Seanachai

Occasionally, you make sense...

How'd you know I have a Jackalope? Well, you get the arrow through it's head, as well. Now, who wants the chain-saw sculpture of an eagle perched on a salmon that occupies the space next to my TV? You'll either have to come and pick it up, or pay for shipping, and it weighs about 40 pounds, and stands about 3 foot high. You think I make this ****e up? You lot can't begin to imagine how weird it is in my apartment...

You know, all those years ago, when this was first on TV, I remember sitting in my downstairs, windowless room, watching it on my small TV, quite unequivocally ripped right straight to the tits, and actually ended up on the floor, laughing so hard I could barely breathe. Mind, the extremely good Thai Stick probably helped, but it still stands out in my memory as one of the funniest fecking things I've ever seen on TV. It began, as I remember, when Les Nessman was doing his bizarro reinterpretation of the Hindenburg disaster. 'Oh, the humanity!' And it went on from there. I remember struggling upstairs to try and explain to my poor, long-suffering mother why it was the funniest goddamn thing I'd ever seen. I couldn't stop laughing, and could barely gather enough words to make it clear. She was a good she, she was, and did her best to understand. But, perhaps, I wasn't the best interpreter of the high level of comedy. Although, to be fair, I was extremely high. Best damn moment of TV, ever.

On Sunday, I'm going to Taze you...

My Small Friends! They fill up my days, yes they do. As I begin to wake up, late at night, and lie there in the dark, thinking about how all my stupidity will be brought to nought by death, it eases those dark hours to think about my silly Small Friends. When I come to visit them, they shout: "Grandma Steve!" Smaller Nora shouts to her Dad, who's just come in from the back steps, "Daddy, Grandma Steve is here!" Like I'd been gone for a month, or longer. Her poor, long-suffering father is probably thinking, 'What, again? He was just here a few nights ago...' I eat their food, I drink their wine, I play with their children. I baby-sit, too, which is probably of some use. But I cannot tell you how that howl of childish voices, greeting my arrival, fills me with humble delight. There is no place on this planet, for many years, where my arrival has been greeted with such jubilation. Smaller Nora runs up to me, and demands: 'Pick me up, Grandma Steve'. And I always do. And then she looks at me, with wide-eyes, and says 'Are you here to baby-sit us, Grandma Steve?!' And usually, I tell her 'No, Nora. I'm here to play with you, and talk to Mommy and Daddy.' And then she shouts: 'We're having pizza!' Because when Grandma Steve comes to baby-sit, we always get cheese pizza. And her excitement is a bit hard to grasp because when I do come to baby-sit, and we have pizza, I have the devil's own time getting her to eat her bloody pizza. She's at that age when dinner isn't all that interesting. She's the tough one. You can get Small Emma to eat her pizza, because she know's you need to eat dinner. And if you don't, you don't get dessert. But when you tell Nora: 'If you don't eat dinner, you don't get dessert', her response is 'Okay, I don't want dessert'. The younger child is always the tough one. She needs to be cajoled into eating dinner. You need to sit there, and actually trick her into eating enough to keep her small, crazy body fed. You need to tell her: Nora, you have to eat 4 more bites (this involves dragging her back to the table several times to get her to listen). And then, she's holds up her fingers, sorting them out one by one, until she gets the number '4' displayed. Her sister, Small Emma, helps her. Have you ever shared a moment with a 6 year old where you both roll your eyes because the 3 1/2 year old isn't behaving? The best part is, she doesn't yet understand what 'four' means. So, you can count it anyway you like, and sometimes get her to eat more like 'eight' bites, with her attempting to count down with her fingers, without realizing what the numbers mean. Of course, it's harder when her older sister is paying attention, because that little bugger knows how to count. So, when you tell her younger sister that she's only had 'two' bites, the older one is likely to chime in with 'No, Grandma Steve, she's already had three bites, although they weren't very good bites'. I never knew that when I went to college that I'd be spending my declining years arguing 'math', 'portions' and such philosophical concepts as 'enough' with small children. It's especially nasty when they gang up on me, and start winning the argument. As Emma said to me the other day: 'Grandma Steve, you're almost like a grown-up'. That's as close as I get. I'm 'almost' like an adult. But, in recompense, I'm treated 'almost' like a child. I get to play with the silly two-some as if I was one of them. I get to behave like a complete goofball; roaring like a monster, cackling like a witch, and behaving like an utter idjit. It's marvelously... freeing. But, when push comes to shove, I can stop anything bad, and interpose some rules. I can make people behave, if necessary. As an adult, I rarely get either opportunity. So, I will treasure these days. When their Mom yells at them for being too rowdy, or being too rough, I can gather them in, and tell them 'It's okay. We're just playing'. Or when they break something, I can explain it away, and try and justify it. I'm like an ombudsman for small children. Which I guess is what being a 'grandparent' is all about. Of course, I take my own lumps doing so. They're getting quite strong, the little buggers. They think it's funny to 'stomp on Grandma Steve's feet, to make him yell 'ow, stop that!''. And Small Emma likes to climb up on your shoulders while you're sitting down, and neck/spinal injures are a real possibility. And, believe me, when Smaller Nora decides to give you a 'super girl' punch, it comes at exactly the wrong height, and leaves you eyes watering on the couch, trying not to throw-up and gasping 'NO! We don't DO that!' And there's the other lumps, too. Because if you're a REAL grandparent, you're the mother or father of one of the parents. And that gives you the leverage you don't have as 'Grandma Steve'. Grandma Steve is just this idiot friend that comes over and plays with your kids, and baby-sits them, and loves them immensely. But he's not someone you have to answer to, as a grown-up. So, in that way, I'm rather like my Small Friends. We both have to answer to their folks. I'm just the big one. So, you get yelled at, same as them. You live with the knowledge that you answer to a higher authority. And you can only make so many excuses for them, even when you're excusing their behavior towards yourself. Mind you, when you're sitting on the couch trying to re-swallow your dinner, you don't mind Mom chiming in with "Nora, NO! You do NOT punch Grandma Steve there! I don't care if you ARE playing 'Hercules', and he was the hydra!" It's a pretty good time, all things considered. I remember baby-sitting a couple of weeks ago, and Jen, their Mom, came home and said: "Ten years ago, did you ever think you'd be sitting here, obsessively telling me about every small moment you'd spent with our kids? Every thing they said and did, and what you thought about it?" And I told her: "Ten years ago you told me you two would never have children. You liked your life too much, you didn't want to bring kids into this world, you enjoyed being a double-income couple with no kids. And now you have two children, and you're great parents. And I am Grandma Steve. It is Destiny." It is Destiny. I am Grandma Steve. I have two Small Friends who make me feel... less useless. And I — I'm the big one.

