Let me begin by saying, simply, that this blog has absolutely nothing to do with either "walking" or any "art of fishing" stuff or the like. It is designed to be a series of recollections about working around smelly, dead, fish (O.K., so, there will be fish?) and memories of places I've been, what went down the paths (O.K., so, there will be walking?) and pseudonymic references to some of the weirdo's I have known and some I still know, perhaps even someone I've never met or is purely fictional. Everyone I know is weird and so am I. It's also kind of a daily or semi-daily travelogue of existential angst and delight.
The convoluted blog title and subtitle keeps the rats out of the attic. If you've written a blog yourself, you know what I mean.
There will be insane raves and rants, petulant frenzies and the occasional Poodle droppings involved. Gurry may or may not be hurled. There may a fish in someone's Xtra-Tuff's. Someone may get blisters and/or break their leg, ankle, neck, whatever. Stitches will definitely be involved. Boats will sink and seas will rage. The Peg Legged Sailor will trip while running/walking/crawling toward that last ferry to Vashon Island, Ketchikan, Rangoon or Sausalito...On the way to?
There will also be a few favorite musical links and the like. I'm a guitar player and psychopathic listener of music. All kinds. Just not "Hip-Hop" or "Gangsta' Rap." (That's not really "music" IMHO) I can dig Gil-Scott Heron and the like, instead. "Poetry-In-A-Trainwreck w/bass and drums Slam, maybe b-flat Alto Sax," ya' know?
One of the "hats" I've worn over the years was that threadbare Lighting Designer/Roadie/Techie for Rock and Roll/Sick-Assed Reggae/Jazz Noise Here... Tam O' Shanter. Or one of those awful floppy boot things that golfers wear on the links.
I've had more jobs than many people's large families. I wanted to: "Do everything." I'm 60 years old now. In other words, another one of those assholes that's: "Been there, done that and has all the t-shirts to prove it. I'm not "done" yet. I still have to find another Cabin-In-The-Woods, a good dog and a girlfriend that isn't going to ball my best friend when I'm not looking.
You've been warned. Continue at your own peril or enjoyment. You must be THIS tall to ride this ride.
Over the years, I have written a couple of these things and either run out of steam, interest or been spammed until my eyes fell out by some Chi-Com (or whatever they were) moped hucksters and whatnot. It got tedious and frustrating. Thoughts of a friend's old t-shirt, proclaiming that he'd: "Rather Be Killing Communists" came to mind but, were quickly dismissed. I haven't a "mean bone" in my body.
"Serve me right to suffer. Serve me right to be alone." -Johnny Winter (R.I.P.)
So, anywho...We'll give this crap another spin around the pike and see what kind of flotsam/jetsam washes up onto the beach. Or into the living room...
Wish me a fish. Sharks and shit-eating-bottom-feeders excluded. Steelhead and Sockeye, preferred.
The beatings will continue until morale improves.
Bring your own beverages and snacks.
Otis: http://youtu.be/am4GcbBrdMA
-Doc
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