This and the next few posts are being added significantly delayed because Paul forgot the email address he set up to post to this blog by email.
May 26th, 2016
In addition to health precautions such as showering at least once a month, sailing the open ocean requires constant vigilance against Sea Madness. At least, that’s what the Voices say. So to put you all at ease about our mental health, here is a rundown of how we’ve remained masters of our sanity, and of a few other people’s as well.
Captain Red Beard (a.k.a. Ahab) has focused on the sailing aspect, especially using our new spinnaker. His love for it goes beyond flying the sail during the day; he’s started sleeping with it in his lee cloth. We only barely talked him out of flying it inside the cabin. To counter his disappointment, he has taken to fishing. Not only does he keep lines out all day, but he started hallucinating fish chasing behind the lures that no one else could see. In between watching them he scrubs imaginary scales from the cockpit, which seems to be prep for lighting a large bonfire made solely of beer bottles. We tried to tell him there were no scales or swimming fish, but we haven’t had the heart to break it to him that the cockpit seat is not an imu pit.
Noge the Sandwich also plays fishmonger by checking on the lines constantly and trying to change out the lures every 5 minutes. With the lack of fish to eat he’s resorted to calling all food sandwiches. Alternately he suggests that we put all dinner leftovers in omelets the next morning. The taco meat tasted great, but we had to draw the line at spaghetti. This led to more use of his favorite phrase, “I can throw myself on that grenade,” to indicate that he wants eat up excess food after meals. However, after too many repetitions he seems to be convinced that the boat is actually covered in grenades. Needless to say, he’s become a bit twitchy, and also insists on being called Lord Sandwich. We’ve tried to placate him with plenty of reading material, but he may just be eating the books. That would explain why no one’s seen Scrotty Jon’s Kindle since he shared it..
Machete Jen is doing well by referring to herself in the third person. Since she stowed every single last food item in the entire boat, she is the only one who knows where all the ingredients are come mealtimes. It became clear that the sheer volume of information was overwhelming the first time someone asked where some food was. She suddenly went bug-eyed and wisps of smoke began drifting out of her ears. As a result we’ve been eating whatever random things she pulls out, such as last night’s meal of salami, five dried apricots and a can of corn. While that may seem like an odd grouping, it was far better than the canned clams, peanut butter crackers, and mayonnaise combination we had last week. Don’t even ask about the thing with the non-dairy creamer.
Scrotty Jon stays mentally fit by conversing with his newest friend Frank, who is a large purple conch. At least, that’s our best guess based on his nightly serenading. In their many adventures, he sings of sailing to the Pacific garbage patch and conquering it for his own. We think this may be a reference to the salon table, or possibly the drawer of serving spoons. The cat has been avoiding him since he called her Sir Furry Pants and tried to put origami hats on her head. He still thinks of Zara as his minion and snacks on her kibbles when he thinks we’re not watching. Frank apparently insists that he play music most of the day as a tribute to King Triton. We don’t mind him acting as DJ, but refuse to let him strap the pole spear trident on his left fist. Instead he taped on a mound of gummy cherries which he ritually washes in salt water every morning.
As you can see, we’re all in great shape mentally. Now that we’ve assuaged your fears about that, it’s time to await the arrival of the swallow/seabird that brings the coconut deliveries. Allons-y!