Lester had been fishing since before he could remember. His earliest memories were riding down to the docks with a bamboo pole to fish for snapper. When the snapper were running in June and October all you had to do was throw your line in the water. He could fish a few hours and catch enough for his five brothers, two sisters, mother and father to have dinner. Riding home with a bucket full of fish was about the proudest feeling he could recall.
His sisters would clean the fish until their hands, hair and cheeks were littered with silver scales, their hands were bleeding from the spiny dorsal fins, and there was a bucket full of snapper guts. His mother would bread the fillets in flour and fry them on the stove or bake them with tons of butter. Fish and potatoes, that was all he needed to survive back then.
By the age of 16 he had quit school to sort out the keepers on his uncle’s dory crew. By 21 he was captaining his uncle’s second boat, running the winching truck - flooring the old truck in reverse into the surf and launching the dory over the breakers so the crew could set it’s nets. He was bringing more money than his father.
At 23 he met the love of his life, in a little restaurant in Amagansett that an old Greek couple owned. They served greasy homemade chicken noodle soup with a heel of crusty bread. The soup itself was mediocre but it warmed the bones after a cold fall afternoon and the service was worth paying for. Every summer they hired a new handful of red-haired, green eyed, porcelain skinned Irish girls fresh off the boat. By Thanksgiving the girls were all gone back home.
Lester and his Uncle would pay to watch the ruby headed beauties fly around the dining room, the buzz of their Irish lilt in the air. Faeryn stood heads taller than the rest - she tall, thin, and graceful. Everything about her had a fluidity - from the way she strode across the dining room to the way she deftly distributed their steaming bowls of soup, all the while an easy grin highlighted her face.
Lester spent an entire summer and fall admiring Faeryn from afar, only exchanging nervous pleasantries when she brought him soup. However, Lester knew that more often than not, the girls didn’t return after going home. Come late October his rapport with her grew to pleasant conversations, by the second week of November they went on their first date. A week later Lester and Faeryn found themselves wrapped up in a whirlwind, passionate engagement.
Lester’s parents weren’t too sure of Faeryn at first, at the time the Irish were looked upon almost as a locust that descended upon the Island every summer, plucking up all the jobs and cramming as many people as possible into cheap seasonal rentals. Had it been one of his sisters bring home a Paddy or Michael they would have been disowned, but rules were different for the boys.
Lester and Faeryn were married in a family ceremony two weeks before Christmas, afterwards Lester’s father took him aside and told him in no uncertain terms that Faeryn was not welcome in his home - Lester’s belongings were packed and he was to leave immediately. That was the last time he talked to his father, Lester moved into the home Faeryn had been renting. Two months later his father was left a vegetable thanks to a massive stroke. He wouldn’t live through the winter.
Life moved quicker than Lester could have anticipated. Less than a year after their wedding Faeryn gave birth Deirdre and then Fiona a year later. Faeryn hemorrhaged giving birth to Fiona and nearly died, she survived but was left unable to have anymore children.
At the age of 30 he had captained his own dory, cashing in on the seemingly never ending supply of Striped Sea Bass that migrated along the coast of Long Island. When times were at their best he had two dorys, three winching trucks, and and a dozen strong backs to do all the work. Then things started to fall apart.
It started with city dwellers who considered Baymen like Lester a pimple on the face of their aesthetically pleasing summer wonderland. They turned cries of saving the Piping Plovers, a small bird that made nests on the beach, to a thinly veiled attempt to pop that pimple. And it worked. Restrictions on where he could fish hamstrung him, but Lester was still able to make enough money to make fishing worthwhile. Then they went after the bass.
They said fishermen like Lester were catching too many Bass, that they weren’t spawning at a high enough rate. He didn’t want to give up, he mortgaged his home to keep both crews up and running but they wouldn’t be stopped. Eventually they took it all, the Bass became endangered or protected or something like that and they told him couldn’t catch them anymore. Thousands of men like Lester had everything taken away from them because they didn’t fit into the world these city dwellers imagined.
