Paying Homage

So now you've bought the boat and every waking hour thought and talk is about the boat. Get used to it 'cause it never goes away:

Paying Homage

We’ve all been through it! Our significant others decided to go live on a boat and take us with them. We took a look around and queried, “But what are we going to do with all of our stuff?” The answer was quick and flippant. “We’ll sell it! After all, it’s just stuff.”

So we, the reluctant partners, began the painful process of divesting ourselves of our prized possessions. We even felt a little guilty if we got emotional over our Grandma’s cherished silver tea set or the kids’ grubby Teddy bear. “How could we be so materialistic?” we derided ourselves.

Then in the midst of packing and tagging, what should pull up to our curb? A UPS truck? What’s this? Doesn’t he know we bought a boat? We’re selling things, not buying things. We have broken the unholy chains of materialism. Amen! Allelujah!! The doorbell rings…

I throw open the front door. My loins are girded for the battle against this dark angel of temptation whom I used to welcome with open arms. Of course, that was in my unenlightened days of catalog and internet shopping orgies. That was before I found my salvation in “The Boat”.

Chin jutting forward, I stated, “You must have the wrong address.”

“Is this number 10 Easy Street?”

“Uh, yeah, but…” I sputter.

“Just sign here, lady,” he directs right before he yells over his shoulder, “Hey fellas, start unloading.”

Wait a minute here! My eyes zone in on the dollies of boxes bearing a litany of names like West Marine, Boat US, Marine Electronics…. An ugly suspicion begins to form. My narrowed eyes search out the captain who has been cowering in the corner.

“But, Honey, it’s for “The Boat”, he stammered.

That’s when I had a revelation. For the captain, the boat had become a sort of goddess. He devoutly believed that we had to surrender all our worldly goods and make enormous donations to “The Boat”. In exchange, “The Boat” would provide for us a life of happiness and well-being. The captain believed our only path to salvation was to follow “The Boat’s” commandments. By doing this, we would keep “The Boat” happy and never suffer her wrath which could include such calamities as; dead batteries, high engine temperatures, and bad head smells.

For you poor unenlightened souls “The Boat’s” commandments are:

Thou shalt love “The Boat” above all other boats, and just about everything else except for your mate, although in some cases even the mate can be considered sacrificial.
Thou shalt never take “The Boat’s” name in vain.

Thou shalt honor “The Boat” by weekly pilgrimages to the nearest West Marine Store.
Thou shalt not covet another’s “Boat”.

Thou shalt not bear false witness against “The Boat” by blaming her for mishaps that were really your fault.

Thou shalt give testimony to “The Boat’s” glory by speaking endlessly and exclusively about “The Boat”.

Thou shalt not leave “The Boat” for a house, condominium, or RV.

Thou shalt fervently treasure the hardships “The Boat” bestows upon you such as limited water, limited electrical capacity, and plentiful head smells, for these are the things that make you strong (in more ways than one). Do not congregate with those persons who would try to convince you otherwise.

Thou shalt not bring shame to “The Boat” by poor navigation, sloppy sail trim, or mortifying anchoring techniques.

Last, but not least,Thou shalt subscribe to every boating magazine available. Thou shalt go from port to port spreading their words of wisdom, thus increasing sales and the editors' cruising kittie.

*You also earn special graces from “The Boat” if you fall on the floor, contort your body, and speak in tongues while changing her oil filter.

I’m sure you’re asking if I have been converted. Alas, I’m afraid not. This year I brought aboard one box containing books and a video. Nothing to offer up to the goddess. The captain had thirteen boxes of offerings ranging from a new GPS (I guess she wasn’t happy with the three we already had ), countless shackles (before we had the boat, I was aware of only one use for shackles, but I’ll exercise ”restraint” and not go in to that),. I’m sure a sacrificial lamb is tucked in their somewhere. Is there hope for deprogramming the captain? About as much chance as that snowball had in hell. You can learn to live in harmony, though. It’s all about compromise and respecting each other’s different beliefs and callings. Remember my Grandma’s tea set? Why don’t you come on over to “The Boat” for tea and then we’ll do some penance by going shopping—for “The Boat” of course. Wouldn’t she look better with me in that cute little outfit I found.

Kary May's Sexy Guide to Buying a Boat

I’d been in the Bahamas for several months when I noticed a strange phenomenon kept occurring. I’d introduce myself to someone and they’d say “I already met you over in Guana. Don’t you remember, you were dancing with that tree.?” It took a little investigation but I finally discovered that I had an evil twin that lived on Great Guana Cay. Her name is Kary May and she dances with trees and poles because, unlike men, they don’t spin her too fast or dip her too low but somehow she still manages to fall down.

Unfortunately, Kary May showed up last night and these are her ideas on how to buy a boat….

I’ve been racking my brain all week on how to help my cousin, Mary Kay, help you all figure out what kind of boat to buy. I pondered all of the advantages and disadvantages of every kind of boat and how to steer you towards the boat that was right for you. Power vs. sail, mono hull vs. multi hull, 2 heads vs. 1, propane vs. alcohol…

And then, as it is prone to do, my brain turned to the subject of sex. I tried to turn it back to task--think sail trim, think bow thrusters, think self-tailing wenches, but it all brought me back to “SEX”. How in the world is buying a boat at all akin to “SEX”.

And then it came to me.

All of the four main boat types that we encounter in our boating life share attributes with various suitors we have encountered or would like to encounter. We’ll call them Monohull Mike, Multihull Mario, Trawler Tom, and Powerboat Paulo.

