Awfully Funny

Welcome to Turkey, and other funny fluff

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I’ll be driving down the road, with Barry snoozing in the passenger seat. I hate to wake him up, but I have to. “Honey? Could you write something down for me, so I don’t forget?” If he’s driving, I sometimes ride with the notebook open in my lap. The result is what I call “fluff,” those funny things that flash by as we’re lumbering down the road at 55 mph.

***
North Carolina has many institutions of higher learning, like Duke, and UNC, and Back Swamp Community College. If I was trying to get into graduate school, I’d hate to have that last one on my resume.
***
We recently drove past an antique store in Woodbine, Georgia, where they call a spade a spade. Their sign simply said, “Dead people’s things for sale.”
***
Speaking of signs, our nearby farmer’s market has a huge banner that says, “Collards,” in 2-foot tall letters. At Thanksgiving, I watched a man come in and buy so many that they filled the cab of his truck. He drove away, his head barely peeking above the sea of green.
***
Near Christmas, I saw another huge banner, along a back road in North Carolina. This one said, “Collard Kraut.” I bet that gets a lot of takers.
***
Somewhere along I-95 in Florida, we saw an actual restaurant called “Ying’s Chinee Takee Outee.” That’s either an anachronism or a sadistic signmaker.
***
Speaking of Florida, I’ve got a new slogan for the state, based on recent observations: “Florida, the dead armadillo state.” Then again, there are a lot of states vying for that title.
***
Georgia might consider a new slogan, too. “Interstates under construction…since Eisenhower.”
***
And South Carolina might use this: “Y’all be nice, or we’ll secede again.”
***
OK, what’s with the Christmas inflatable yard decorations? Only about one in ten is inflated. The rest are not festive holiday cheer, they’re what Barry refers to as “technicolor flaccid lumps.”
***
Real streets I would not like to live on: Tattletale Lane. Embarrass Avenue. Dead Cow Lane.
***
Real streets I would like to live on: Ju Ju Lane. Daisy Street.
***
Can you imagine having a friend in Friend, Nebraska? It’s easier than imagining an enemy there.
***
Laramie, Wyoming: Where the truck stop ladies’ room has a vase full of plastic flowers…and the vase has water in it.
***
What would you find across from the Sleep 4 Le$$? The competition — a white sign, black letters: “Generic Motel.”
***
In Elko, Nevada, we drove past an establishment called “Inez’s Dancing and Diddling.” Wow. Are there really still women named Inez?
***
We stopped at a rest area next to Stinking Water Pass. When I took my water bottle to the fountain to fill it, I was stopped by a large sign that said, “Non-potable water.” No kidding.
***
On I-95, we were passed by a car with a personalized license plate that said “Ms Epoxy.” She was driving fast, probably trying to get away from a bunch of single guys with boats.
***
Weirdest boat name this year: A fishing boat called Dang Brothers. I guess, to be grammatically correct, that should be Danged Brothers.
***
I wish the folks at Gaskills Hardware had some punctuation for their changeable sign. The last time I saw it, the sign said, “Crab Pot Trees.”
***
Speaking of things that don’t go together, here’s my favorite pair of highway signs from Route 24: On the top, “Welcome to Turkey, North Carolina.” On the bottom, “Bird Sanctuary.”

Limericks, Strange and Silly

What to wear today?

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(photos are at the bottom…)

There once was a doggie named Missy,
She wears glasses, which make her look prissy.
She has more clothes than me,
Over seventy-three
Different outfits! A clothes-horse — or is she?

At a street fair in Fort Pierce, Florida, I photographed a man in a motorized wheelchair with a frilly little dog wearing a dress and sunglasses. Two months later, I ran into them again. “Hi!” I said. “I took your picture last month.” The man in the wheelchair smiled, then, trying to recall the event, asked me, “What was she wearing?”

Missy is a therapy dog, trained by Frank. She has almost 80 different outfits with matching glasses, and she spends her time visiting nursing homes and hospitals. A friend tells me the two are local celebrities. “They’re in all the parades,” she said.

Frank, Missy, and Meps Frank and Missy

Awfully Funny

Shipping not included

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As part of my Bahia Street volunteer work, I set up a storefront on Greeting Card Universe last year. The site sells some charming original cards designed by Fio, of the Bahia Street Center. Every once in a while, I check in on the site, but it mostly takes care of itself, a “nickel-generator” for Bahia Street. Cards sell, and small amounts of commission money go to my favorite nonprofit.