It wasn’t long after that he got an under the table construction job and started drinking. One night he came home late to find Faeryn crying in bed, telling him that their life was falling apart, that she wasn’t sure who he was. A week later his wife left with his two daughters while he was at work. Lester wasn’t about to chase her, he was too deep in his own sickness and without her around he had no one that he could disappoint, no one to let down anymore. As sick as it is to say, he had a weight lifted off his shoulders.
Lester started drinking just to function, it was a vicious circle that cost him everything. Last year the bank came for his house after he got fired from his under the table construction job and couldn’t afford the mortgage he had taken out on his house to save his crews. His livelihood, his family, his home, and now his pride - it was all gone.
Now, well now Lester was about as down as a human being could get. He had spiraled out of control to the life of a drifter now. Days were spent panhandling as much as he could get away with. By mid-afternoon he had enough to quit for the day. Whatever money he was given went directly to Kelly’s Liquor Store. After a quick stop behind a deli to pick through the dumpster for a day old Bonac Burger or whatever else he could find, he would take his bottle and the few belongings he had left to the nearest beach. A mile of so walk down the beach would provide him with enough seclusion to set up a small camp and drink until he forgot what he had lost.
More and more, the booze ignited a fire in his belly. He found himself yelling at the ocean, cursing it for giving and taking away so easily. Like the tide that leaves clumps of dead seaweed and crustaceans in it’s wake, Lester was left with rotting reminders of his life. He resented the fact that he had to walk through the waste of what was leftover every day. He would take rocks - as many as he could find - and fill the pockets in his pants. He would then wade with whatever booze was left chest deep into the ocean until he froze, he had nothing to live for but he was a coward. He would stand there, staring at the horizon, feeling the current trying to tug him deeper. But at the point that he felt himself being pulled beyond he could control, he would stumble back until he could reach in his pockets and heave handfuls of rocks as far as he could throw them - cursing his cowardice in the process.
It’s time to have some fun. I will present you 3 situations, you have 5 seconds to make your decision.
Ready … Set … Go!
- You have 3 attackers approaching from approximately 100 yards away, would you rather have a long sword or bow to defend yourself?
One one hundred Two one hundred Three one hundred Four one hundred Five one hundred
- You are kidnapped by a drug cartel, they are forcing you to shoot heroin or smoke meth. Which do you choose?
One one hundred Two one hundred Three one hundred Four one hundred Five one hundred
- Would you rather be deaf or blind?
- Bow, I don’t like my chances three on one with a sword.
- Heroin, needles don’t bug me and I would rather be on a mellow high, both scare the shit out of me.
- Deaf, not really sure why
Hi Everyone, just getting back into the swing of things. My significant other and I are settling into a new house, finishing up some renovations, and finally getting back into a regular routine. I’ll be back with regular updates starting today and Friday I’ll have a new “Will Dexter Eat It”. In the meantime, I want to address some questions I frequently receive:
Q - What kind of dog is Dexter? How old is he? Etc.
A - Dexter is a long-haired miniature Dachshund, though we suspect he may actually be a mix between short and long-haired since his hair length is somewhere in between. He is a year and 8 months old, we have owned him since July of last year.
Q - Is feeding you dog scraps bad for them?
A - I don’t pretend to be a vet or a trained professional but I have done quite a bit of research on Dogs since I have started this to make sure I never feed Dex anything that could be potentially hazardous to his health. What I know is that, unlike our diets, Dogs’ diets needs to relatively consistent. With that said, rewarding them with treats or scraps is fine in moderation. Dexter doesn’t eat scraps or treats everyday, we have him and Gertie (our new dog) on pretty strict diets in terms of brand and quantity of food and what we do show you is a weekly treat. My dogs are my best friends, I would never do anything to hurt them and if I thought I was, I would stop immediately.
Q - What kind of food do you give Dexter?
