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Being technologically clueless, careless, and lethal, I couldn't get my camera memory card/shtick to download my pics onto my computer--a task your average 4 year old can do while napping. I took it and my camera to Walgreen's for them to download onto a cd. Or is it a dvd? I don't know. I asked the girl to put 'em on a shiny flat disc. She rolled her eyes and motioned me to the Depends aisle while she handled my order. She couldn't get it to download, either. I was frustrated yet relieved. This process took @ an hour as she kept trying to figure it out. While the machine was attempting to process my order she processed another customer's pics--a customer who left and would return later. She was scanning through his pics and was "ooh-ing" and "ah-ing." She motioned to me to come over and "check these out." Initially, I hesitated thinking I was invading some one's privacy and if I did join her and the customer were to return he might bludgeon me with my 24 count Depends box. However, curiosity prevailed over valor and the two of us observed some interesting shots of some one's European vacation. I didn't look very long at all, as my conscience was whispering, "hey, you little voyeur. . . " Ouch.
She joined me at my machine which had, by now, been processing for 40 minutes. She became frustrated and began talking to the machine, addressing it as "Dude." "Come on, Dude, what's the problem?" "Hey, Dude, could you go any slower?" I'm often asked both those questions and inquired to whom she was speaking. She assured me it was the "freakin', messed up machine, Dude."
Actually, she was very likable--a single young mom with a little boy, and trying to be responsible, doing the the best she can. She had lived in Alaska until she was 16, and moved here to be with some family, but is still missing Alaska very much. She began telling me all about rural Alaska and the rugged outdoors up there. She told me she used to play with baby wolves, and how at night you'd see the wolf eyes light up in the dark. She used to chase bear cubs for fun, until mama bear would enter the scene. I'm assuming mama bear then chased her not for fun, but for food. She spun some exotic tales. She talked about the huge moose and how--hang on--she and her friends would snowmobile between a moose's legs for thrills. And her buddy would take a stick and while going under the moose's belly he would 'tap" the moose's testicles so that the moose would then chase them. I have this involuntary habit of biting on my lower lip when I'm questioning the veracity of someone. I had lost 3 pints of blood by now.
She then asked me if I had ever heard of Alaska's pyramid. I'm thinking maybe there's a desert oasis in Egypt named Alaska. "Do you mean Egypt?" "No, Dude, I mean Alaska." I don't recall a lot of detail from here on because the Twlight Zone theme ditty was reverberating in my head. I do remember her telling me that there is an underground pyramid in Alaska that serves as a place of security if there is a threat posed to the office of the President of the U.S. She told that either Nixon or Obama had been flown and housed there on occasion. I was incredulous and nearly shouted, "Are you telling me there's a pyramid in Alaska??!!??" That's how I call someone a liar but never use the word and even state it as a question. She informed me that only residents of Alaska know about it and they aren't supposed to tell anyone else. Yeh, good luck with that policy, Dept. of Homeland Security. I can hear the indoctrination as parents and teachers shape the young minds of the Alaskan children. "I pledge allegiance to the flag. . . and I also pledge I will never say anything to anyone about (muffled snicker)-- the pyramid."
She swears it's true. And I believe her. Why would she make up something like that? In fact, it's so outlandishly bizarre that no one could make it up--it's gotta be real. The problem is I'll never, ever be able to have it confirmed or denied as fact. If it's false, the government will say it, indeed, is false; if it's true, you can bet the government will say it, indeed, is false. I guess I'll never know.
Do you know anything about it? What do you think?
In the meantime I'm going to be well on my way to quadrupling my income by investing in an opportunity she told me about. She took me aside and in hushed tones informed me that the Alaska Department of Good Folks is bequeathing money to non-citizens of Alaska. All I have to do is send an initial $10,000 to her, giving her my driver's license #, credit card info, my savings and checking accounts info, and within three months I'll be livin' the life. I can't wait.
If you want to cash in on this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity today is the day. Simply send me $10,000. . .
Got in @ 12;30 a.m., having spent 4+ hrs. driving from St. Pete, Fl to Miami, flying from Miami to Atlanta to Bloomington, and then driving 45 minutes home. Long day. Totally wiped out by the time we walked into our house.. Here's how fried my brain was: I had a towel in my hand, had to relieve myself, and lifting the toilet lid I nonchalantly tossed the towel in the toilet thinking that was why I had lifted the aforementioned lid.
