As men, we like to consistently think and act like twelve year olds, but there are distinct stages that a man goes through in life. To easily ascertain what stage any particular 12 year old is in, one must simply observe his purchases at the local drugstore. Today, I hit stage four.

Stage 1: “They’ve sealed a tiny Spiderman in a cheap plastic case and it costs $1.99 to free him! I’ll free you, Spidey! (shake shake) You got no candy in there, Spidey? Sorry, Spidey. No candy, no savey. Now, where’s the candy and the Mad magazines?”

Stage 2: “Ahem. I would like to purchase some of your finest $1.99 cigars, my good man. You want an ID? From me? As my finely groomed moustache shows that I am clearly of age, I will not be providing ID today. Plus, my spouse has retained my ID at the local cocktail party, and I am currently unable to retrieve it.”

Stage 3: “I would like to purchase this package of gum, these mints, this magazine, these batteries, these sunglasses and oh perhaps a package of those con-doms behind you, please.”

Stage 4: “Ooh, now that is cool. I need to get me one of these babies. Excuse me, could you unlock the Rotary nose hair clipper case?”

Stage 5: “Whoa. These glasses make me look just like Arnold fucking Schwartzenegger. Hasta la vista you punk kids. Excuse me, how much are these? $4.99? Young man, in my day, for $4.99 you could take a young lady out for a night on the town including dinner, break dancing, and a round or two of Pac-Man, and still have money leftover to fill the coal bin. I’ll just take the Depends.”

Skepp
On a ride around hull, we came across a docked tall ship flying a Swedish flag. As this is pretty unusual to see, we pulled over to investigate.

We sat for a few minutes watching the captain fish off of the back, hooking little more than the pilings of the pier. Despite being uncomfortably thin, and wearing a pony tail and a thick black beard, he seemed to be as small and hard as any of the stones that littered the beach. He seemed rather annoyed not only about catching nothing but the pier, but by the Bud drinking, visor wearing boaters pulling their Bayliners along side to ask him astute questions like “Hey, man is that an old boat or something?”

As we got tired of watching the uneventful life of the angry captain, and were ready to take off, I decided that I needed to find out why there was a Swedish flag flying on the main topgallant mast. I walked over to a bearded member of the crew, who was working feverishly to repair a rope. He obviously had very little contact with humans, and had trouble formulating the answer that the ship was a replica modeled after one that had been owned by Sweden, Finland, and Holland. Even though I knew that he was involved in a conversation that he was clearly uncomfortable having, I asked him a few questions more.

He told me that a section of the 500 or so volunteers that ran the ship would spend from a week to a month on board, sailing the ship up and down the east coast giving tours and sunset cruises. According to him, the ship could sleep about thirty, but that could get a little crowded for his liking. He himself had been on the ship for a month, but this was his last day, as he had to get back to school.

I for one, thought it would be pretty cool to sail on a ship for a week, but after seeing the manner of the captain and the introverted personality of the crew, a lot of the romance was lost very quickly. But, it had a Swedish flag. And you don’t see that every day. Especially in Hull.

Note: My GF is irritated that I didn’t mention the Finnish or Dutch Flags flying on the other masts. She is of Dutch ancestry and thinks that I’m Sweden-centric.

Posted in #1GF!, Misc., Philosophical BS