So I was a bit puzzled to get a garbled email the other day, with “Greeting Card Universe Feedback” as the subject. The person’s name was Abuga Jones — is that a man or a woman?

Hello,
I’m interested in purchasing some Christmas card as a gift to some of my customers …..i will need like 50 pieces, could you kindly give me total cost………I will be responsible for the shipment of the card from your location using my private Shipping Company.So I want you to calculate for me what will be the total cost of the order the card,tax if included so once I have your reply for the total I will remit my credit card for you to charge for the total cost.so that you can have the order book right away.this is because i’m not in the state presently on offshore and i will not be back till 2 weeks time. I await your reply soon.

It sounded kind of weird, but I put that down to a non-English speaker, and I wrote back a polite reply:

Thank you for your interest in Bahia Street’s Brazilian Christmas cards. At the current time, we’re only offering them through Greeting Card Universe. They can send personalized cards out on your behalf, or you can order one batch of 50 at a discount.

best regards,

Margaret “Meps” Schulte
Bahia Street public affairs

I wasn’t expecting a reply, but Abuga wrote back fairly quickly:

Hello Thanks for the mail can you calculate 50 for me and let me know the amount and don”t worry about the shipping i will take care of that myself ok

“What an idiot!” I exclaimed to Barry. “I don’t want to be rude, but this person just doesn’t get it! Do you think it’s a scam?”

“Maybe, but it can’t hurt to tell them how much 50 cards would cost. Maybe they can’t do math,” said Barry, helpfully.

“Sure,” I muttered, “a business owner who can’t calculate the cost of a bunch of greeting cards.”

I sighed, and typed this out:

On Greeting Card Universe, 50 cards is $114.50, or $2.29 apiece. However, I can’t help you place the order. You’ll have to do that at www.greetingcarduniverse.com.

Finally, today, my friend Abuga revealed his hand. I was laughing so hard, I could hardly read this out loud to Barry:

Hello Margaret

How are you this morning i got the email you write to me and i ‘m so glad you gonna sale Greeting Card Universe for me I’m so much okay with the price of the Greeting Card Universe …..I will like you to know that the price is not a problem and i want you to know that i don”t have time because of my work to be doing that right now if you know that you want to help me i will send your my card information the price is not a problem which the $114.50.

More so you don’t have to worry about the shipping cos have already registered
with a shipping company that will come and pick the Greeting Card Universe up with a cooling van after you have done with them.

Christmas card cost $114.50
Shipping cost $850
Total cost $1100

NOTE: THE SHIPPING COST WILL BE FOR MY SHIPPER WHICH YOU WILL HELP ME TO SEND TO HIM VIA WESTERN UNION.THIS BECAUSE I’M STILL IN OFFSHORE NOW.

Let me know if this suit you if yes you can get back with me with this following information so i can remit my card to you.

YOUR FULL NAME
ADDRESS
PHONE NUMBER.

I await you quick reply…….

Barry and I once read an article about Nigerian scammers, and it described them as young men who get up in the morning, dress in nice clothes, and go to the Internet cafe, where they sit around with all the other nicely-dressed young men, sending scam emails. I can picture the fellow on the other side of my email exchange, sitting in one of those cafes, hoping that I will simply accept his fraudulent credit card payment and then wire the bogus “shipping charge” to his “shipper.”

Poor guy, he must be a beginner. Sure, people fall for this sort of thing, but they usually do it because of greed, and that means offering them thousands or millions of dollars. A woman in Oregon sent $400,000 dollars to a scammer over several years, because she was convinced that she’d get back $25 million. She became so obsessed, the only thing that stopped her from sending more money was that the police told her she’d be charged with money-laundering if she didn’t stop.

One reason she kept sending the money was the encouraging emails from George Bush and the President of Nigeria. That would set off my bullshit detector. As it is, “Abuga” has set off my bullshit detector with an $850 shipping charge on 50 greeting cards.

Unless I’m going to take up scambaiting as a time-consuming hobby, I think it’s time for me to stop writing back to Abuga. However, I’m considering sending this parting message:

Dear Abuga,
I don’t think the cooling van will be necessary. These are Brazilian Christmas Cards. They do not come with snow.

Limericks, Messing About in Boats

LED there be light

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All the houses are decked out in light,
Spreading warm, festive cheer through the night,
But our Flutterby strand,
Is strung up just as planned,
On the inside — so selfish, but bright!

