Hoppy New Beer!

.......to all my thousands of readers (um, right?)

What a final week, eh. Three legendary figures did not quite make it to 2007.

the Accidental President - RIP Gerry

the Godfather of Soul - get funky, James

the Butcher of Baghdad - RIH

Till next beer, I mean year.

PS - PATRIOTS SLAUGHTER TITANS. BRING ON THE NEXT VICTIMS, I mean opponents ;)

Christmas Seals

A Christmas Song

................by Ian Anderson (Jethro Tull)

FCC FU

Bluefish Rock

100 years ago..........................





........and today with wave crashing over it. 65 degrees. Not bad.

Roland the Headless Thompson Gunner

Near death, the late, great Warren Zevon made his final live appearance on the Letterman Show. Frail and weak, Warren performed three songs, this one the final of one of the best songs ever written..............

Here We Are

If you have never been to a Jimmy Buffett concert, its a lot like this.............

Battle of the Album Covers

An amazing video....................

Arrrrrrrh!

As you all know, September 19 is International Talk Like a Pirate Day so we (bro Brad and friend Dave) were compelled to celebrate at Captain Kidd Saloon in Woods Hole.



Rediscovered a fine little pirate cove (Shhhh, don't tell anyone about this place).

More "stuff that flies by my window"

A WW2 bomber.............................

Rum Balls conquers the raging North River

OK, so maybe it wasn't raging. More like very serene. But there was a strong, full moon tidal current. Caught the flood current up river and the ebb current down. Rum Balls was smokin' even at idle speed. 20+ miles, burned about a quart of gas.

Bama Breeze!

Here it is. Music video of Jimmy Buffett's great new tune....................

Gosh It Feels Like Winter

The Steve Miller Band rocked the Pavillion last night. Most excellent show.

Here's a homemade video with a soundtrack by Steve:

A Fish Story :)

It was April the 41st, being a quadruple leap year. I was driving in downtown Atlantis. My Barracuda was in the shop so, I was in a rented Stingray and it was overheating. I pulled into a Shell station. The mechanic said I'd blown a seal. I said, "No need to get personal, pal! Fix the car."

While he was doing that I walked over to a place called The Oyster Bar. A real dive. But I knew the owner, he used to play for the Dolphins. I said, "Hi Gill!" You have to yell, he's hard of herring.

Gil was also down on his luck. Fact is, he was barely keeping his head below water. I bellied up to the sand bar. He poured me the usual-- rusty snail, hold the grunion, shaken, not stirred with a peanut butter and jellyfish sandwich on the side, heavy on the mako.

I slipped him the fin, on porpoise. I was feeling good. I even dropped a sand dollar in the box for Jerry's squids, for the halibut. Well, the place was crowded. We were packed in like sardines. They were all there to listen to the big band sounds of Tommy Dorsal--what sole!

Tommy was rockin' the place with a very popular tuna--"Salmon 'Chanted Evening". And the stage was surrounded by screaming groupers, probably there to see the bass player. One of them was this cute little yellow-tail and she's givin' me the eye, so I figure this is my chance for a little fun. You know, piece a pisces.

But she said things I just couldn't fathom; she was too deep. Seemed to be under a lot of pressure. Boy could she drink! She drank like a -- she drank a lot. I said, "What's your sign?" She said, "Aquarium." I said, "Great! Let's get tanked!"

I invited her up to my place for a little midnight bait. I said, "Come on baby. It'll only take a few minnows." She threw me that same old line: "Not tonight. I got a haddock." And she wasn't kiddin', either, 'cause in came the biggest, meanest-looking haddock I'd ever seen come down the pike. He was covered with mussels. He came over to me, he said, "Listen, shrimp. Don't you come trollin' around here." What a crab. This guy was steamed. I could see the anchor in his eyes.

I turned to him, I said, "A-balone. You're just being shellfish." Well, I knew there was going to be trouble and so did Gill 'cause he was already on the phone to the cods. The haddock hits me with a sucker punch. I catch him with a left hook. He eels over. It was a fluke, but there he was, lying on the deck, flat as a mackerel. Kelpless.