A - Blue Buffalo, we moved both of our dogs over to it after our new dog had problems when we first got her. Dogs poop a lot but she was going every hour, so we cut her diet down to a measured amount of high quality food. In terms of treats, our dogs like Waggin Train dog treats.
Q - Do you kennel Dexter?
A - Yes -And it was tough, he still doesn’t like staying in his kennel. Now that he is house trained we only leave his kennel open for him to sleep in and if he gets too rowdy with Gertie. He mostly views it as his personal space that he can get away into, when we bring him to my parents for the night he will sleep in it and be protective to the point he growls when you take him out. Gertie is being kennel trained still, she spends any time we aren’t home in the kennel. I highly suggest everyone at least kennel train their dog to start. Then if you find your dog is easy to trust when you aren’t home, ease up on the restrictions but fall back on them if you need. Dexter had issues with house training after we moved, back in the kennel he went until he learned.
Q - Do you breed Dexter? I would like to buy a pup like him.
A - No, Dexter is fixed. He was intensely aggressive with other dogs, when we fixed him he mellowed out. Not only that, but there are so many dogs out there at shelters that breeding dogs seems a little silly. Gertie, our second dog, is a rescue and she is great. After seeing her reaction coming into our home, any dog we get from here on out will likely be one as well.
Keep questions coming, we love our dogs and are glad to share our experiences.
Ahhhh yes, the rules of passing gas, one of the first life lessons we learn as children. We’ve all heard them - “He who smelt it, dealt” and it’s cousin “He who denied it, supplied it”. But which one is right?
The biggest key to unlocking the mystery of the farter is knowing who you are dealing with. The first class is the proud farter. As a child, we never felt anything but pride in our gas. It was almost always a case of “Do you smell that? I did it!”. It was a badge of pride to be able to elicit a strong reaction thanks to our emissions. In that respect, these are the easiest farters to detect.
Our second class of farters are what I like to call the voyeur. These are the kind of farters are proud of their farts but they want you to discover them on your own, simply because it’s more funny that way. These people are easily identifiable by their laughs or smirks. They deny it, but not very convincingly. These farters are also easily detectable.
Third is our sneaky farter. We have all met the sneaky farter, they’re renowned for crop dusting or dropping SBDs but the biggest difference between them and voyeur is they don’t want to admit to their work. Sneaky farters are spottable by their attempted stealth movements. They are almost impossible to catch after the fact as they will deny at all risks, you must catch them in the act. Movements to watch for are pauses while stepping, stretching, and coughs to cover up any unexpected noises. These are by far the hardest farters to catch.
Last but not least are the courteous farters. Embarrassed farters don’t like to pass gas in public, they prefer to do their business in bathrooms or outside. For this reason, when you do catch them it’s usually because one slips out or you sneak up on them. What’s more, they usually have to qualms admitting their misgivings unless they are fundamentalist embarrassed farters. Usually these farters are easy to detect but can cause problems
So, what rule is the most effective? The answer is all of them. Every rule can be applied to different farters.
It’s Halloween, and that means it’s time to pump kids full of sugar to the point their heads start spinning. So why should Dexter be any different? So for the next 3 weeks Dexter will be trying out iconic Halloween candies, no chocolate. I mean, what could possibly go wrong giving Dexter a sugar rush? What’s he going to do? Chase his tail? Been There. Do wind sprints across the apartment? Got that T Shirt.
Yesterday my lady brought home a bag of candy corn and put it on the table. Me? I’m not the world’s biggest fan. But Dexter has been eyeing it up since. And really, what candy is more iconic than candy corn? Sugar and corn syrup? I don’t see how this could possibly go wrong, do you? Candy corn is one of those things that you either love or hate BUT I guarantee everyone has vivid memories of eating candy corn as a kid - biting off each color separately.
The Challenger: Candy Corn
After the past two weeks I’m inclined to say there’s nothing he won’t eat, but it’s going to be fun to find out. Not only that, but the way he scarfed down the Altoids makes me thinks he has a sweet tooth. However, there’s a part of me that says that some kids won’t even eat these things, and they eat most candy. My call is: NO. I don’t think he’ll eat it.
