i went to argentina 25 years ago because i heard the dove and duck shooting was terrific. it was, and buenos aires was the most european city - outside europe - i had ever experienced. unfortunately, i forgot one thing - i spoke no spanish - which came to plague me when i found myself alone in an airport far from buenos aires and my flight was cancelled. happily i found a local traveler in the same predicament and he delivered me to an alternative flight source. i did, during our 45 minute car ride, consider, briefly, the possibility he was kidnapping me - but i wasn't worth much so i put that thought away quickly.
before that hiccup i had wonderful shooting and one funny experience in a local casino. we were moving from doves to ducks which required an overnight in a small town en route. i wanted dinner and some gambling at the local house of ill repute and was soon sitting before the roulette wheel. being a believer in mechanics and their shortcomings i began to record the spins and their results...until a large, dark complected gentleman inserted himself between me and the wheel - shouting loudly and waving his arms aggressively. i called out for carlos, my host, who quickly relieved tensions.
from there it was on to the baccarat table.
i flopped down between two gamblers, bought some chips, and, as they say, began to play. my first wager amounted to fifty bucks - on bank. the hands were dealt - one for "player" and one for "bank". "banco," murmured the dealer. i had won! "let it ride," i said as i waved off the chips pushed my way. won again. now there was two hundred in the betting block. the gambler to my right shifted in his seat. "senor..." he said as i indicated to the dealer to let it stand. third time's a charm. now there was four hundred at risk.
"senor," he said again. "it is not wise to make this wager." he stuck out his hand. "i am alberto. what is your name?"
i looked him over and replied, "bond. james bond."
a burst of laughter came from the small crowd which had gathered behind us. then, a small ripple of applause.
he was right. i lost the bet.
Friday, November 9, 2012
Thursday, November 8, 2012
Thursday, November 1, 2012
on a limb
okay, i'm going out on one - five days before the election...
mitt romney will win - big, and here's why:
obama fails because of the following:
1. 23 million people out of work - with no coherent plan to put them back to work.
2. big government failed - i offer you solyndra, etc.
3. bowing to arabs?
4. failure to recognize radical muslimism is a true and very dangerous enemy.
5. arrogance as witnessed in the debates.
6. empty suit - fine orator, no intellectual engagement with the nation's problems.
7. [and this is small-minded] too many rounds of golf, appearances on the late night shows, too much shopping by spouse via air force 2, too many vacations at the public's expense, and of course, joe biden [a fucking small deal].
the list goes on...and it's a killer for re-election
mitt romney will win - big, and here's why:
obama fails because of the following:
1. 23 million people out of work - with no coherent plan to put them back to work.
2. big government failed - i offer you solyndra, etc.
3. bowing to arabs?
4. failure to recognize radical muslimism is a true and very dangerous enemy.
5. arrogance as witnessed in the debates.
6. empty suit - fine orator, no intellectual engagement with the nation's problems.
7. [and this is small-minded] too many rounds of golf, appearances on the late night shows, too much shopping by spouse via air force 2, too many vacations at the public's expense, and of course, joe biden [a fucking small deal].
the list goes on...and it's a killer for re-election
Wednesday, October 31, 2012
a picket fence
that's what the picture in the news journal looked like. it was taken south of indian river inlet, looking north from 3rs road - the beach access dune break. the "fence" was, of course, made up of surf rods stuck in the sand in front of myriad, ugly suv snouts.
back in the 50s, 60s, and 70s we used to trek to the beach each fall to surf fish for a couple of weeks. at first we fished from a little subaru station wagon, then from an old land rover, and finally from a chevy suburban. in every case we were the only ones on the beach during the week - and one of two or three others on weekends.
the fishing was sometimes great, usually good, but never bad. we'd catch mostly blues - sometimes 75 or more in a day - kingfish, sand perch, sharks, skates, and now and then a small puppy drum or rockfish. when the north easters piled the surf up on the rocks at indian river inlet we'd cackle with glee as the blues gathered in the south side lee and butchered our freshly caught mullet. i can still hear the waves slithering across the rocks, hissing like a snake, as the tide rose higher and higher, finally forcing us off the beach. once i was ordered - in the middle of a blue fish blitz - to leave by a harried game warden, he and i the only two souls on the ghostly wind driven shore. "hurricane coming. governor's orders," he said. "fuck him. he's not a fisherman," i said in reply, reeling in another victim. he fingered his handcuffs ominously and i relented. "...and i won't vote for him next time."
god knows what it's like down there these days, what with mothers sunning, urchins screeching, and papa tangled with his next door neighbor. i'll bet the blues - at least the self respecting ones - steer way clear of what used to be a fine fishing spot.
things ain't what they used to be.
