Tuesday, October 31, 2006

My costume rocks

Here's a pic of my Little Goth Girl costume.

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Bill just happened to have a costume that made him look like Ozzy, so I had to get a pic with him.

I tell you what. I had more fun dressed up in this outfit. Let's just put it this way. Don't be too surprised if the dog collar makes a come back in the future. :)

The only drawback the costume had was that the hoops on my earrings kept getting caught on the spikes on my collar, causing a semi-painful costume malfunction. Ah, the price we have to pay to look cool as hell.

Saturday, October 28, 2006

Saturday Morning Flashback

Just in case you were wondering where my love for the word "plethora" came from.


Sunday, October 22, 2006

Hooray!

Okay, my free image hosting server is back up, and the pics are back in the blog. I'm glad I don't have to go down to wherever their office is and knock some skulls. :)

Okay, WTF???

I sincerely hope that there is just something going on with the free image hosting server that I use, because I just viewed my blog, and noticed that every single picure that I have hosted there is not showing!

I'm going to be pissed if I have to re-upload every single picture that I have posted on my blogs.

Oh, BTW, the three bottom blog links on the right hand side of this page are mine, so be sure to check them out. Only, don't bother with them right now, because they are mostly photo blogs.

Frickin' great.

Saturday, October 21, 2006

Saturday Morning Flashback

This one goes out to Sammy Pants.



Damn, Johnny Cash was awesome!

Tuesday, October 17, 2006

Back in the Day

So there I am, waiting to pick up my takeout, and the song comes on the radio. You know the one. The one that should have never been written, but was written by the band that never should have existed.

I can't even remember the name of the stupid song, but it was that one put out by Gloria Estefan and the Miami Sound Machine back in the day. You know, the one about doing the conga. The one that was incredibly popular where I grew up near Miami.

"Hey! Miami Sound Machine! I know Miami! Yeah!"

This took me back to my days spent in grade school, at good ol' Palm Lakes Elementary. Ok, now for those of you who don't know (that's probably a few, because I don't really like to admit this), I was born and raised in Hialeah. 'Nuff said.

So, somebody at DCPS (Dade County Public Schools) had the brilliant idea that it would be beneficial to the small percentage of White kids at my school to be taken out of normal classes (such as math) and thrown into Spanish class.

Because of that, to this day I have problems with long division, fractions, and math. But! Thanks to DCPS, I've retained some knowlegde from that forced class! I still know how to say perro (dog), gato (cat), and mesa (table). So, if I ever find myself in a Mexican restaurant, and there's a cat or dog on the table, I'm all over that.

That class didn't even teach me the most valuable Spanish phrase. This is a phrase I used a lot when I was a courier working around Miami. "Mucho trabajo, un poco dinero." Which, I think means "Lot's of work, little pay."

Then again, I could be wrong about that translation. There was this one Cuban guy that was the parking lot attendant at the dog track who didn't speak a lick of English. So, I'd say that to him every week, and he'd bust out laughing like it was the funniest thing in the world. Then he'd point at me and say "Jew a fonny gringa!", and keep laughing as he lift the parking gate. He'd still be laughing when I drove out after making the delivery.

Thinking back, I do take offense at being called a gringa. <sigh> The things you do to keep the work environment comfortable.

So, back to the stupid conga song.

Here we are... must have been around third or fourth grade. The Youth Fair (county fair) was coming to town, and the school was abuzz with students working on their projects. Our Spanish teacher got it into her head that it would be a fantastic idea if her Spanish class did some crappy little dance to this song.

So, we got pulled out of even more classes (yeah, dancing to the conga song at the fair is much more important than learning about the Declaration of Independence) to practice our crappy little dance.

There we were in the PE field, about half a dozen White kids, trying like hell to magically grow some Latin rhythm and be able to dance this. Let me tell you something. Not one of us White kids had a nano-ounce (is that a word? It is now!) of Latin rhythm in us.

