Scotty's Final Mission Ends in Weary, Waterlogged DisgraceAmid all the fuss of Century City bomb threats and advances in 'retard'-positive cinema, we regret overlooking the genuinely awful news that recently befell the family of late Star Trek actor James Doohan. To wit: Old Scotty's ashes, previously intended for a intergalactic resting place via a SpaceX rocket, made it exactly no miles above the Earth before crashing into the Pacific Ocean with scores of other folks' cremains — 208 in all. But Doohan was the only one whose son, upon the third and final attempt to successfully launch the craft, was invited to write a eulogy for Boing Boing:
There have been many attempts to send my father on his way. On Saturday, the latest launch attempt by SpaceX, with a portion of my father's remains aboard, failed to achieve orbit. While there are many complicated reasons why this is a disappointment, mine is simple: I'd like to finish saying goodbye.
*Sniff*! More post-crash poignancy (and, at $12,000 per "passenger," some well-earned bitterness) — after the jump.
Every launch attempt is like reliving his funeral. There’s a lot of pomp and ceremony, and a retelling of his deeds in life. But at the end of these funerals, something goes awry, the body doesn't get buried, and you know you're going to have to come back to do it over again. I'm not laying blame on anyone for the delays. It's difficult, living on the cusp of technology. Where most of us lament the premature obsolescence of our cell phones, there are those few of us who've pinned the memories of our family members on a rocket, hoping it will touch the sky. ... But I'm not sure I can hang on until then. Grieving can't wait for the pace of progress, and I have to say goodbye now. So when news of the next launch rolls around, please don't ask me about it; I won't be paying attention.
No problem — our condolences. And coincidentally or not, Hallmark has just the card for an occasion like this.