Yesterday, we installed 32 feet of 12V “warm white” LED rope light in Flutterby as our primary cabin lighting. It’s beautiful, efficient, and feels like Christmas! (photos to come when the boat is a little less messy…)

Friends Along the Way, Limericks, Messing About in Boats

Same time next year?

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It was crowded, and parking was tight,
When we drove into Beaufort last night,
There were Santas and sleighs,
And a lighthouse with rays,
And the Gilligan crew was a sight.

But our friends from Quebec on the pier,
Say they’re lacking in holiday cheer.
“The parade is quite nice,
“But we’ve seen it now, thrice,
“And we’d like to be elsewhere, not here.”

When I wrote this, I thought it was cute, the fact that our friends from Giva will be out cruising this time next year. However, Val didn’t think the joke was funny, and he asked me to include his comments:

I like you to correct the blog you publish on your site.

As the thing goes, we did not say that they were lacking in holiday sheer.
I never ever said that we were tired of the annual Beaufort Holliday flotilla. It is a very nice event that we enjoy seeing every year. What we said was that it was the 3rd Chrismas flotilla that we saw and that we will not be here for the next one because we will be gone cruising. There is a big difference. If you are to report interview, please do it accurently and not with drama to make it interesting.
So did we never said that we were tired of being in the boat yard. We were tired of working on the boat because it as been so long and we want to keep on moving.

I am asking you to correct that incorrectly reported posting on your site or simply remove it.

I don’t think it’s funny
Val

Limericks, Messing About in Boats

Boating is a clean activity

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I have set my fine shop-vac to “suck,”
But the dust flies around me, amok!
Now I’ve figured it out,
The solution, no doubt,
Is a “blow job” to get it unstuck.

I hate these steep learning curves! I cleaned the boat for four days, but the dust just reappeared. Finally, I attacked the crevices with the vacuum cleaner hose set to “blow” instead of “suck.” What a mess — this got the fiberglass dust out into the air (I was wearing a respirator), but after it settled, I vacuumed it up.

Living in Beaufort, NC, Rebuilding Boats

Escape from Hell’s kitchen

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The conversations went like this: “You hungry?” “Yeah, I could chew my own leg off.” “Peanut butter OK?” “Absolutely!” And dinner would be peanut butter on tortillas on our laps. Again.

For two months, since our return from Burning Man, we’d been camping out. We slept in the back of the van and set up an outdoor kitchen under the boat. Our days, and evenings when we weren’t too tired to hold up our heads, were spent working.

Over the summer, we had removed every piece of hardware from the deck and temporarily sealed over 100 holes. By September, it was time to grind the rotted core around those holes, removing fiberglass and balsa and making horrible clouds of dust. The work required full protective gear, all the time — Tyvek suits, gloves, and respirators.

Flutterby’s galley disaster

We emptied the boat of everything but tools. Our rented storage locker was crammed to the ceiling, and the boat was surrounded by plastic tote bins. The van was a total disaster, heaps of clothing divided into categories like “boatyard-skanky” and “going-to-town.” I nearly died of embarrassment when I thought I was going to a drive-thru with a friend, and we ended up at a pizza place instead. I was wearing boatyard-skanky instead of going-to-town clothes.

But the real storage challenge was the camp kitchen, located under the bow of the boat. The problem was, I just couldn’t stay ahead of the conditions.

When we first moved out of the boat, I fretted about the sun melting my chocolate. We rigged a tarp over the table, and within 24 hours, high winds had ripped it to shreds. So now I had to worry about hot sun and high winds.

The camp kitchen under Flutterby

I began the daily shade-shuffle: Moving my food bins from place to place several times a day, just to keep them cool.

After sun and high winds came the bugs, tiny, insidious flies that climbed into my bins and tried to get into my food. Now, in addition to working on the boat and shuffling my bins around, I had to clean the bins and repackage the food.

The days got shorter, so cooking had to be done in the dark with flashlights. I really hated those little bugs. They were completely invisible on a black skillet at dusk. Good thing I’m not a vegetarian. Good thing it was daylight when the black widow spider crawled into the Britta pitcher.

Then came the rains. I had put my canned goods in a big old cooler (no ice), and guess what? The cooler leaked! Now I had a nice collection of rusty cans. But there was some consolation — the bugs drowned, and I didn’t have to worry about keeping food in the shade — there was no sun.

