Ah, the weather is here; I wish it was beautiful. For 3 days I’ve listened to the mouth-breathers that predict the forecast warn of torrential downpour, of flooding in the streets, and of an impending weather event that could conceivably rock our political views. No dice.

Well, I’m done. I’m finished waiting for the Earth to get it together. I’m going to the boat tomorrow and nobody can stand in my way. You are all welcome to come, just bring a hat. Oh, and some quacamole.

I’m not one to really “check” the weather, Internet. Living in Los Angeles, you can pretty much count on a few certainties: It’ll be sunny, it’ll be pleasant, and you probably won’t need a jacket. Unfortunately, this attitude does leave me unprepared or uninformed on occasion.

I had a plan to go sailing either today or tomorrow. This morning I was greeted with a dark and cloudy sky, but as per usual, no actual rain yet. It may start soon, but unlike Florida, it’s never a surprise here. Now that I have actually checked the reports, it looks like we’ll have Biblical strength rainfall for the next 3 days, which probably means 2 inches total. I stand here packed with the keys in my hand, and I can’t go.

Damn you, weather! I wish to sail the high seas, yet lack the backbone to do it while 10 feet away from a 25 foot tall metal pole in the largest body of water on Earth whilst it downpours. A motor boat, sure. A Sailboat? Probably not the best idea. Maybe I’ll go golfing.

Dear Clouds: either rain, or move along. No loitering or standing allowed in the 213.

For the sake of time and sanity, we’re gonna try something a little different today, Internet. I have two adventures to tell you about, but since I got things to do with my life today (as I’m sure you do, too), we’re going to merge them. It’s not going to make much sense, but really, what does make sense in this crazy world anymore? (Lots of stuff.)

(See? That makes perfect sense. Godzilla sunk the Titanic! Those Japanese are gonna pay.)

The two stories are thus:

1. The sailboat was almost completely destroyed, and I witnessed it.

2. Last night I got completely destroyed, and The Redhead witnessed it.

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Spending the day in the Harbor. I expect to experience the following:

1. The goofy guy with the moustache will talk to me non-stop like he always does.

2. I’ll scrub a specific spot for nearly an hour, and it will look the exact same.

3. I’m here alone, so after 45 minutes I will get incredibly bored and lonely. Then the drinking will begin.

Remember last Monday, Internet? I was going off about how things have gotta change, about how I need to wrangle in the craziness a bit. I’m proud to report that things are going fantastically.

(Mr. and Mrs. Naked)

I attended a wedding over the weekend. Buck F. Naked tied the knot to his life long love, Beer. It was a beautiful ceremony, and it was all I could do to hold back my tears. They weren’t tears of joy, Internet, they were tears of woe. As Buck married Beer, I realized how my own relationship with Beer has lost some of that spark, that infatuation you feel at the beginning of a love affair. I could have been Beer’s man, but I let Beer get away. Where is love?

I got this new system anyway, and it’s finally looking like I’m gonna clean up my act.

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It’s official! The Sailboat has a name, and I love it. The Admiral came up with it, and it didn’t take long for me and the Commodore to sign off on it. 

Bless this ship and all who sail on her. I christen thee, The Flying Wasp

POG MO THOIN.

(The Admiral at the Con on the newly dubbed, POG MO THOIN.)

Pog Mo Thoin (pronounced: pogue muh ho-in) is Irish for “Kiss My Ass.” There’s no better name possible for how we act, argue, sail, and enjoy the boat. 

This weekend will be my first journey under the new banner. Can’t wait. 

People that know me know that I talk a lot. “A lot” often means non-stop, particularly if alcohol is nearby. A common occurrence is for me to hear something that reminds me of something I did once, which immediately launches me into a fascinating story about it. Another way to put it would be that I’m a jerk who shoehorns himself into conversations. Often, I’ll wax nostalgic about my glory days in high school radio or local cable. Yeah, I’m a bit of a bastard, but fret not! That’s not why were here today, Internet!

Meet Abby Sunderland. You may have heard of her. She’s the 16 year old girl who is sailing around the world all by herself. Her brother already did it before he was 18. Yesterday she activated her emergency homing beacon, launching a Search and Rescue in the Indian Ocean. She has made contact and is perfectly fine, except for her mast collapsing after heavy weather. She hasn’t seen land in 2 months.

I sail. I sail out of Marina Del Rey on a 28 foot Hunter that remains unnamed (top candidates right now include The Distraction and The Dennis Hopper). I’m trying to muster the courage to sail with The Redhead to Santa Catalina Island. Catalina is about 5 hours away and the route is heavily, heavily trafficked. This girl is sailing around the globe and she’s half my age. And she’s blogging about it! Yesterday I blogged about raisins.

So I ask you, what did YOU do in High School? I feel like such a bum and lazy failure right now. Follow Abby’s Blog. It’s absolutely fascinating.

…Hello, Internet. I’m a broken and battered man on this Tuesday. I partied all weekend, sailed all day Sunday, and watched 2 Blackhawk victories.

(The true battle of the weekend was The Sun vs. Irish Skin. The sun won. I’m peeling like an onion.)

Over the course of the weekend, I poured nothing but sin into my system. I drank beer almost exclusively. I smoked like it was a respirator. My entire diet consisted of Portillo’s catered Italian Beef sandwiches and combos. That last one is less a complaint and more me bragging.

During the sailing part of the weekend, which didn’t have much wind but plenty of insanity, I scraped the inside of my knee on …something, cut my hand on something else, and landed on a cleat when jumping off the boat. Except for the possible chip of a footbone, the other injuries are complete mysteries to me. All I know is that at one point I noticed blood, and followed the trail to my newest scar. I also recently switched deodorants, and this Old Spice crap ain’t working as well, despite that guy on the horse’s insistence.