Relax, Berli. He didn't make it up. He just modified it...

What about the big-hair bands, like the New York Dolls?

That's fair, then. I went to Berli Berli land once meself. Vicious bugger.

Sod that for a lark, you Aussie feck. If I'm going to be stung, I will eat the insect that does so, see if I don't. Afraid to put a bet down, Stuka? All this time living in comfort in the worst places on earth, working for people who regard you as a heathen idjit (which is what you are, to be fair), and still unwilling to bet on my demise and/or savaging? I expected better of you...

Michael, you sod. Over-inflated?! Do you think I do this simply for myself? I'm going to go paddle the Everglades to give you sorry sons-of-bitches something to look forward to. Dramatic potential? What the hell have YOU done, in all these last years, worthy of betting on?! Passing a kidney stone? I'm going SOUTH, you feck, potentially to die. Or, have a Great Adventure! Or both! Bard against beast, beast against bard! Wind, waves, powerboats, you name it! It's High Drama! I despair of you. I truly do. Emrys, You Horseman of the Apocalypso, you're only hanging on to see if I die before you! You know it to be true.

I forgot about the flora! But there are, in fact, poisonous plants in the Everglades, beyond the simple 'He broke his neck on a vine'! FLORA, TOO!

Gentlemen (and, I hope, the Ladies of the 'Pool), remember to consider all the possibilities. We will be, hopefully, kayaking both areas like Rookery Bay, Johnson Bay, and the 10,000 Islands, which are saltwater/mangrove island adjuncts to the Gulf of Mexico, and hence, primarily a sheltered, reef & island oriented salt water marine environment. Also, hopefully, we'll be doing some paddling in the Everglades, which will run the gamut between mammals such as the afore-mentioned Everglades Puma, and the new, invasive species, the Burmese Python. Remember, I was once, almost successfully, attacked on the Rum River in Minnesota by a baby mink. I assure you that nature hates me every bit as much as you lot do. So, whether it be scorpions or centipedes, stingrays or hammerheads, pumas or raccoons, you need to place your bets now, as to what animal, fish, insect, bird, reptile or amphibian you think will savage Seanachai on his paddling trip into the waters of Southwestern Florida. Because, let's face it: Something is going to savage me. Why wouldn't they? I'm a Northern boy who can't stand the South. But I come by it honestly. In my early 20s I lived for over a year in Southern Florida. It was a hideous place of high temperatures, humidity, insects and failures from the upper East Coast. Quite probably there were actual Floridians there, who were, undoubtedly, quite horrible, but you basically never met them. What you met was New Yorkers, New Jerseys, Pennsylvanians, even Ohioans. All the detritus of humanity that got flushed out of the Northeast and swirled their way down to Florida. So, when I make my return, paddle in hand, I have absolutely 100% no doubt that I will be savaged, if not killed, by some form of south Florida lifeform And no, it will not be human. No ripped-off drug dealer, no disgruntled 'escort', no angry hobo or cheated businessman. I left Florida with a clean slate. Everybody was either happy, or no long worried about the concept. But Nature — Nature lies forever in wait. And it will have its due. Small Stakes Bettors: Go for Animal, Reptile, Insect, Fish, or Bird! Big Bettors: Pick the specific animal that will have a go at Seanachai! Black/Red goofballs: Pick 'savaged' or 'killed'! Sure bet coasters: Go for 'Drowned by Wind and Weather'. Get your money down! Do it NOW! Place your bets with the Justicar! Not with me, because I don't want to be accused of trying to influence the bet by, for example, smacking an alligator sharply on the snout, or leaping off into the water in front a mako! And, because reviewing the likelihood of death and destruction from purely natural sources might indicate bias, you WILL be allowed to choose the human option: Run Over by a Motorboat! But, because this is fairly likely, you'll have to choose the weight/hp of the craft! Will it be the High Speed Ferry to Key West, or a simple fishing boat rental with a drunkard from Cleveland at the wheel?! Christ on a Crutch! This should be a goddamn CARNIVAL! There should