The winds came back, and without a tarp over the stove, we couldn’t cook. Now things were looking a bit grim. We spent hours sitting in the van, knees against knees, watching the rain blowing sideways and fighting over the computer. Peanut butter tortillas began to appear more frequently on the menu.

The final straw was the cold. The van was warm, with a tiny space heater keeping us comfortable when the temperatures dropped into the low 20’s. But what about the kitchen? Grumbling, I bundled up and went outside, with a flashlight, to pack insulating items like flour and rice around glass bottles of vinegar and rose water.

When it was over — we moved back aboard the day before Thanksgiving — I realized that the camp kitchen had thrown challenge after challenge, but nothing insurmountable. There were no bears, no raccoons, and no food went bad. We didn’t starve or suffer vitamin deficiencies, and we only had to order pizza twice in two months.

Besides, the location was awesome. Our borrowed picnic table sat right on the water, so we could watch the parade of boats on the ICW. When dolphins came, especially at night, we heard them before we saw them. We were even far enough from most other people to give us a little privacy.

Dolphins near Bock Marine

With the exception of no HVAC, poor cabinetry, a too-small refrigerator, and a leaky roof, we actually had an ideal kitchen. It had plenty of counter space — thanks to Val and Gigi. It had a great propane stove — thanks to Kris. It had a double sink (two dishpans) and running water — a half-gallon plant sprayer someone had abandoned at Burning Man. What more could you ask?

The next time I catch myself complaining about conditions, feel free to stop me. There are many people out there who don’t have peanut butter or rusty cans of artichoke hearts, or chocolate. We should all be so lucky.

Living in Beaufort, NC

You know you’re living in the South when…

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You know you’re living in the South when…

YKYLITSW…someone uses the term “corned pigtails” in casual conversation.

I was chatting with Anique the other day about the big traditional Thanksgiving dinner she had planned. She was going to do a big ol’ stuffed turkey, using her Mom’s recipe for the stuffing, and a corned ham glazed with pineapple sauce.

“So what vegetables do you serve?” I asked, wondering what was considered traditional here in coastal North Carolina. She mentioned potatoes and sweet potatoes, and “collards cooked the way my Grandma used to make them, with corned pigtails.”

Huh? I didn’t want to sound like an idiot, but were the corned pigtails a separate dish, or part of the collards?

So I went to the Piggly Wiggly. Next to the collards was a big refrigerated case of things I don’t normally eat. Lard, and fatback (which looked like more lard), and something called “streak of lean” (that also looked like more lard). At the end of the table: A big heap of salted pigtails. But not corned ones.

I went back to Anique once again. “They only had salted pigtails.” She laughed at my inexperience with strange pig parts. “Corned, salted — it’s the same thing.”

YKYLITSW…a black widow spider crawls into your Britta pitcher.

Yesterday morning, I woke up to a heavy frost. Ice on the water bucket told me it had been super-cold overnight. I went out to get coffee from our outdoor kitchen and glanced at the Britta pitcher, which I figured had also frozen.

Our Britta is missing its lid, and there was something black in the top. A big, bulbous spider, curled up, apparently dead from the cold. I stared in surprise at the red hourglass on its — her — abdomen. I’d never seen a black widow before, but I recognized it immediately.

I used a stick to poke her and turn her over. Then I left her there, thinking “Barry has to see this!”

The sun came out, the world warmed, and Barry went over to see my dead spider. When he came back, he asked me, “Was she wiggling when you found her? She’s wiggling now.”

All I could say was, “Eek! Good thing I didn’t poke her with my finger.”

The next time I walked over, she was walking around in the top of the pitcher. The thought of her escaping and running around in my outdoor kitchen was disturbing, so I put a glass jar over her. A few hours later, she seemed dead again, and I capped the jar.

I told my friends I had saved the dead black widow, thinking to send it to someone. They howled with laughter. “Someone you don’t like a lot? How many enemies have you got?” “No, no,” I protested, “maybe a youngster with an insect collection, or…oh, never mind!”

YKYLITSW…signs have appeared in your neighborhood advertising “Flight-Trained Bobwhites.”

I have no idea what these are. Barry says I should call the phone number on the sign, just to find out. I wonder if they’re related to corned pigtails?

Friends Along the Way, Living in a Boatyard, Rebuilding Boats

Sleeping beauty

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Catania

When the giant green tarp came off, a beautiful boat was revealed. She was long and slender, a classic design evoking an earlier era.

The beauty was marred, though, by the piles of dusty and mildewed gear that appeared on the ground under the boat. I wandered over to meet the new arrivals. “Looks like you’re having a yard sale over here,” I quipped.

