ought to lube your attitude, Hal,” Dave retorts. “Oh? I understand, Dave. Please watch yourself when you are outside the ship, fixing the turn indicators.” So far, I’ve said nothing, and so have not said anything stupid. I am on this voyage for one reason: to study the effects of red wine in space. I have extensive notes on pouring wine onto a ceiling. Hal calls me Jackson Pollack, but I am not Polish. I am drinking 1992 Pichon-Lalande ($89.99 1.5L) through a straw. Not the best way, but not a bad way either. Lovely herbal character, still fairly firm. A classically styled wine with elegance and restraint. I toast Dave as he floats outside the ship. “Oh dear,” drones Hal. “Looks like Dave’s safety cord has malfunctioned. Goodbye Dave.” Dave looks a bit like Kenny on Southpark as he gets smaller and smaller. I admire his sense of adventure. The next year is uneventful. I lose 5300 straight chess matches to Hal. Stanley Kubrick seems completely stumped by his inability to craft a screenplay that is worth filming. Or writing poorly about. In addition, Hal’s attitude has worsened, and I am reduced to calling him Master. A bright spot for me is another vintage of Pichon, this time the 1993 Pichon-Lalande ($134.99 1.5L). A fine ripeness is balanced by firm structure and notes of cedar. Really tasty stuff, a wonderful value. Pairs well with Marmite and toast. Hal is drinking wine now, and I pull another cork for him. He is getting chattier, too. “Jim, I should show you the monkeys. Would you like to see the monkeys, Jim? Right after you go outside and change the turn indicators.” “Oh boy! Thank you Pi,” I say. I like monkeys. My safety cord seems to have snapped. Hal’s metallic lips move in the window of the ship. He is saying something about hating pie. A Soylent Green container floats by. Conductorless classical music is playing. My head is getting light, even more than usual. A giant baby looms before me. David Bowie is singing now… I see the Jetsons in the distance… goodbye Hal… I’m sorry that I called you Pi… —Joe Zugelder