back in the 50s, 60s, and 70s we used to trek to the beach each fall to surf fish for a couple of weeks. at first we fished from a little subaru station wagon, then from an old land rover, and finally from a chevy suburban. in every case we were the only ones on the beach during the week - and one of two or three others on weekends.
the fishing was sometimes great, usually good, but never bad. we'd catch mostly blues - sometimes 75 or more in a day - kingfish, sand perch, sharks, skates, and now and then a small puppy drum or rockfish. when the north easters piled the surf up on the rocks at indian river inlet we'd cackle with glee as the blues gathered in the south side lee and butchered our freshly caught mullet. i can still hear the waves slithering across the rocks, hissing like a snake, as the tide rose higher and higher, finally forcing us off the beach. once i was ordered - in the middle of a blue fish blitz - to leave by a harried game warden, he and i the only two souls on the ghostly wind driven shore. "hurricane coming. governor's orders," he said. "fuck him. he's not a fisherman," i said in reply, reeling in another victim. he fingered his handcuffs ominously and i relented. "...and i won't vote for him next time."
god knows what it's like down there these days, what with mothers sunning, urchins screeching, and papa tangled with his next door neighbor. i'll bet the blues - at least the self respecting ones - steer way clear of what used to be a fine fishing spot.
things ain't what they used to be.
Friday, October 26, 2012
fly casting
i was reminded the other day of the difference between fresh and salt water fly casting.
we were sitting on john's porch having a late afternoon drink when a boat pulled up and anchored above one of the myriad springholes in john's lake, not thirty yards from us. the sharply dressed nimrod stripped 30 or 40 feet of line from his reel and began to false cast...again and again and again. at last, just before i was going to yell, "drop the fly, you dumbass," he did. no strike, so he began the routine all over again. i can understand a couple of false casts if one is fishing a dry fly, but four or five, no - he stretched it to seven or eight a couple of times. and no extension of line...the same length each time. maybe he thought his casting was particularly elegant or something. [it wasn't and, no, he didn't catch a fish.]
now let's go to the salt.
simply and briefly: everything moves in the salt - the boat, the current, the tide, the wind, and, usually the fish. false cast more than twice after picking up your fly and chances are your chances at a particular fish are markedly reduced.
stuff that in your creel trout fishermen. [just the observations of a cranky old man.]
we were sitting on john's porch having a late afternoon drink when a boat pulled up and anchored above one of the myriad springholes in john's lake, not thirty yards from us. the sharply dressed nimrod stripped 30 or 40 feet of line from his reel and began to false cast...again and again and again. at last, just before i was going to yell, "drop the fly, you dumbass," he did. no strike, so he began the routine all over again. i can understand a couple of false casts if one is fishing a dry fly, but four or five, no - he stretched it to seven or eight a couple of times. and no extension of line...the same length each time. maybe he thought his casting was particularly elegant or something. [it wasn't and, no, he didn't catch a fish.]
now let's go to the salt.
simply and briefly: everything moves in the salt - the boat, the current, the tide, the wind, and, usually the fish. false cast more than twice after picking up your fly and chances are your chances at a particular fish are markedly reduced.
stuff that in your creel trout fishermen. [just the observations of a cranky old man.]
i am outraged
at nakedness.
what is it with these stupid royals - or windsors, whatever?
first we have prince harry dropping his drawers at a billiard game and having his picture sent 'round the world, [much to the delight of the ladies i'm sure] then we have wills hopping mad [and supposedly suing] because someone took a picture of his bare breasted wife. what the hell did they expect...good looking youngster, pretty girl...hmmm, let's see...what do we do now? if you're in the public eye keep your clothes on, you idiots.
more important, what makes me seethe with outrage is the treatment our government handed our ambassadorial staff in libya. talk about nakedness! plea after plea for assistance went unanswered, resulting in the deaths of four heroic americans. that, ladies and gentlemen, is a true outrage and for it, heads should roll. to leave diplomatic staff "naked" in the face of vile muslim terrorists is forever damning.
i hope the american public gets it on election day.
what is it with these stupid royals - or windsors, whatever?
first we have prince harry dropping his drawers at a billiard game and having his picture sent 'round the world, [much to the delight of the ladies i'm sure] then we have wills hopping mad [and supposedly suing] because someone took a picture of his bare breasted wife. what the hell did they expect...good looking youngster, pretty girl...hmmm, let's see...what do we do now? if you're in the public eye keep your clothes on, you idiots.
more important, what makes me seethe with outrage is the treatment our government handed our ambassadorial staff in libya. talk about nakedness! plea after plea for assistance went unanswered, resulting in the deaths of four heroic americans. that, ladies and gentlemen, is a true outrage and for it, heads should roll. to leave diplomatic staff "naked" in the face of vile muslim terrorists is forever damning.
i hope the american public gets it on election day.
Tuesday, September 4, 2012
an obituary
i left not because of the things i can do, but because of the things i can no longer do.
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