Peconic Puffin had put in a request to see things move a bit on these pages, and so I am happy to oblige…
I. Every Boat Show at the Jacob Javits Center at the end of the year, you can find me tending some table for some historic vessel.
During one break, I was herding a small group of children who went straight for the luxury yachts. They launched off the swim platforms and shot up, climbing up all gangways, waving from the sundecks, peeking into cabins (—oh, sorry, I mean staterooms), examining anything set out in the galley, testing silk pillows, crowding into the cockpit. The yacht salespeople would insist that the children be accompanied by an adult, that everyone take off shoes, and would bear with us with various levels of tolerance until the whirlwind would move off to the next boat.
We wandered through luxury yachts, sailing boats, and ended up on the other side of the convention hall. Still full of energy, the children charged up one boat where two men were talking. I lumbered after them, and asked the men if they wanted us to take off our shoes.
They looked at me and said, “This is a fishing boat.”
We all had a good laugh. You can tell which side of the bar I’m sitting at for happy hour.
II. The chief mate of the Amistad was in town and stopped by to visit. He picked up my VHF, and looking at the fleet of fishing boats said in a faux-Bayridge Bklyn accent: “Tony, you there? Tony–you there?”
“You know someone there?”
“No, but there’s always a ‘Tony.'”
What are they fishing for? we are not quite sure…