I said, "Forget the cods, Gill, this guy's gonna need a sturgeon." Well, the yellow-tail was impressed with the way I landed her boyfriend. She came over to me, she said, "Hey big boy, you're really a game fish. What's your name?" I said, "Marlin."

Well, from then on we had a whale of a time. I took her to dinner, I took her to dance. I bought her a bouquet of flounders. And then I went home with her. And what did I get for my trouble? Case of the clams.

Up Next: Steve Miller Band

This Saturday at the BA Pavillion in Boston. Here's a video.

Wide River

Perspectives from Rum Balls

Green Harbor Beach


Brant Rock (the rock)

Buffett Video

Jimmy Buffett and Martina McBride
Trip Around the Sun

Hamburgers In Paradise - Buffett Weekend 2006

I forgot to bring the cheese to make cheeseburgers for the tailgating party before the Jimmy Buffett concert. So shoot me!

Elsewise, it was a fun time and a great concert featuring Boat Drinks (of course), a most excellent cover of Warren Zevon's Werewolves of London and the debut of a brand new song, 'Bama Breeze

Thanks to nephew Chris and friends Sandii (aka Layla) and Jen for enhancing the festivites despite their lame, rookie attempt to punk the grillmeister.




The party continues on Sunday with a visit from Sharon and Pat


Chris with a drinking problem


Best wishes for good health to veteran parrotheads Skippy and Lisa and Chuck and Terri (pictured below, 2005) who unfortunately were unable to attend this year. Not to worry, I suspect Buffett will be back next year.


Right now, on with the LAD (Liver Appreciation Day) ;)

Live From Scituate Harbor.......

The Fools, Life Sucks Then You Die, yesterday



.....and, right next to my favorite bar:



Up next, Jimmy Buffett.

And your wise men don't know how it feels................

Jethro Tull Thick As A Brick 1978

Huge Fish!

Caught a massive striper on the raft yesterday


For scale, these girls are 6' 2" supermodels


Kidding! Actually the fish was 33", 13.5 lbs. Respectable size and it put up a good fight. The grill awaits.

The mighty Rum Balls.....................

............embarks on a voyage

4th o' July

With the Town having cancelled the "official" fireworks display, the good folk of the beach communities, Brant Rock, Green Harbor, Ocean Bluff, Fieldston and Rexhame took it upon themselves to light up the coastal sky with some magnificent displays.

Per tradition, friends Chuck and Terri with kids Alex and Savannah visited for the festivities and a great time was had by all.


the deck bar........


Grady and Savannah on Bluefish Rock circa 2003.......



Savannah gives Sam a hug on the eve of his 10th birthday........

Some Photos from yesterday...........

...............taken from the mighty Rum Balls (my 8.5 foot boat):

Duxbury Beach


A Snowy Egret

Hello? Anybody Out There?

Just wondering if anyone is reading this blog. If so, leave a comment. You can do so anonymously if you like. Just say hi, tell me to hose off, request a midi tune or even correct my spelling.

Jackster

Stuff that Flies By My Window

So you just get a lawn chair, bolt on an engine and propeller, hang it from a parachute and take off. Easy, right? I don't think so. Powerchuting I think its called.

These guys show on calm, clear days. These photos taken Memorial Day weekend. Hasn't been calm or clear since. Or even before. "Mini" (per forcast) noreaster right now. Mini my ass! How about 50kt gales!

Here's the other end of the rainbow. Unable to find pot of gold.

What are we doin' here?

Aside from fishing, every once in a while these break out after a few lightning bolts................................



Scratch my back with a lightning bolt
Thunder rolls like a bass drum note
The sound of the weather is Heaven's ragtime band
The sky turns blue and the sun appears
But the question's still what are we doin' here
I don't think the answer's close at hand

Barefoot children in the rain
Got no need to explain
We'd be swingin' on a ball and chain
It's always understood by those who play the game
Barefoot children in the rain
In the rain...
In the rain.........Jimmy Buffett

Bob's Birthday

Tomorrow is Bob's birthday. I can't say how old he is but it rhymes with "nifty crate". Bob is a visionary. Sometimes he sees things other people don't.



Lets all join in wishing Bob a Very Happy Birthday!