be mime artists, jugglers, food cart salesmen, street musicians wandering through here! There should be pick-pockets, con-men and prostitutes working the periphery! GENTLEMEN AND LADIES OF THE PENG CHALLENGE THREAD, I GIVE YOU THE GAME SHOW THAT DEFINES A GENERATION! THE BET THAT NO SANE MAN CAN TAKE UP, OR PASS BY! BLOOD SPORT THAT THE ROMANS WERE TOO SIMPLISTIC TO HAVE FORESEEN!!! All bets final. No bet honoured unless money received up front by the Justicar. Judgement of Colliers county coroner/local sheriff's department final. In case of 'savaging attack' not resulting in death, eye-witness determination by paddling friend A. Grey shall be held binding. Anyone placing a legitimate, winning bet that wasn't paid for up-front will be determined to have become either: a) The New Olde One of the Peng Challenge Thread, or, if neither death nor coma resulted for Seanachai, Being the Most Seniour Knight Ever, with Extensive Bragging Rights beyond the comprehension of mere mortals.

That's what I'm after saying, Emrys.

Gentlemen: Any animal, reptile or insect that decides to feed on me will not only suffer the shock of immediate drunkenness, but will unquestionably die from it, as well. Flesh can only take so much. Now, in the best traditions of the Peng Challenge Thread, you should probably put together some kind of a 'pool' (notice the pun on words) on whether I'll actually return alive, as well as betting on whether I will be poisoned, chomped, savaged, crushed or otherwise fecked with by the local wildlife. Also drowned. Wind and waves can be an issue. In a kayak, you basically end up on pretty much the same level as the wildlife. So, make sure you vote for, and get a bet on your favourite Seanachai render today! Whether it be alligator, salt-water crocodile, shark, or even the normally gentle and passive manatee, be sure to get a bet down with the Justicar. I will be... or rather, my intention is to return on January 28th. If unable to post myself, I will make sure my heirs and assigns post here to let you know what became of me, so as not to upset the settlement of bets.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, PATCHY! Maybe I need to paddle Northern Illinois, some time...

At the end of January, I am going to southern Florida, gulf coast side, and doing day trips to paddle Big Cypress Swamp and the Everglades. Not to mention such places as Rookery Bay, just north of Marco Island. While I am there, I will think about all of you every day. I will think: They are not me, and they are not enjoying delights like this. About bloody time I got to go somewhere exceptionally cool to kayak. I will also find a portion of swamp/beach and build a small, but significantly weird shrine to Berli and MrPeng. The Justicar will be represented by a half rotted coconut...

Annoying little tosser. The names 'Emrys' and 'Dorosh' shouldn't even be sullied by passing over your lips. If there are two bigger bastards wandering around looking for a pint of cherry brandy and a 50 gallon drum with a fire in it to warm themselves by, they've yet to be born. You? I wouldn't let either of them piss on you if you were on fire.

Eh, always takes me a few days to find the New Year. Happy New Year to you shower of fools. You've got all my love and affection that isn't currently directed to the old clothes and cast off shoes that I just dropped off for the use of the homeless. Mind, I'm seriously going to miss some of that flannel and wool that I haven't fit into for 10 years. Irritated me that they wouldn't take the bloody shoes. When did the homeless become so concerned about the mere possibility of foot disease? By all the gods, in the next few months when I become homeless, I'm not going to kick up a row about 'pre-owned shoes'.

Actually, in Minnesota, 'Finland' means: Land of the people who eat very small fish, poorly. We're up to our nethers in Finns. They're like the baby harp seals of the Scandinavians. You can't help but look at them, all big-eyed and sub-sentient, without wanting to reach for a club to beat them to death. But, in our more enlightened age, we know that it's wrong to beat them to death. In the case of the harp seals, it's because it's wrong to kill such intelligent mammals simply for their skins. In the case of the Finns, it's because their bloody pelts aren't worth sh*te.

