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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