About Gus

Gus, aka Fatbird, is the other member of our immediate family. He's an outdoor pet and a very well fed one, owing to me. He really likes hot dogs, bacon fat rollups and chicken carcasses. Every day he waits patiently on the seawall for me to throw him some leftovers. He never squawks like the other gulls he just quietly clucks to let me know he is hungry. Which is just about always. Occasionally he goes out with the flock to fish or hit some of the other "marks" along the shore but he always comes back here because he knows who will treat him the best.

Its a symbiotic relationship we have. Gus is like the Godfather of Gulls, highly respected among the flock but always wary of contenders to his position. So our unspoken but mutually understood arrangement is that I feed him and he keeps the other gulls away from our house. Seagulls have a tendency to perch on the crests of roofs with their butts hanging over decks so you can see the problem. But its not a problem at our house. Thanks to Gus.

Now Gus and the cats were never really tight but they all had a mutual respect for one another and they understood they were all part of our family. In a very touching moment during Rasta's final days while he was sitting atop his scratching post gazing out the window, Gus made an unprecedented appearance and perched upon the deck rail, he and Rasta just quietly nodding at each other. It was as if Gus was saying "I feel your pain, buddy".



Comments welcome. Post a comment by clicking "_Comments" below. You can post anonymously or sign your nickname if you like.

Goodbye Rasta

Through his pain, Rasta did manage to summon a purr as I hugged him just prior to his final sedation.

He was the sweetest, happiest most gentle and loving creature on earth. He deserved his full share of nine lives but he only got nine years. I had hoped that the operation would grant him one more summer but it was not to be. I am however eternally grateful to have shared those years with him. The few demands he made of me were returned many times over with spirited affection and playfulness.

Having been a great comfort to Rasta in his final days, Sam now follows my every step inquiring vociferously of his whereabouts. No doubt he understood Rasta's discomfort but now cannot understand that the brother from whom he has never been seperated since birth will not be returning. Though there is an emptiness in our home now, Rasta's spirit will live on in Sam and our memories.

Baby Steps

What a difference a good dump makes. The Colace finally kicked in. It wasn't pretty, it didn't smell good but it was just what the doctor ordered. Appetite, attitude and playfulness significantly improved. Rasta's, not mine. OK, mine too ;)

We are not out of the woods yet but perhaps the darkest part of the woods.

Thanks to all who have emailed kind wishes for Rasta!

Conehead Rasta


Comments now enabled

Made it another day

Thought Rasta was a gonner yesterday, pretty much non-responsive all day and evening. Then, about 2 am, he jumped up on the bed, sprawled out next to me, gave me a lick and started purring. Small miracle. And the beat goes on.

Here's some cat humor from George Carlin:

A cat can make any mistake appear intentional. Have you ever seen a cat race across a room and crash into a glass door? It doesn't faze him at all.

WHIZZZ! SPLAT!

"I meant that! I actually meant that! That's exactly what I was trying to do."

Then he limps behind the couch, holding his head.

"oh Jesus! Freakin' me-ooow! Goddamn freakin' me-oooooooow!"

Your cat is much to proud to let you see him suffer. But if you look behind the couch, you'll see him recuperating from a domestic mishap.

"Hi. Tried to jump from the sofa to the window. Didn't make it. Tore a ligament. Got milk?"

Hangin' in there

Rasta is now home in the ICU - my bedroom. He needs round the clock monitoring, medications and feeding attempts so I haven't gotten much sleep. Though this is a much better recovery environment (not caged amongst 50 barking dogs), he is still in very rough shape. He fights taking the meds and has to wear a cone on his head which he has come to minimally tolerate. He's very lethargic and in obvious pain but the pain killers seem to help a bit. The only good signs are that he ate a tiny portion of food this morning (first time in 3 days) and he can summon a faint purr when I stroke him.

Thanks for reading, I'll update when I can. Feel free to comment here.

Rasta Update

Today Rasta went in for colon surgery. Though continuing in great spirits, he was eating and passing very little and had lost about a pound of weight in the last week. So with his time probably down to days and a better, though not really good (6 -8 months) post-operative prognosis from local vets (Marshfield Animal Hospital - great staff), I decided I couldn't let him go and brought him up to the regional surgical hospital this morning.

