I'm still not here, because, well, today was Memorial Day. Here's another blog from the past, because you probably didn't read it then.
April 9, 2010
Arrrr, matey. Avast ye landlubbers and whatnot. Polly wants a cracker and some Admiral Nelson’s. Ahoy and blow the man down. Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum. That song that creepy kid in Pirates of the Caribbean: At World’s End sang.
Bored with my current life, I’ve decided to forego all the conventional jobs and head straight for the unconventional. Which is a wordy way of saying: I want to be a pirate. Tragically, my piratey accent is more than a little sucky, but I’m sure over time it’ll improve, ye blackhearted dawgs. One year, following the PoTC craze, I went to a Halloween “party” (I used quotations to let you all know it wasn’t a party. It was a terrible, terrible sham of a party where people sat around talking about boring stuff and I wanted to go home) dressed as a pirate. This little girl, who had come back from trick-or-treating, looked at me in my striped pirate skirt, my dark hose with black roses running along the legs, my sword, tri-cornered hat and blingy pirate jewelery and said, “What are you supposed to be?”
Being the mature adult that I am, I answered–voice dripping with sarcasm–”I’m a pirate, what’re you?” And made a face at her. I think she was a witch or something. Nasty little brat. Anyone with half a brain could see pirate. I mean hat? Sword? Pirate clothes? Hello! Maybe it threw her off because I wasn’t wearing an eye patch.
In the early days of my romance novel consumption, I avoided at all costs storylines containing pirates. I thought it would be a bloody bad deal to be stuck at sea, always wet and when not wet, coated with crusty layers of salt. And stinking of fish–ick! Not to mention the possibility of scurvy and shipwrecks and other meaner pirates. Or being marooned with hungry natives. Treasure? Who wants to run around chasing the promise of buried treasure? Geez, you might as well trot around looking for leprechauns and rainbows and pots of gold. How dumb.
I have to admit, I liked the box office flop Cutthroat Island. I can’t find my copy. Husband says it’s hidden under the table supporting the DVD player, but I secretly think he threw it off over the hill so he’d never be forced to watch it again. He groaned when I told him I wanted to see the second PoTC. Pirates? Really? I had to convince him to watch the first one and he had to watch it twice just to fully understand what was going on. Sometimes I think pirates take a little getting used to.
So. I’ve decided to forego anymore landlubbing. I’m going to set sail and become a feared and renowned Pirate King. I think I’ll stick to the Caribbean and the British West Indies. I shall call my ship the Wandering Rooster ala The Rainbow Serpent, in which the FMC’s father discovers the lost treasure of the El Gallo que Vaga in one of his previous journeys. In the end, I’ll probably end up calling it a lot of other names that will required lots of symbols.
Upsides to the pirate life:
1) I can sail the seas as I please.
2) I can plunder enemy ships and make port to salvage their goods.
3) I can make port and ransake the towns before moving on to salvage previously mentioned goods.
4) Year-round sun tan.
5) Fresh air, beautiful sunrises/sets.
6) Peons to order around.
7) Three words: Walk the plank.
8 ) Awesome clothing and accessories!
9) All the rum I can drink.
10) Every day is like a Disney cruiseline vacation. (Don’t think we’re not including the Midnight Buffet)
Oh, but wait. Downsides to piratism:
1) The wireless connection might be a little ify in some places.
2) They haven’t invented the waterproof netbook.
3) I get seasick.
5) I don’t like rum. (You don’t like rum?!)
8 ) No dentists–have you seen some of those pirates’ teeth?
9) Limited showers because of limited fresh water.
10) Cursed treasure.
Well, there’s that idea down the drain. But I think my little dog would look awesome with a bandana and eye an eye patch. Arrrr, fear the Dread Pirate Dog PeeWee! I’ll just have to put on the pirate outfit and swashbuckle around my front yard, I guess. Wait, do you hoist the masts or the sails? Perhaps you rig the mast? Right, this is why I’m a desk jockey.