Be Advised... Big Brother is Watching...

While sipping on a cold one inside the confines of a cozy neighborhood bar the other day, I came across a foreboding sign mounted up alongside of a wall.

Stated on that large green sign was, "Warning! Islands Under Surveillance at all Times"!

Well heck... somebody got that right... and I happen to know that first hand. For while sailing from Bahia Honda and on down to Key West a few weeks ago, I could readily see Fat Albert up in the sky peering directly down upon me.

And for some unexplained reason, I could feel that blimps' cameras scrutinizing every tack I made while undersail. It wouldn't have surprised me in the least if none other than Dick Cheney had been viewing the camera imagery while seated at a computer monitor.

Hey Cheney... nobody likes you... kindly do the world a favor and go croak. And I am an American.

Scoring a Little Tail while in Key West...

Blondie-Dog has been tied off to a mooring ball out in the Garrison Bight Mooring Field for a couple of weeks now and the field is still just as quiet today as the day that I got here.

All of which has me thinking that the absence of any marina drama has got to be a good thing now that I come to think about it.

Nevertheless it is indeed pretty quiet out here with live-aboard cruisers going about their business aboard their unassuming yet serviceable sailing vessels randomly scattered about the mooring field.

Occasionally a power boater will cruise on through the mooring field at a high speed, creating a lot of wake, but other than that there just isn't much happening on out here.

So it was of a little bit of a surprise the other day when an ostentatious sailing cataraman happened to motor on in and then pick up a nearby mooring ball in the middle of the "hood".

I suspect that the captain of that boat had initially intended to pick up the unoccupied ball alongside that of my boat but thought better of it after a quick inspection of the marine growth thriving along Blondie's waterline.

It was either that or of upon seeing me shirtless while tilting my aluminum beer can to its full upright position and swigging down the last of its contents.

Well what the heck... I can't say that I blame him for wanting to move his boat on elsewhere after that initial encounter from afar.

In any event, that captain along with another fellow later dinghied on over to an adjacent boat and then a few moments later on over to mine.

He stated that he'd be off his boat for a few days and asked if I would be kind enough to keep an eye on it while he was gone. And with that he handed over a small plastic bag with a frozen lobster tail inside of it.

So yeah man! ... It was nice to finally score a little tail here in Key West for a change!

A Fishy Odor Down Below...

As much as I enjoyed sailing my AMF21 while residing in Puerto Rico, I'd only venture on down below into the confines of the cabin to retrieve essential gear... essential gear defined as but the hank-on jib, anchor and little else.

And when I come to think of it, there was simply no compelling reason to even want to stay down below for any length of time for that cabin had a pervailing, fishy-odor to it.

An unpleasant odor for sure and I'm not talking about an enticing fishy-odor of good things to come either but rather that of sea-weed drying up along the shoreline of an isolated beach.

Not only did that perpetually dank cabin have an unpleasant fishy-smell to it but it also had very little ventilation circulating within.

I suppose that the drop keel might have had something to do with that perpetual locker room smell but I simply gave up worrying about it after a while and just concerned myself with the shear joy of sailing.

Ran Out of Gas... Again...

Well it was bound to happen and it did indeed happen. Again I might add...

I ran out of fuel while motoring ashore in my dinghy the other day and had no viable option other than to pull out the oars and start rowing away.

One would think that I'd be a little more diligent in periodically checking the fuel level in my two-stroke outboard motor by now but that simply ain't the case.

Perhaps I'll just have to make me up a little sign and tape it up to my dinghy as a gentle reminder to check the fuel level before leaving the boat.

It will simply state, "Those Who Don't Remember the Past are Condemned to Repeat It"... a sign not unlike the one that the Reverend Jim Jones once had prominently on display at his Guyana Compound.

Yeah, that oughta do it.

(memo to self: no matter what, don't go drinking anybody else's kool-aid)

Taking a Much Needed Moment after Sipping on a Few Cold Ones...

One would only think that with all the beer drinking going on along Duval Street that the city managers would set aside some funds for a few additional public restrooms...