We were knocking eachother down, falling on our asses, stepping on eachothers feet, and generally ruining what probably would have looked a bit cool had some kids who could dance did it. Every now and then you'd hear the teacher (whose name I forget.... I forget a lot of things about South Florida, and that's the way I like it. It's not easy repressing memories!) groan "Aye yos mios!" and shake her head back and forth.

I guess finally we sucked hard enough to make her forget about it, because we never did end up dancing at the fair. Which is just fine by me! That's all a pre-adolescent kid needs is to be up on stage sucking at dancing, while a bunch of people laugh their asses off at you. Thank you Nordic Ancestors for not giving me rhythm.

Monday, October 16, 2006

People Watching at the Gym

As you all know I've been kickin' butt down at the gym after work. I've been doing this for about five or six weeks now, and I've surprised myself by really enjoying it. It's a great stress reliever, and looking forward to going makes the work day go by pretty quick. Besides, I don't feel bad about eating a ton of carbs at lunch, because I know I'm going to use them all up later on that night.

Also, as you all know, I'm a people person. I enjoy interacting with (most) people, and I enjoy people watching. Well, there's plenty of people watching to be done at the gym. Plenty of blogworthy people watching, too. So, without further ado, I give you people I've seen at the gym.

My favorite people watching place is on the stationary bike. It's upstairs, and they are right in front of the edge, so you get to slyly look down at everybody without them knowing.

One night I'm just sitting there, pedaling away, when I see this guy in the weight room, which is lined with mirrors on three walls, open on the fourth wall. He could have been considered attractive, but you could tell he was all into himself, which made him completely unattractive. Don't get me wrong, there's nothing wrong with thinking/knowing that you look good. I just don't think that you should let people know that you think you look good. That's way too cocky for my taste. This guy looked like he spent a lot of time getting ready in the morning. I couldn't ever be with a guy who spends more time on his hair and outfit than me.

So, here's this guy lifting the dumbbells. He puts them down, and walks up to the mirror until he is about six inches away. Maybe this caught my eye because I personally am a mirror phobe. Wait... is there a medical term for that? Sit tight while I Google that. Holy crap. There is. It's catoptrophobia. See? Ya learn something new every day, even when reading my blog.

So, here he is right infront of the mirror, when he starts doing these insane flex moves. Kinda like the Hans and Franz sketches from SNL back in the day. This was pretty funny, but then he started making kissy faces at his biceps in the mirror. The guy was just one step away from petting and kissing his muscles, which, admittedly, were pretty buff. Pretty funny stuff!

Tonight, I'm on the bike again, and I saw this girl working on the leg machine. The one where you push the bar up with your legs, and it exercises your upper thigh muscles. Great machine, but whups my ass. I'm still only on 10 lbs, and it's been like two weeks. I can do about 5 reps on 30 lbs (don't ask me why there's no 20 lbs), but my legs are shaking worse than they did on the high dive platform at Wakulla Springs.

So, here's this chick, dressed to the nines. She had on this designer (DKNY is designer, right?) ball cap on, that was baby pink, and had glitter and rhinestones on it. Her top was also a DKNY baby pink, with more glitter and rhinestones. Her capri pants (also DKNY baby pink) were also glittered and rhinestoned. I'm pretty sure that if she would have stood up, they would have said something along the lines of "Sugah Angel" or "Ghetto Baby" across the butt.

Look, chick, you don't wear fancy clothes to the gym, just for the fact that they get all stinky, sweaty, and dirty pretty quick. That's why I wear my old softball t-shirt (with fish blood stains), some $7 capri pants, and my lucky camo turkey hat. I really don't care if they get ruined. Well, I would be upset if something happened to the hat. It's my favorite.

Then you have the complete opposite. There was this dude walking around today, again could have been attractive, except he was so full of himself it was overflowing. He had this green t-shirt on that was perhaps a size too small. He turns around, and there is this giant gaping hole right smack in the middle of the back.

