The Kittens have by this time, finished their visit to Barcelona and have moved on to Marrakesh, the bulk of their trip. I know this from the trip planner The Kitten left me with that shows their movements throughout their journey--not from any real communication come my way. She and I are different like that; I'm quite sure that if this trip were three months, I'd hear from her every couple of weeks with a text message or a short email. She's got more computing power with her than an Apollo mission, mind you, but little notes and updates aren't her style. And the concept of talking about it on a blog would blow her mind.
I have moved my all-in-one to the kitchen from the Mancave, to take advantage of the awesome views up the river and the delights of the kitchen fireplace. I have a ton of work to do today (Saturday) after a day wasted chasing business in DC yesterday. Wound up having lunch with a good friend though, which is always a bonus.
On the way back to Easton, I got a phone call that nearly broke my heart. The Kitten is childhood friends with a genuine, grade A heiress, a woman of about our age, with a kabillion dollars. Among her comforts are a luxury motor yacht, which has been docked throughout the winter in nearby St. Michaels. The Captain of the yacht also happens to be a good friend of the Kitten's and through her, I have become acquainted with him. Well, he called and asked if I wanted to crew out with him next Wednesday for the run down to the Caribbean, a five-day journey with great food, great people and on a beautiful yacht. But there's no way I can do it, with a big work project on the burner and the home here with the menagerie. I did manage to wangle an invitation to crew it back up from the Caribbean to Maine in July--so we'll see how that works out.
Being around the dog all day makes me realize the wisdom of getting another one. Oh, haven't I told you? Yes, we're getting another black lab puppy, next month I believe. To keep this one company and to have someone to run around and play with. Only trouble is, we seem to have run out of good Jungle Book names, especially for a female (as this one is destined to be). Baloo's a good dog, but he's only 1.5 and he's got a lot of energy---I took him to Yappy Hour the other day (may do it again today) and that seems to do the trick in terms of making him happy and tiring him out.
Ok for now--have a good day.
Saturday, March 9, 2013
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10 comments:
Jeez Louise I know nobody with a God-damn yacht, I've never known anybody with a yacht! You're just a middle-class New Jersey kid, just who the hell do you think you are getting invites to "crew" a yacht to the Caribbean? I get invites to help people move house, as long as I bring my trailer and truck.
This is bullshit, I took a wrong turn somewhere!
Just give her a "male" name. She won't know the difference. And I would argue that there is nothing obviously "male" about Baloo's name anyway.
Hammer--does 21 years in the Navy and command of a destroyer in any way justifying getting invited to "crew" a yacht, my humble upbringing notwithstanding?
Ok CW, but what does operating a NAVY ship (you know, riding a seat on the bridge) have to do with yachting with all those booms and pulleys and sails? Or is this a yacht like one of those Russian gangster yachts with the AWACS stuff and the babes lounging in bikinis all over the decks.
Look have fun, I'm just taking the piss, but don't act like your some America's Cup dude.
Read the article, Cletus. It says "motor yacht".
Hell they all got motors don't they, even the ones with sails? Look, I'm a Carolina Skiff kinda guy. Go out in the sound, catch some mullets and flatfish. What the hell do I know about yachts?
Had a friend many years ago with a fat black lab named Oprah. If your dog is slimmer, with toned front legs, call her "Michelle".
A wise choice getting a second one. Unlike human siblings, who you wish would entertain themselves without fighting, the dogs will entertain themselves by fighting (more like gambooling, which, come to think of it, would be a tremendous name for a Lab: "Gambool"). Don't be alarmed by the occasional shredded ear. A lot of freaking dog hair to contend with.
Correction. Gambol, not Gambool, though a Lab of Bryan's may try to be part of that neighborhood poker game.
This is cool!
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