Let’s start with Monohull Mike since he’s the one I’m more familiar with. He’s the kind of guy you take home to Daddy. Mike’s got clean strong lines and he comes from a respectable yard. He’s gonna get Daddy’s little girl home safe at night and he’s not gonna run out of gas on the way. He’s stable, he doesn’t move too fast and he’s got plenty of storage for his prophylactic safety devices.

Unfortunately , he only as room in his heart for you. He’ll gladly double date for an evening but only if it’s "dutch". He truly believes three is a crowd. His cockpit may be teenie but his heart his huge.

Multihull Mario: He’s the bad boy of the sailing world. The Monohull Mikes say he is unstable and doesn’t have the staying power. Mario says he likes being a little off balance and if he needs a little more thrust, that‘s what his jugs are for. He’s a party guy and his big cockpit will accommodate all comers. After you’ve multihulled you can try out the trampoline out front. Yee-Haw !!!

Trawler Tom: He’s the comfort food of boats. Just like a slice of Mom’s apple pie he’s a yummy piece of home. He’s got the back porch to rock away a lazy day with a good book. He’s got comfy chairs and real lamps. In his former life he might have been a Mike or Mario but he doesn’t want to work that hard on trim anymore, he just wants to get there. Lucky for us, he’s not in a hurry so he waits for the perfect moment, making the passage smooth and comfortable. And since he’s usually plugged in to a slip, you know what position you’re going to be in each and every night.

Powerboat Paulo: Ah…the elusive dreamboat that surges through our sodden dreams. He’s aloof and definitely high maintenance. Paulo may not know his way around a stuffing box, but what the heck, he’s got others to do the grunt work for him. He’s so sleek and sophisticated, we’d be happy just to polish his doorknobs. Ahh….but for most of us he is just a dream.

So there you go, Kary May’s guide to boat buying. It’s just so hard…uh, I mean difficult to choose. I think I’ll take one of each.

Is my mind in the bulge, uh, I mean bilge or do a lot of sailing terms have sexual connotations? I can think of dozens. How about you? How about sharing them with us by posting them under the comments tab at the bottom of this post.

BOYS AND THEIR TOYS

THE OTHER SIDE OF THE BOAT

BOYS AND THEIR TOYS

They say Christopher Columbus made his voyage to the New World
with just some ships, a compass, and the stars.

No Way! He was a guy, after all.

"Honey, next time you go down.. . . ."
What follows is usually a plea for something necessary to sustaining life
as we know it.. .like a beer. And "next time you go downn means within the next
30 seconds, please.

When I look up from my once again interrupted novel, the cap'n pleads,
"I would but I'm driving the boat."

As I descend the companionway, I look back at the cap'n. Yep, he's
behind the helm, alright. His eyes are busily scanning. Only one thing's missing
in this little scenario. His hands aren't on the helm. That's right, he's not really
driving the boat. Otto, our trusty autopilot is responsible for the steering of this
boat because the cap'n has become much too busy for even this task.

In response to my profane mumble he explains, "Someone has to be on lookout. Oh, and while you're down there. .. ."

As I finally start to arise from the companionway, I do a quick scan of the
horizon. As suspected, not a boat in sight. Just to confirm this, I confer with the
brand new radar, you know the one that sounds an alarm should anything even
think about coming close to your boat. The radar concurs. There's not a darn
thing out there. Which brings me to my point.

What the hell do they stare at all day? Lots of things actually. Did I say he was scanning the ocean or the sky? No. Instead he is scanning multiple neon electronic screens. I don't want to
mislead you, the cap'n still believes that even with all the modern gadgets, sailing
still requires constant vigilance. After all, it takes constant searching for markers
and buoys just to convince the male brain that the GPS really does know where
we are. The funniest thing is the cap'n continues to be incredulous every time
it's right. Which, luckily, is pretty often. But the cap'n remains skeptical.
So now tucked into the corner of the cockpit is the laptop computer with a
display strikingly similar to the one on the GPS. There's that little boat thing
following the little line thing. "Honey, "zoom in" on the computer," comes the command from the cap'n who is seemingly encased behind some invisible shield that prevents him from
moving from behind the helm. Or maybe it's just all the stuff crowding the
cockpit that keeps him imprisoned.

The computer and the GPS agree about our lattitude and longitude but
the cap'n is still not convinced. So just to make sure he consults the paper
charts strewn about the cockpit. "I'll be damned, they're right!" he exclaims.
Boating used to be so simple. I remember when we were thrilled and,
admittedly, sometimes surprised to reach our planned destination with just paper
charts and a compass. Later our little handheld GPS became a reassuring
addition. Then things kind of snowballed. When we bought our own boat we
bought a bigger GPS, even though the boat had it's own and by that time we had
acquired a total of three handhelds. (Don't ask me how that happened. I don't
understand it myself). Our new boat also had a radar, which we never had
before. It never really worked that well but at least we did wait until that one
cratered before we bought a new one. Still the cap'n hauled the old one around
on our deck (I wouldn't let him bring it down below) for a month, convinced that it
had some value or could be used for spare parts. It took three uninterested
dealers for him to be convinced that the only job it was suitable for was as an
anchor.

Our latest navigational aid venture, but I assure you, not our last, is
computerized charts. Of course this wasn't really the cap'ns doing. It seems
one of our friends forced him to download all of these charts on to our laptop
(which was primarily put on board for my use), and use up all our hard drive
space. So now sailing has become a quagmire of navigational aid consultations.
Long before time to set sail, the cap'n plots and plans and plugs in waypoints.
Constantly checking, consulting, comparing, and rechecking. All to make our life
a little easier he says. Ahhh.. . Sympathy stirs for the poor cap'n beleagured by
all of this. But then, just as my foot hits the top rung of the companionway ladder.. .
"Honey, before you come up.. . ."