No, I mean a giant hole. Not a little hole that you can't notice. Not a little hole that nobody else can notice. Not even a little hole that you notice but don't care about. I'm talking like a hole big enough to be a secondary neck hole that his head would have fit through had it not been so fat.

To top things off, he had one of those disgusting hairy back. I mean really, really hairy. Take the hairiest Italian man you've ever seen and somehow cross breed him with those Mexican wolf boys, and an angora cat, and that's how hairy this dude's back was. And, it was this nasty disgusting sweaty hair, too. Just popping out of that horrible hole in his shirt. It looked kinda like that hairy mole on the lunch lady's chin in grade school. Except, instead of being surrounded by greasy skin, it was surrounded by this sweaty stinky green cotton.

Ugggh. That was sincerely bogus!!!!

After my workout today, I headed back into the locker room to grab my stuff and dip. Now, the ladies locker room has nice little curtained changing rooms, which is great. I don't like changing in front of strangers. Even if I had that perfect super model body I wouldn't like changing around strangers. I just don't like the thought of other women seeing me in my undies, let alone seeing me in what God gave me.

But, apparently, this chick tonight didn't have the same issue as I did. Never mind the fact that there were about three changing rooms open at the moment. Never mind the fact that I am standing there, about two feet away from her. She wanted to change right then and there, so change right then and there she did.

Good lord, why couldn't she just wait five seconds until I was gone! Maybe she got some kind of high by watching me squirm as I tried to pack up and leave while looking straight down at my feet, and trying like hell not to look in the mirror and see her reflection.

Come on, girl, not everybody wants to see your ass cheeks and skanky underwear. Have some courtesey for the rest of us!!!

Saturday, October 14, 2006

Amy Zen

Here is a month's worth of zen for you. Thanks to Beth for the idea. Enjoy.

Zen is not something that you can think up. It just comes to you.

Cake energy is false energy.

Apathy is a pit. Empathy is a mountain. Walk the land between both, and life will be good.

Rules are rules. If more people understood this, the world would be a better place.

Never play Flock of Seagulls before 10:00 AM.

Notes don't mean crap unless you do something with them.

Jeans can fool you, but panties don't lie. (Beff Zen)

Priest or not, God still wants you to obey all traffic laws.

When you're 40 and still living with your mom, everything crap rolls right down the hill with you. (no, just because I can't drop it after 7 months doesn't mean that I'm bitter)

Saturday Morning Flashback

Oh, man, I loved this show! They just don't make 'em like this anymore. :)

Tuesday, October 10, 2006

Food Ruined

Ok, you all know that I am on a diet. Bustin' butt at the gym every day after work. Counting every calorie and gram of fat that I consume.

I hope I'm not pissing anyone off by announcing how many calories are in foods. It's just the way that is working for me. I found out that by becoming concious of what I am consuming, it's easier for me to consciously cut back.

And, so far, it's worked. To date, I've lost 22 pounds since I started this around mid July. I'm taking pictures every month to keep track. No, I'm not posting them here. Not sure if I'll want to post them once this journey of mine is done. Depends what the end result is.

As a result of my calorie announcements I've managed to ruin a couple of foods for Beth. So, in all fairness, I'm going to ruin those foods, and some others for the rest of you.

It all started with Pop Tarts.

2 Pop Tarts - 420 calories!!!
Slice of Little Ceasers Cheese Pizza - 167 calories
Ruby Tuesday Buffalo Chicken Tender Platter - 1108 calories, 74 grams of fat
Chik Fil A 4 piece Chicken Strip - 290 Calories
KFC Individual Popcorn Chicken - 380 Calories, 21 grams fat, 4.5 grams trans fat
Big Mac - 204 Calories, 16 grams fat
McDonald's medium Fry - 450 Calories, 22 grams fat
Whopper - 700 calories, 42 grams fat
Papa Johns Slice of Cheese Pizza - 310 calories
Zaxby's Chicken Finger Plate - 1077 calories, 86 grams fat, 8 grams trans fat

Uggh. That's all that I can do for now. I'm **starving** now for some real food.

