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Monday, June 23, 2008

A bag, a bike and a bedroll

i am reading "A Pirate Looks at Fifty" by Jimmy Buffett.  It is a thoroughly horrible book and i don't recommend it.  In fact, what i recommend is that if you ever see a copy, you burn it.  Right there, where ever you came upon the filthy piece of excrement.  Just whip out the handiest form of fire starting apparati you have, lighter, matches, two sticks, oil soaked rags, magnifying glass, whatever and torch the puppy.  Then burn down whatever building it was that housed it.  The curse must be eradicated.  Then, find the owner and, if you haven't already, burn their house down.  

Don't come visit me however because as soon as i return my copy to the li-barry, i'll be going out to buy my own.  Though i may blowtorch the bookstore on my way out.  i'd better get it at Borders.

This book, this evil tome, aside from keeping me up right now vilifying it and looking up 'vilify' to make sure i used it correctly, yes, yes i did.  This book, more importantly, this author, this verschlugginah meatpie, is living my life!

No, i didn't write margaritaville.  i don't actually think i could string three chords together in such a way that would make people tap their feet much less throw money at me for a recording of it.  No, i'm not likely to become a flyingboat pilot and live on islands from Martha's Vineyard to the Carribees.  No, i'm not a saloon singer, a flyfisherman or writing a musical.  i'm not even sure i would want to do those things.  

But the things i do want to do, i don't do.  And that, me friends, cohorts and unlucky acquaintances, (as if there were more than one of you reading this...) is the rub.  Mr. Buffett, i am in no ways worthy of referring to him by his given name, does and apparently always has, done more or less, exactly what came into his balding little peanut to do.  It hasn't always been successful, it hasn't always been pretty but he did it and he learned what worked and what doesn't.

AND ...he has nearly a whole chapter on the essential gear of his expeditions and being prepared and his search for the holy grail of backpacks to carry it all in and anyone who knows me knows that pretty well sums up the chewy, darkmeat core of this fricken.  

What bugs me, what really shoves the shiv in me shins, what has me calling for arson on a Detroit Devil's night scale is this: that while Mr. Buffett's boyscout backpack is transporting snickers bars, bottled water, navigation gear, swag, and a big, fat wallet around the world...

My backpack doesn't leave my closet.

2 comments:

Tige said...

Hey there. Came by your post accidentally. Your writing is funny. That's great. You are also a moper. Not so great. Why don't you go get that backpack out of your closet TODAY, put in a couple of your own Snickers, and go do something that's on your list. If you don;t have a list, seems like a pretty good day to make one.

scruffy said...

Look! Look! A stranger! From the outside! OOOOOOOoooooooooooooh. We must show hospitality. Quick, warm up the decaf and fetch the ginger snaps!

The stranger known as "Tige" has stumbled into the Coop. The darkness is lit by pale, weak eyes of the native frickens. Their spindly appendages reach out to touch the stranger, not quite sure if it is real or illusion. It has been a long time since the last one. The frickens have been without meat for soooo long.

As a matter of fact, i DO have a list...

Help Ballyhoo carve pumpkins
Go to worship meeting
Get milk

Don't really need the pack for any of that tonight but maybe i'll pick up some snickers with the milk.