But enough talking:
Let’s Ask Dexter
And of course! I’m now 0-3 on will Dexter eat it! Ugh, I feel like a failed parent. Until next week, enjoy.
No dogs were injured in the making of this blog, and we now know he’s not diabetic
This past weekend the woman and I spent Saturday with her sister, brother in law, and their two little children. Their daughter was a little backed up and watching her strain would have been comical had she not been so miserable. Watching nearly popping a blood vessel made me think of some of the monsters I’m struggled with.
Before you get scared you’re going to see pictures of massive dumps of I’ve taken. Don’t worry, this is more about the accomplishment we feel afterwards; not about taking pictures - about what drives our compulsion to feel like we need to brag about giant dump.
All guys know the feeling - it’s the same whether we step on a scale afterward to get an accurate weight of the before and after, whether we stand and admire our work trying to figure out what it look like, or if we take a picture and send it to friends. Ask any guy, they’ll tell you about the one that was so long it circled the bowl 3 times or looked like the superman S.
It’s what we do, it’s who are, it’s how we’re built. It’s almost of a feeling of “look what I made”. Mothers - know when you look at your kids as they play or feed themselves the first time or something like that? Yeah, it’s like that.
This time we’re looking at bodily functions. Animals are always fun and require some careful strategic planning, however these bodily function situations are more to do with thresholds. You see, either way you’re screwed - they’re more a matter of which are you more screwed doing and tend to speak towards what someone is made of.
Would you rather take a handful of Alli then eat a sack of white castle sliders.
Would you rather drink a whole bottle of pepto then eat a sack of white castle sliders.
What this boils down to is would you rather be backed up followed by a monstrous crap that could tear you up coming out or glued to the toilet spraying brown water from your brown eye?
My answer? I’m going for the Alli. Diarrhea may be more uncomfortable upfront but in the end your sore butthole will heal. Giving birth to giant black turd shaped like a football can end you.
I finally bit the bullet and shelled out cash (granted at a discounted rate) to watch a movie I was scared was going to be garbage - Captain America. I was worried they would rush it out so the Avengers could be released next year, I was worried they would continue the tradition of crappy Captain America flicks.
It wasn’t terrible. Not Great. Not Bad. Better than Thor and Iron Man 2, not nearly as good as the first Iron man. Then again I’m sucker for WWII alternate history. Tommy Lee Jones was great, Hayley Atwell was really good, Hugo Weaving was painful.
Although it feel kind of top heavy and rushed towards the end, it does Captain America justice. Finally. Don’t be scared to go see it.
Emerging from the American Southwest at a very young age exploding onto the indie music scene, Zach Condon is regarded as something of a prodigy. At only 25 he has carved out a niche as a Balkan Folk Electro pioneer and his band Beirut has been his vehicle for doing so. His most recent work, The Rip Tide, is a marvelous amalgamation of all of those influences into something ear catching.
Hanging out in the far fringes of the Indie music scene, Beirut gained the attention of music snobs and hipsters with their last release Flying Club Cup. Boosted by a video series with Vincent Moon of Le Blogotheque fame, Zach and Beirut became an internet sensation and an “in” band listen to.
The Rip Tide is Beirut and Zach’s first full length release in almost four years, much anticipated and talked about … and they do not disappoint. The Rip Tide is much tighter and pushes Beirut from one release wonders to the future of the Indie scene in the way Conor Oberst once was, one hopes that Zach can keep his wits and focus about him long enough realize such potential.
Undoubtedly, Santa Fe is the most exciting, marketable, and experimental song on the album. It showcases a new electronic feel yet doesn’t forget the traditional elements that Zach and Beirut are known for.
If hearing is believing, it only takes a few listens to believe that The Rip Tide is something special. It has the kind of feel to break Beirut into more mainstream channels as a quirky, exciting band in the same manner that bands like the Avett Brothers were able to more recently. Let’s hope this is only the beginning for them.