So Sam and I are comforting one another, hoping the best for our beloved Rasta and anxiously awaiting phone call from the surgeon. The surgery should be the "pull -through" method, less invasive than open abdominal, and I have been assured that Dr. Diamond is one of the best surgical veterinarians around.

A Sad Prognosis

Well, the news just gets worse. I declined to let Rasta have the colon surgery because a pre-operative needle sample of his liver revealed that the cancer had spread. Surgery would have resulted in a painful recovery, a cone on his head (he won't even wear a collar) and a 2 day stay at the hospital for post-op monitoring. Followed by chemotherapy, dubiously effective, to attempt to slow the progression of the cancer in the liver. So it comes down to the decision so many humans have to face for themselves or their family members: quality v. quantity. As the doctors finally admitted (I had to drag this out of them), the quantity gain probably would not be that significant. So, I made the Warren Zevon decision for Rasta. The only further indignities he will suffer will be taking the medications.



After several phone calls to, and no replies from, the regional animal hospital to find out when Rasta could be discharged, I finally phoned them at 7 pm and told them I'm on my way to pick him up. Upon my arrival, the doctor did come out and provide the medications with instructions. However, the assistant threw a nutty, screaming at me "where's his carrier, he has to have his carrier, I can't handle him". I told her to show me to his cage and I will get him. When I approached him he was trembling scared in the back of the cage but he jumped into my arms when I reached for him as if to say "get me the f*ck out of here". Though I am in no way happy with my decision, this experience validated it. That 12 hours took its toll on Rasta. 2 more days no doubt would have destroyed his wonderful free spirit.


Like hospitals for humans, veterinary hospitals have become assembly line factories. Its a doggone shame for all of us.

Sam nurses ailing Rasta

Say it aint so

I am posting today with a heavy heart. Rasta is in the animal hospital awaiting surgery to remove an adenocarcinoma (cancerous tumor) from his colon, pending the results of a liver biopsy to see if the cancer has spread. The diagnosis was made last week during a colonoscopy which folowed many trips to several specialist veterinarians to rule out more benign conditions. Fortunately to date, aside from diminishment of his normally voracious appetite, he has maintained his usual happy, affectionate and loving attitude. He has been such a trooper to endure this much already, thankfully not comprehending the gravity of his condition. I wish I could be as strong.

Sam is running about the house, meowing and seeking my attention no doubt in an effort to understand his brother's absence. They have never been seperated for even an hour since their birth almost 10 years ago.

Sam and Rasta - 9 weeks old

Sam and Rasta came to me from a shelter called "Kitty City" at Pet World in Framingham, Massachusetts. About 40 cats and kittens residing in this elaborate maze-like cage network which had multiple levels, lots of toys, platforms, resting and play areas, even an overhead skywalk. When I stopped in, most of the residents were napping or just wandering around, awaiting adoption. However, oblivious to all else, there were two little, 8-week old black kittens frolicking, wrestling one another and jumping off a platform. I put a finger into the cage and Rasta came right over and started nuzzling it. Another finger in the cage and Sam followed suit. The connection was made! The shelter director said she wanted to place both cats together because they were so tight. I said that would be a perfect fit for me. An hour later I was home in Ashland with a new litter box, 28 lbs. of litter, lots of toys and food and two rambunctious kittens.

Cat on the hat - Rasta

Aside from both kittens being all black, it was immediately obvious that Sam and Rasta were as different as day and night. Rather, as night and later that night. Rasta the husky, sensitive, easy-going lounge lizzard and skinny Sam the gregarious practical joker who just had to pry open every door and cabinet in the house. Many trips to the hardware store seeking ingenious ways to "Sam-proof" the house. He stills finds ways thwart my latches and deadbolts, even in our current home in Marshfield, but has mellowed into a wonderfully affectionate cat,

Kitten Sam

Wheels

Got a new truck. Toyota Tacoma. Its a real nice cross between a truck and a sports car. Regrettably, all mileage so far is transporting Rasta for medical appointments. More info to follow.

Bronco is gone. It was good to me and I'll miss it save for the undercarriage rust. Lots of rust. Rust really happens here.

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Surf's Up!