So as I put myself together, let’s take a moment to thank the wonderful people at Neosporin. Thanks, Neosporin!

I’ll be back after I find some Aloe.

I’m out on the water today, Internet. Maybe I’ll put up some pictures later, but don’t hold your breath (unless you’re underwater).

My nose is flowing like the Mighty Mrs. Sipp. It was that damn Pacific Ocean! Curse you, mighty blue! Why must you be so tempting? You have left me a shell of the man I was. Anyway, I’m home sick from work. It’s story time.

Not stories for you, Internet, but stories for me. Can’t a guy take a short break? I feel like Superman in Superman II. All I want is a day off with Lois Lane and the whole world goes to shit. Now I gotta figure out how to get my power back, stop the Kryptonian Super-Criminals, and beat the crap out of a local diner patron. Unless this is the Dick Donner cut of Superman II, in which case I’ll just reverse the rotation of the Earth… again.

Today I’ll be watching The Pacific, and trying to make a correlation between a 65 year old war campaign and me drinking all day in cold weather on the boat in… the very same ocean. Coincidence? Yes. A complete coincidence with no connection. Even the word “coincidence” feels like a stretch.

Aww, screw it. I’m full of Day/NyQuil and don’t care.

We’re going to play a little guessing game, Internet. See if you can guess which of the two boats pictured below is ours:

Yesterday, the gang headed out on the sailboat to discuss two major issues: Fixing the mast and the shrouds, and finally coming up with a name for the boat. The boat is incapable of sailing right now, but is still serving admirably as a floating bar. 

The other boat pictured is the Kenji, registered out of the Cayman Islands, so it’s clearly a Drug Baron, Oil Sheik, or Burt Reynolds. It had surveillance cameras all over the deck, so we think the only thing that saved us from the imaginable platoon of enforcers with AK-47’s below deck, was our obvious appearance as riff raff. Anyone who watched us park would have dismissed notions that we were a strike team, and anyone who saw me chugging a Miller Lite Tall Boy wouldn’t have even considered us slick. It was a fun day, though.

Still no official name as we enter our 3rd summer.

Hola, Internet. What’s the skinny? I got some new sunglasses this weekend, my 3rd pair of the same kind.

Pretty sweet, eh? I dropped the first pair (the ones from my wedding) in the Pacific Ocean. And the second pair…. also in the Pacific Ocean. These I aim to keep. Of course, I meant to keep both other pairs, too. C’est la vie, as the say in Pair-ee.

I’m usually very good with sunglasses. I’ve never really “lost” a pair. I know exactly where each and every set throughout my life have gone. I dropped one pair of Oakleys in the water on White Water Rampage at Great America (that’s in Gurnee!), one pair of Ray Bans in Lake Geneva (that’s in Wisconsin!) and another pair of Oakleys in Salt Creek (that’s in Illinois!).

Lesson? I am not allowed to wear sunglasses near any body of water over 16 ounces.

Wish me luck.

Well, I went sailing yesterday, Internet. What did I discover on the waves of the mighty Pacific? Dead birds. 3 of them, and not much else.

(Pelican: Pictured alive)

I didn’t expect to find any Beach Blanket Bingo or some sort of Regatta Race going on off the shores of Marina Del Rey, considering it’s late December, but I did expect to see some sort of life. After all, this is Southern California. We all moved here because of the pursuit of perpetual summer. Sure, we could have moved to Ecuador to get the real effect and health insurance, but I hear the Cable TV there just isn’t as good.

Anyway, it was a dreary and overcast day on the sea, prompting THE Joe Moran to comment, “This Pacific Ocean is a joke.” Typical then, that today I wake up and it’s sunny and windy. The day AFTER I go, it’s a perfect day to sail. The lattice fences on my deck seem to have NO problem scooping up the wind and plotting a tacking reach across my patio.

(The Boat, aka bote, aka Martini’s Up, aka The Drunken Crab, aka The Pissing Immigrant, aka The Abby Singer, aka Back To One, aka Copy That, aka The Breaking Wind)

Going on nearly 2 years, the boat (bote) has gone through many proposed names, though nothing that’s really felt right. The original name is The Breaking Wind, which sadly gets laughs every time we tell people, but is the nautical humor equivalent of, “why did the chicken cross the road?” It’s bad luck to rename a boat without a whole bunch of pomp and circumstance involving sacrificing a really good virgin and an even better bottle of champagne. At this point in our lives and the economy, we’re not in the tax bracket that can afford that.

Actually, we’re not in the tax bracket to even have a boat. As the fella says, “The happiest day of a boater’s life is when he buys a boat. The second happiest is when he sells it.” Boats be pricey, and every time you add “marine” to the title of an item, be it spark plugs, rope or even cleaning solvents, double the price.

So the bote set sail (barely) and all we saw on our journey was about 40 styrofoam cups possibly from Japan, a green bouncy ball, and 3 dead pelicans. A dead pelican looks like a feathered turkey floating belly up. It’s a big son of a bitch. (Boat name: The Feathered Turkey!) We didn’t even see another boat, as we were probably the only morons who didn’t bother checking the weather report.

But with a fearless Captain like this, who needs weather reports? (Everybody.)

So my vacation has started with death. That’s okay, I’ve still got 20 degree weather and Conservative muckraking awaiting me in Minnesconsin. Won’t that be fun….

Also, I am not sure about the Web sitchoo up there in the woods. I may be blogging, I may not be. Only time will tell. Until then, Internet, enjoy your merry holiday.

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