Monday, October 09, 2006

Zentacular Sunday

Yesterday was a really great day. I am so relaxed after Beth and my mini road trip to Itchetucknee.

We had been planning a river trip for about a month now. If you go to the Itchetucknee after Labor Day, the tram service is not running, and you pretty much have the river to yourself. The first Saturday we were supposed to go Beth had to go out of town. The second Saturday, I had to go to work to give that cheezy presentation. The third Saturday (this past Saturday), we had the mystery meeting sprung on us.

When we heard about that meeting, we decided that we were going to go either A) After work on Saturday, or B) on Sunday. This week was really the only Sunday we could have gone, because my dad was out of town, so I wasn't going fishing. Besides that, it's starting to get pretty chilly here. If we had waited any longer, it would have been too cold to go.

So, we left about 10:00, hoping and praying that by the time we got down there it would be a bit warmer than the 65 degrees it was now. We head on down I10, with the river in our sights. Blasting 80's music, and singing Journey at the top of our lungs.

Our first planned stop in our journey was the Little Skeezers off of I75 in Lake City. Little Ceasers is such a treat for us since there isn't one around Tally. It's cheap, good, and chock full of trans fat deliciousness.

Finally we get there. Get our pizza and cRaZY bread, and sit down to enjoy the goodness. This chick walks in the door, and as she's waiting for her order, she keeps glancing over towards us trying to make eye contact.

I'm silently repeating my mental mantra that I always use in these kind of situations. "Please don't talk to us, PLEASE don't talk to us."

I don't know what it is... I must have this giant invisible tattoo on my forehead that says something along the lines of "Hey, freaks! Talk to me!"

Wherever I am, the freaks are always compelled to strike up the most bizarre conversations with me. Don't believe me? Come hang out with me one day, you'll see what I mean. It's been like that all my life.

And, I'm not the type of person that can ignore somebody or just walk away. I can't really give someone the cold shoulder without feeling like crap inside. I have to stand there and listen to what they say, and pretend to give a crap, when all I really want to do is scream from the top of my lungs "Shut the hell up! I really don't give a damn!" Just watch my interaction with that chick we work with.... no, those TWO chicks that we work with (L & V).

But, I'm getting sidetracked here. Although, loyal readers, you're used to that by now.

I had to get up and hit the little girls room, so I left the table for a few minutes. When I came back, I realized that poor Beth must have that same invisible tattoo on her forehead, 'cause the chick had struck up this insane conversation with her.

I sit back down. Ok, here's what I missed. The chick informed Beth that she was the youngest of 12, and she's had a man for two years. The way she said it was like this was a major accomplishment for her family.

She's showing Beth her ring (not sure if it was a wedding ring or engagement ring), which is sincerely the most god awful thing I've ever seen in my life. This wasn't no Wal-Mart ring. This wasn't even a K-Mart ring. This was more along the lines of a Circle-K ring. I've seen prettier rings come out of a gumball machine.

Beth did the proper thing and oohed and ahhed over it.

Trying to take some of the heat off of Beth, I comment on the chick's nails. They were done in a black french manicure. Since I had painted my toenails black, I said "Hey, I like your nail polish, ha-ha!". She holds her hands closer to me, and OH MY DEAR SWEET JESUS. I swear to god, they were Lee Press On Nails! I could have sworn they stopped making those things in the late 80's! To top it off, we were informed that the white tips glow in the dark, and they "Ain't never comin' off now, 'cause my man done super glued them on."

I swear, I'm not making this up. Let me take a quick moment to describe this chick to you. She is barefoot, with the bottom of her feet black as the ace of spades (This is a known fact, because she showed them off to Beth), wearing these pink short shorts that said "Candy Girl" across the butt, a black produce trucking company t-shirt, no bra, and was sporting a really really horrible hair cut. The only way I can think to describe it was as a reverse mullet gone wrong.