So, I go over to Small Emma's and Smaller Nora's tonight, and they're very excitedly talking to me about one of the 'Bonus Feature' shorts on the DVD for the film 'Up'. And Emma is telling me: "And Grandma Steve, Dug the dog is telling the story, and he get's told by the bad dog, whose name is 'Alcohol', that he as to watch this rock, and so he does, and 'Alcohol' tells him, 'Dug, you did it wrong', and then—" And I'm looking at her, very quizzical, and I'm thinking 'Alcohol, the dog?' What the? And her Mom comes over and says, "Emma, what the heck are you talking about?' Who's 'Alcohol, the dog?!" And it turns out that she means 'The Alpha Dog'. I was so proud. Because the Biggest of Them All eats the most electricity!

And are you sleeping, old man? Art thou sleeping yet? How 'bout a bit of a sing song, eh? We are born of ancient family Living here all our days And though we love our scenery Wouldn't we just love somewhere to stay? It's an order for eviction And I can't believe I'm seeing what I see If it kills I will surround myself With four stone walls A little pride upon the shelf And four stone walls around me And they came to meet you one and all With big words in the village hall Getting older looking back and Still the fact is nothing's changed at all Never charity we seek just honest wages Once a week and a place called home If it kills I will surround myself With four stone walls A little pride upon the shelf And four stone walls around me "To whom it will concern within your office..." Wouldn't you wish more than this, a caravan Pushed aside, forgotten land For me and my kind If it kills I will surround myself With four stone walls A little pride upon the shelf And four stone walls around me If it kills I will surround myself With four stone walls A little pride upon the shelf And four stone walls around me Four Stone Walls -Capercaillie Was it only the banks that got hurt when the bubble burst? Who told the untold thousands what they could afford? Who told them to buy, buy, buy? And who got bailed out? Was it the forgotten people? Or was it the idjits who created the problem?

We're supposed to get 20 inches of snow by Saturday morning. Or maybe just a foot. Nowadays, the TV news folk have nothing to do but make everything sound like the End of the World. Feh. Likewise, Bah! I hereby vow: By Saturday, I will have driven my car down a mountain of snow! Well, not necessarily my car. Certainly, a car. Left unattended, perhaps, at a gas station. It's always amazing to me how many idjits leave their car running, with the keys in the ignition, while they go in to buy a duraflame log and a 6-pak of 3.2 beer... Or is that another goddamn recovered memory?!

You're not engaging me enough, Michael. You're not properly addressing my 'Mythos'. But, Emrys, I want you to know: Don't die, bucky. It would be a poorer world without you. Now, let me INVOKE HIM: EMRYS! FAMINE! Winter is your time! You who have lived so long, that you have devoured every season! You who have lived so long, that you have known every pleasure! You, who have lived so long, that you have STOMPED UPON THE F*CKING TERRA! STOMPED UPON THE TERRA! BOOM, BOOM, BOOM! Here's to Spring, my aging friend. May you be there, may I be there, may we all BE THERE! BOOM, BOOM, BOOM!

We are on the very brink of the Holiday, when the Christians believe the White Christ was born, and we all hit winter and realize it's a long fecking time until April, and maybe we're going to need the help of our neighbours to get through until Spring. And whether you believe that the Son of a God was born, or whether you're in tune with the Goddess, and the seasons, and how hard winter is to survive (and let's get real, the whole Hanukkah and Kwanzaa thing is just fecking silly; Christianity gets the prize for attempting to overlay their beliefs on to an ongoing thing...), it's the time of the Year when everyone who doesn't live in a fecking tropical paradise acknowledges that winter tasks us all. And that, no matter how silly our religious beliefs, they're heartfelt, fulsome, and fill us with grace. Also, for anyone who lives in a real goddamn climate, where winter comes down like a wolf, where winter is the season of knives, where winter is the time of 'drawing in', it is good that we reach out to each other, in the winter, and share food, and the hopes for a good new year, and let go and forgive anything that happened in times of easy living and stupid decisions. Winter is all. Winter defines. Winter decides. And so, I tell you all: Merry Christmas to you! Happy Hanukkah! May the Goddess bless and receive you, and keep you from the season of cold and starvation!

You useless sod. What I said was: "I am the suppository of all knowledge'." Trust you to miss essential details. But you hit the mark. What I meant, quite probably, is 'I am the repository of all knowledge.' But I am moved, as are we all, by tides of knowledge and understanding. I stand by: I am the suppository of all knowledge. Gods know, most of you lot need a good, solid implant, shoved up to the fourth joint, of intelligence. And that's where I come in...