Oh well. In any event I did feel a lot better afterwards...

Car Shopping in Key West...

Hey... what can I say other than I did a little car shopping the other day and bought a Rolls off of some dude named Goldfinger.

Seems like he might have run into some recent financial difficulties with the economy in the tank and all because he sold the thing to me at a heavily discounted price.

I did check out some other cars before buying my Rolls but these all seemed to be in need of a little mechanical work. And since I'm not all that mechanically inclined, I took a pass on these.

Besides, I've got a new high-maintenance girlfriend and only the finest of cars will suit her for tooling around Key West.

But I won't be telling my lady-friend up on Marco Island about any of this... What she don't know won't hurt her.

And as she is often prone to say, "Don't Ask a Question Unless You Want To Hear the Answer." So I doubt whether she'll be asking about the stick of lipstick rolling about the floorboard of my new car.





My new high-maintenance girlfriend.

Unabashed Frivolity On Duval Street... Key West, Florida.

PROCEED WITH CAUTION... ADULT CONTENT AHEAD!

If I had to use but one word to describe Key West it would be frivolity.

Frivolity as in zealously chasing a good time while throwing three sheets to the wind and not giving a rat's ass as to the consequences while imbibing copious amounts of liquid courage.

And Duval Street is the place to be if one just wants to let it all hang out, pun intended, wink, wink, for it is but one long, continuous strip of bars, night clubs, and tourist shops.

Nevertheless, the unabashed revelry of that scene can get old pretty quickly after but a time or two of strolling along that street. Before long one is sure to be seeking out a quiet sports bar somewhere off the beaten path and away from all the tourists.

In any event I happened to be strolling along Duval the other morning in search of a coffee shop when I happened to come upon the "Bull & Whistle", an open aired bar not unlike the many others along Duval.

But what caught my attention about that place was of the sign posted alongside the entry way to the upstairs portion of that bar. That stairwell led to "The Garden of Eden" and posted on that sign was "Clothing Optional".

All of which had me thinking back to the time when I had first purchased my boat and had it tied up alongside the City of Fort Myers Marina seawall and alongside a wide pedestrian walkway.

Well after working on my boat all day and later sipping on a few cold beers in the late afternoon, I'd pointedly sit up on deck and wave hi to one and all as they strolled on past the boat.

For you see, Fort Myers can be a bit boring at times and I had little else to do but amuse myself by goofing with those who might perhaps pause a moment and exchange a few pleasantries.

And of course I'd always say hi to all the hot chicks wearing their tight fitting athletic attire as they jogged on past whether or not they waved back.

But the black chicks that would stroll on by were often times, for whatever reason, only too happy to put up with my goofing and without exception would always dish it right back at me but in much larger doses.

On one occasion I happened to be jovially chatting it up with two plus-sized sistas one afternoon when one of the two young ladies asked where I might be sailing off to in the near future.

I quickly responded, "Key West... Would you like to come along with me? I ain't got a girlfriend", all the while smiling real big.

And after laughing for but a very brief moment and without even bothering to dismiss my invitation, she sets upon telling me all about her recent weekend excursion out to Key West.

She proceeds to describe in some detail the boisterous decadence along Duval Street without hardly pausing a moment to take in a breath.

She then goes on to describe the scene in what surely had to be "The Garden of Eden" and of its clothing optional policy and of all the nudity going on up there and of a group of white dudes throwing down shots and of her being the center of attention.

And with her eyes bulging out as far as they could possibly go and with both hands squarely placed upon her wide hips, she emphatically leaned forward and punctuated her animated description of that bar scene by loudly exclaiming, "DEM White BOYS Wanted To EATTT MEEE"! before striding off all the while outrageously laughing and with her over-sized booty in tow.

Oh gawd.... it seems like I might have gotten more than I had bargained for. I can't seem to remember ever laughing so damned hard.

And as my lady-friend from up on Marco Island is prone to say, "Youth Is Wasted On The Young".

Boy ain't that the truth.