Look, I hate to make fun of rednecks, because 1) I'm a redneck, and proud, 2) Rednecks aren't bad people, and 3) They all ready get made fun of enough. But, this chick really made me look like just a pinkneck.

For some reason she starts talking about the CB radio that she has out in her "ride".

"No really, my man just put a CB in my ride. If you don't believe me, come see! It's in my ride!"

Knowing that she would never LEAVE if I didn't at least go humor her, I head out to check out her "ride".

Hey, wow, I've never seen a CB radio before. That's just frickin' great.

I tried desperately to head back inside to the safety of Little Ceasers, but she wasn't done with me yet. She begins to tell me how her Daddy is building a mud bogging truck to give to her.

OMG, will this horror ever end? I just used my ol' customer service trick and said "Wow! That's cool! Well, drive safe and take care!" waved, and walked back inside.

The second her truck was out of sight, Beth and I cracked up, making the church people inside give us strange looks. Look, ya'll are just jealous because we're going swimming.

The ordeal is over, and we head out to hit the river. On the way out we see this, and I had to take a shot.

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Hey, baby, going my way? (BTW, that is sarcasam. We would have picked him up, but we didn't really feel like getting killed. I especially like the way he is holding his thumb out.)

So, we head down the road, once again, river bound. On the way we pass the tube centers, and see that there should be at least a couple other people going down the river, which is a relief to me. I don't know why, but I did feel somewhat uncomfortable about the two of us going down the river alone. This way there would be people in front of us to scare the gators in my mind away.

Finally! We're at the park! Hooray! Let the fun start! We are both so psyched to be there. This is one of our favorite things to do, and knowing that this would be possibly the last time that we could do this until next spring made it even better.

We head off down the trail to the mid point landing. I tell you what, right then, in that very moment, I felt so perfectly southern that it just made me grin from ear to ear. And, I mean that in a very good way. Here I am, walking down a dirt path through the woods, barefoot, heading towards the river to do some swimming. The sun was shining, there was a cool breeze, and the fallen leaves made a pefectly soft carpet to walk on. It was bliss. I LOVE this state!

We get to the landing, and start heading down the boardwalk. At the start of the boardwalk, there is an abandoned baby stroller, pair of shoes, and a pair of jeans with a really bogus stain on them. God, I hope we don't run into the owner of said jeans. At the raft at the end of the boardwalk is an abandoned t-shirt, which means that someone is very possibly heading down the river butt neked.

There is a couple of hikers standing on the raft, gazing down the river. They must have been newleyweds, because they just had that aura around them of sheer happiness. I think we ruined their moment. ;)

I didn't want to ruin it too much further, so I politely asked "Hey, do ya'll mind if I run here?"

No, they did not mind. And after a few minutes of hesitation I run and cannonball into the river, coming up with a hoot of joy. It is sheer ecstasy jumping into the river and being surrounded by the crisp, clear, flowing water. Beth throws me my raft and jumps in behind me. The river begins to carry us away.

If you've never been down the Itchetucknee River, I beg you to come with me one time. Beth shared this utopia with me, and I want to share it with you. I know that's a real gay sounding statement, but it's true. Just let me know when you want to go.

We're flowing down the river, and didn't even run into any tubers between Mid Point and Dampiers Landing, which was great. I wanted to jump back in, so we got off at Dampiers Landing, trying like hell not to slip on the moldy limestone bank.

We had to wait on the raft for half a dozen kyakers to get out of the water. Once they were out of the water, I was back in the water with a quick run and a jump, and a huge splash.

Now, I had an underwater camera, which is reusable (woot!), and my plans were to have Beth take a picture of me being a spider monkey on the jumping tree. Of course, I didn't even get halfway up the tree before my adult instincts kicked in and I chickened out. That's okay, though. I guess it's not really all that safe to jump from the tree.

Back down the river we head, belting out corny songs at the top of our lungs. When we got to the bouncy log (it's a submerged tree that lies just under the water. You can sit on it and make it bounce. In the summer, you get a little kid to stand on the end that sticks out... five or six people stand on the underwater end and all jump off at the same time, flinging the kid into the air) we sat there for a break, and to let the tubers that came in behind us to pass.