Susie and Ron had the look of aging hippies — gray hair in a ponytail, young eyes surrounded by a network of sun-baked smile lines. Susie was wearing a path to the “free” table in the lounge, donating large jars with handmade burlap covers and labels that said things like “bulgur.”

Friendly, but too busy to talk.

A day later, their adult son, Ocean arrived, along with two of his friends. The story emerged in the form of boatyard gossip, with everyone contributing the tidbit he or she had garnered from the busy crew.

Ron and Susie had cruised Catania for 22 years, and Ocean had been born aboard. Now the parents had “swallowed the anchor,” living ashore in Maine. After six years, they realized they weren’t going to cruise on the 71-year-old boat again. Storage fees had added up to nearly the value of the boat.

I wish I knew know who came up with the plan — whether Ron and Susie offered, or whether Ocean asked. But the plan was this: To refit Catania and then hand her off to Ocean, who would sail back to St. Thomas. The timing was tight, so the young man recruited two friends to help with both the refit and the delivery.

The crew worked so fast and so hard that the rest of the boatyard community watched, astonished, with something like envy. While Barry and I agonized over tiny fiberglass patches, Catania’s crew fiberglassed the entire topsides. While we worried about painting the pads under our stanchions, they painted the entire boat. We haven’t even figured out what engine mounts to install, and they replaced their entire engine. One of them even carefully hand-painted the name of the boat on the sides of the classic yacht.

Catania’s bow

At night, the five of them, plus an aging German Shepherd, retired to a small tent trailer in a secluded part of the boatyard. We never saw them, except during daylight hours when they were working flat-out.

Finally, after about three weeks, they launched the boat, and she sat at the dock for a couple of days. The frenzied preparations continued, and the air was full of anticipation for the crew of three young men.

On a Sunday morning, the boys left Bock Marine. From the high vantage point of my deck, I watched the hugs and group photos. As they slipped the lines, Susie called out “Bon Voyage!” It was a touching moment, watching the older generation turning the family home over to the younger generation.

I ran into Susie a little later. She looked vibrant and happy; Ron looked tired. They were doing final cleanup and giving away even more stuff. We took the Britta pitcher; Blaine took the table saw. Then the truck was gone, headed for Maine. Where the boat had been was an empty space full of jackstands, cribbing, an old engine, and an abandoned windsurfer.

That night, I went into the lounge. “Did you hear? Catania is back at the dock. They had a leak.”

“Bummer,” I said, thinking of our friend, Dan, who has launched his boat four times and had to pull it back out for repairs each time. This sort of thing is not uncommon.

On Monday morning, I saw the three young men on deck, folding sails. Susie and Ron, who had been well on their way to Maine, returned around mid-day. Susie was smoking a cigarette, something I hadn’t noticed during the previous three weeks.

The Travelift came, hauled out the boat, and returned it to the original spot. What happened next left me incredulous.

They put the kelly green tarp back over the boat. Then the three young men got into a rental car and headed for the airport. It happened so fast, the gossip couldn’t keep up.

I ran into Susie a little later. “They got out the inlet, but they had some concerns. Ocean’s not sure what he wants to do, maybe come back next fall, or else we’ll sell it.” She seemed a bit shell-shocked.

“But, but, but…” I spluttered, unable to understand. By my reckoning, if they had two weeks planned for the passage, they had two more weeks available to work on the boat.

In just a few hours, the story went from heart-warming to heart-breaking. If I hadn’t been here to witness the drama, I wouldn’t believe it.

We’ve been working off and on for almost a year. Val and Gigi have been here a little longer, and Oscar has been here for over ten years. But our slow-but-steady pace allows us all to make progress, enjoying the process, without burning out.

As a reminder of this, Catania sits quietly under her green tarp, waiting for Ocean to return.

Friends Along the Way, Limericks

I can’t believe I ate the whole thing

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Hey, the deck is done, let’s celebrate!
So we went and ate plate after plate,
At the Golden Corral,
But it sapped my morale,
‘Cause this stomachache will not abate.

Friday seemed like a good time to try the G.C., which our boatyard friends are always talking about. We celebrated with Clark, of Undaunted, who had launched his boat that afternoon. But the acres of food were overwhelming. It reminded me of Two Scoops Moore, who sang: “I can’t stop goin’ back to the big buffet…probably have a heart attack, down at the big buffet.”