Call Me Gilligan, Part 3

Location: The Marlin Club, Avalon (map)

I know this is ungrateful to say, but after four nights aboard Alouette I’ve got to bust out. There is a certain friction between my hosts that they are completely used to, having been a family all these years, that has slowly become sandpaper on my nerves. It’s how they work, and for them it does work. They probably don’t even think of it as friction–it’s just how they communicate. I have become attuned to solitude, and being in close quarters with the same people for an extended period just isn’t for me anymore. Perhaps that’s the real reason I couldn’t stay married. I like being alone too much.

Today, sweet blessed solitude for two precious hours. In a bar, at the bar, unusual when I write, but there aren’t any good writing tables in here. There’s a cruise ship in the harbor, and the touristy places with tables and beautiful people are packed to the gills. I should be out hitting on elderly cruisers, I suppose, looking for my sugar mama, but can you imagine me really doing that? Even trying that? Nah.

I’ve found the dark bar, with other patrons with big bushy beards. The locals bar. The bartender is impressing the others with card tricks, and he’s impressing me as well, even though I know how they’re all done. He has obviously worked at his craft and he is much smoother than most. He showed me some of the hand drills he does every single day. I’ve seen pros who don’t have the control this guy does. There are clues anyone could see, but I’m not going to point them out here. Just pay more attention to the man behind the curtain.

Oh, man, this is a great place to be. I just got into a baseball argument (I was right).

Yesterday I was here briefly, to taste the sweet tantalizing nectar of solitude, but just as I was starting to feel at peace I was thrust back into the competitive arena on board Alouette. It’s not as bad as I’ve made it sound, but man I wanted the quiet camaraderie of a locals bar, and it put me in a foul mood that I could not have it longer. On the boat last night, to be honest, I was testy. My taste of solitude left me all the more sensitive to the abrasion on the boat.

On a lark, I checked for wireless networks. There are two from here, both with good signals, thus I am able to post this. What a great bar!

10 thoughts on “Call Me Gilligan, Part 3

  1. He’s back! woohoo. Your side bar admonishes that we suck at talking amongst ourselves. Your right! I was just thinking I should start yammering to the others. I even stumbled, accidently, onto another blog. Like a desperate heroin junkie in a town full of cocaine, I was on that thing like supermodel on a piece of stale chocolate. Don’t be jealous, your smokey blue page, and sultry typewriter font is the only blog for me.

    supermodel with chocolate eyes

    eyes chocolate taboo

    breath whistles between her teeth

  2. Hey Grisley Adams!

    Inspired by your last entry,

    In the tradition of “free form” Haiku:

    Friction starts a fire

    the road calls

    nothing like a good beer

    Rock on brother

    (/sappiness and beer)

  3. I’ve found a place where my beard belongs! Seriously sun-abused white boys with serious facial hair are considered to be sailors (NOT powerboaters) without question.

    I’m buyin’ me a boat…

  4. Oh, yeah, you know it. My “plan” now is to use the fame and fortune that my road novel generates to finance a sequel on the high seas.

    It’s so crazy it just might work!

    Of course, this is a use of the word plan that you won’t find in most dictionaries…

  5. Pegasus was the solo round the world boat. Your dream boat after a few beers. As far as I can recall, the one that was a couple of slips up either didn’t have a name or didn’t have one interesting enough to remember.

  6. I talked to a sailing buddy of mine here, and he said a boat like Pegasus would be very short on amenities – like an enclosed head. Still tempting, though.

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