While we're just sitting there, Ranger Cheech comes along in his kayak.

"Did you girls loose something?"

What, do we have these lost looks on our faces?

"No, we're just taking a break. We're waiting to see if we can see the hawk that's been screeching."

Ranger Cheech, who was smoking something really really good, looks up into the trees. We hear taptaptaptaptap coming from the trees.

"No, that's the pilated woodpecker."

Oh, wow, thanks for that lesson, Ranger Cheech. I for sure thought that the taptaptaptap was a hawk crying. Thank you so much for educating us on that matter.

"Yeah, that's a woodpecker, but we heard what I think is a Red Tailed Hawk."

He looks around again, and hears a small bird call.

"What kind of bird do you think that is?"

"I have no clue" I reply. By now we've been out of the water for a good 10 minutes, and I'm beginning to turn blue, so naturally I'm shivering.

"If you're cold, you shouldn't stop swimming. You should keep swimming or go to the side and sit on a tree."

Wow, thanks again for your wisdom there, Ranger Cheech. Just what the hell do you think we're doing right now? I swear, this guy was stoned out of his mind.

"Um, yeah, we're, uh, fixin' to get back in in a bit." I say, and thank heavens, Ranger Cheech merrily paddles away.

When he's out of sight, we're back in the water.

Now comes the mellow part of the journey. Goofing off is over, and it's time to just lie back and enjoy the beauty of the place. Be at one with nature, and all that tree hugger shit. I love it!

The rest of the trip is pretty mellow. We stopped to take a quick water break. These kayakers passed and asked Beth "Are you going to swim down the whole river?"

No, idiot, in a few more minutes she's going to sprout wings and fly us back.

No, dummy, she's getting off the river at the next bend and taking the subway back.

No, chump, we parked in the swamp right over there, and we're taking the truck back.

Hello?! What other choice does she have than to swim down the rest of the river??

Other than that, the rest of the trip was uneventful. Oh yeah, except for when Beth slammed me in the face with a tree limb.

When we get to the final landing, Beth did slip on the slimy limestone resulting in this:

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Oooooooh, that looks like that smarts.

We're out of the river, dripping wet, freezing cold, and faced with a 15 minute walk back to the truck. I'm barefoot, and it's all blacktop. I have nice blisters on my feet now, but at least the pavement was warm. On the way back another insane ranger almost runs us down on the road, and then waves to us.

What the hell, do you have to be psycho to be a ranger at this park?

We get back to the truck, dry off, and get into some warm clothes. We head over to the North Entrance of the park so I can show Beth the head springs.

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Which is by far one of the most beautiful springs I've seen. The plaque out front of the head spring couldn't be more right:

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We ran into the newlyweds from the raft. They asked us to take their picture. They were so cute! Especially the woman who had the most adorable southern accent and sweetest voice. I hope their marriage lasts.

This is what we saw at the river head:

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Again, with crystal clear water. Good sized fish there, too.

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I think this is what was needed to convince Beth to go down the river from the North Entrance. Hooray!!!

We leave the park and head back towards home. I decide to be all cool, and take a different way back to 27. Boy, was I wrong. Because pretty soon we were lost. Not too too lost... I'm sure we could have found our way somewhere eventually.

I gave up, pulled over, and decided to ask some directions from a smart ass (thems my kind of people!)

"Um... where the hell are we?" I asked the guy.

"Florida" he replied with a smile.

"Yeah, um, could you possible narrow that down a little bit?"

"You're near Lake City."

"Ok, how do I get there?"

"Well, if you keep going down this road, you'll eventually get to 90. Where are you trying to get to?"

"Tallahassee" I replied, and you could tell by the look on his face that he didn't really know what that was. "We can get to there on 90, but we do have to be back before Tuesday morning. Can you get to 75 or 27 from here?"