We got in no sailing at all. My brain is not the only thing fried; the boat's transmission is ruined, and will cost our friends @$13,000 to replace, and it's money they don't have. So we lived on the boat for 2 weeks, and worked on other aspects of the boat in need of repair or upgrading. A lot of hard work mixed with moments of serenity and peacefulness, as we we would rest on the deck of the boat in the evenings and take in the quietness.
Some random thoughts and observations:
**Life on a boat sounds exotic and enchanting. It's not. It certainly has its moments of beauty, but the moments were mingled with hours of hard work, disappointment, and frustration. Parts break, malfunction, and simply die without warning, leaving you immobilized. The refrigeration system wasn't functioning to up to par. In addition, a boat has a tank which holds all the excrement, etc. A man comes once a week in his boat, nestles aside each boat, and drains all the crap into a tank on his boat ( I wasn't even aware of, much less dreamed about becoming, a poop pumper.) From what I observed, he's rolling in a lot more poop than he is dough. Our boat filled up, the motor in the poop pumper went out, and for the past week we couldn't use the bathroom sinks or toilets or showers. We had to walk to the marina beach/bath house to shower and use facilities throughout each day.
**I'm into t-shirt logos and bumper stickers (what an adrenalin rush!) I saw a couple t-shirts occupied by women and I don't have a clue as to what these women are thinking. I saw an attractive couple in their 30's/40's. She was wearing a tight t-shirt, the cotton barely containing her breasts of great endowment. If hers wren't surgically provided then God overlooked at least three other women in making provision for her. Across the breast-line, in large letters, were these words: RUB FOR GOOD LUCK. Ms., what are you thinking? Are you a piece or a person? Are you just merchandise to paw? And what is her "man" thinking? She's waving a sign enticing and inviting any and all to come on to her. That's got to make a guy feel really good--any guy but her guy.
It was Mother's Day and my wife and I were walking St. Pete pier. There was a mother and daughter sitting at an outdoor table, taking in the scene. Mom was in her 40's, daughter in her teens. "Aw, how Norman Rockwellian. . . time together on this special day of honor and tribute." They had matching pink t-shirts with white lettering. I thought, "So c-u-u--u-t-e!" Mom's read, If You think I'm a Bitch You Should Meet My Daughter. And, of course, her daughter's read, If You Think I'm a Bitch you should Meet My Mother. It just goes to show you, the mother and daughter that preys together, stays together. What are they thinking? Is there some kind of demented bonding that they're proclaiming to the planet? I guess you B's stick together and are proud of it. If only I could have been a mother and had that special relationship with my little B. Whatever.
**Boat names are rarely valiant and noble. Miss Behavin. Nauti Princess. Cirrhosis of the River. Miss Guided. Seaduction.
**A highlight. This boat is 74 feet long. A very tall mast. Uh, VERY tall. About 30-40 feet up the mast is a crosspiece which contains two lights that shine down onto the deck at night. Both lights were out and needed replaced. Our friend and host, Tom, gets a panic attack on a footstool. So, I volunteered and he put me in a harness and hoisted me up the mast by rope, and I replaced the bulbs. "While you're at it," he says, "do you mind me hoisting you on up to the peak of the mast so you can grease the pulleys up there?" From sea level to the peak is 85 feet. Think a seven story building. "Sure," I said as I wet myself. Actually, it wasn't a problem. He hoisted me up seven stories to the top of the mast and I performed the necessary tasks and mission accomplished. Tom would call it "panic.' I call it "adrenalin."
** I took a lot of pictures, none of which I am able to download onto my or anyone else's computer. Not even Walgreen's could download my memory card. Hopefully, I'll have something to show you. Eventually.
We're taking off May 6-22. Our intent is to accompany our best friends in helping them sail a boat. They have to get it from St. Petersburg, FL to Trinidad--1400 miles. Our plan was to assist them the first 500+ miles. At the last minute the transmission of the sailboat engine has locked up and the generator died. We may be stuck with them in St. Pete's or, if repairs can be made, we will be on a sailing adventure. Either way, I don't know whether any blogging will take place.
On my return I'm sure I will have stories to tell and bs for you to sort through. What will be fact and what will be fiction? Only I will know. And I aint tellin'.
Thanks for following and thanks for your feedback from time to time.
Grace and Peace, Steve