So, he gives us directions to 75, which did take us through some real real rural farm country, but eventually did put us on the highway.

Back on the highway, we head back down on I10, the state's most boring stretch of highway. We're looking for the DQ. Finally we find it, and pull over to eat.

This was a bad decision. Beth got gyped on her Blizzard, which smelled oh so good, but I was trying to be good and not have any ice cream. We both ordered foot long dogs, but what we got was two hot dogs stuck together in a foot long bun. The small fry should have been called a mini fry.

However, it was food that was well needed. Swimming down the river really takes it out of you.

We head on back down the highway as the exhaustion begins to set in. I freaked out Beth by announcing "Huh! I really should be wearing my glasses when I'm driving at night!"

Hee hee! Just the words you want to hear from someone who is driving you home.

We finally got home. I don't know what Beth did, but I crashed within seconds of walking through the door. I slept until 9:30 today, which is something I haven't been able to do since I hit 30.

I'm still feeling the affects of sleep today. My legs and L4 are sore from the swimming, but it's a good kind of sore.

Know what? I can't wait to go back to the river next spring.

Sunday, October 08, 2006

Another Fishing Post

Just incase you all thought that fishing was just something I picked up when I moved to Tally...


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To this day I remember catching that grouper. That was a fun day.


So, see? Fishing is in my blood. :)

Sunday Morning, Not Fishing

No fishing today. I'm sincerely upset over that. Sunday morning fishing is my religion, the East River is my church, and my soft plastic swim minnows are my offerings.

Ok, maybe that is a bit of hyperbole, but I do enjoy my Sunday fishing. I'm sitting here, just hoping and praying that any second my dad is going to pull up to the house, with Mitzi in tow, and say "I came back from vacation early just so we could go fishing!"

Alas, not gonna happen. So, instead, I leave you with this fishing related blog.

I will now answer the question which has racked man's brains all throughout history.

Why do mullet jump?

I'll tell you why.

They jump in fear of me and my cast net of bait fish doom.

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The pinfish and mullet swim like they have never swam before when they hear the silent approach of the boat. They become paralyzed with fear when the shadow of me standing on the bow, with cast net in hand, hits the water.

They would rather swim into the jaws of the bull alligator that silently waits in the shallow water along the shore than to be caught under my mighty cast net of doom.

They know that once they are caught they will become the main course for a much bigger, hungrier fish. There is little consolation in knowing that the bigger fish that eats them may very well become my neighbors or coworkers dinner.

I stand on the bow, looking for the slight ripple in the water from a school of fish. They swim to the small, shallow inlet, thinking that there is safety there, not realizing that Mitzi is a flats boat, and can easily navigate eight inches of water.

With a quick twist and toss, the cast net is in the air, arched in a perfect semi-circle. It hits the water with a spectacular splashing sound, and sinks to the bottom, trapping everything in it.

I pull the net back in, my feet and legs getting covered with muck, and drop the captured booty on the boat floor. There are 6" mullet, which do get let go, because they are too big for bait. They are the lucky ones. There is a medium sized crab, which would have been let go, had the bastard not pinched my fingers. You made me bleed, you are now redfish bait. An eye for an eye, baby. What remains is about half a dozen pinfish.

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These make excellent bait. We throw them into the live well, and head out to deeper water.

I grab a pinfish and stick it on my hook. I hate the way that their little mouths open in surprise when you jab the hook through their back.

The pinfish gets the ride of his life as I cast him out. I tell you what, them fish aren't stupid. They go right for the long grass and hide. I make sure to yank on the line every few seconds to keep him exposed to larger fish.

If I don't catch anything after a while, the little guy gets set free with a complimentary body piercing, courtesy of me.

Saturday, October 07, 2006

Saturday Morning Flashback

Holy crap, remember this?


From the Electric Company. This stupid song has been stuck in my head for the past 25 years. It got to the point where I thought that it was something I had made up.

Thank you, Youtube, for posting this video and proving that I am slightly less insane than I had previously thought.