Hey folks. I wasn’t going to write any blogs – or at least not very many – but I simply couldn’t stand the cries echoing across the Gulf of Mexico from all my fans wondering what the hell is going on with me. Ok, the noise I heard was a seagull and nobody has said the first thing about me not writing blogs so this is all for purely selfish reasons. I am writing like mad on my book and got a little stuck. However, I didn’t want to stop writing heretofore I am presenting you with this new and original blog. (I have never used heretofore and don’t know if my usage is correct. I don’t think it is. I don’t care. I did it on purpose.)

The book is really pretty good, by the way. At least I like it. If I extrapolate the positive results I get from blogs as a ratio to the number of books that will be printed (I really don’t know if I that makes any sense either) then it looks like I will sell about seventeen novels. That’s not bad for a first book. I think Grisham only sold fifteen or so copies of A Time to Kill before he became famous with The Firm so that puts me right there in the meaty part of the curve.

Every now and then I go back and re-read some of what I have written and I laugh out loud at times and get a little choked up at times. I think that means it reads well. Of course, I am often the only one laughing at my jokes and cry by myself more than I care to admit. I guess my opinion doesn’t really mean anything.

Anyway, there will be a book in the next six months. I will either find somebody to publish it or you can send me $5 and I will print you a copy at Kinko’s. I am hoping for the published route. I really want to be on Ellen.

I don’t have much to write about so I thought I would take questions from my readers. Well, if anybody ever asked questions and those questions were the least bit intelligent, these are what they would be.

Q: What is it like when you first get on a ship? How long does it take to settle in?

A: Excellent question! The first week on a ship is basically spent shoving folded up pieces of paper and cardboard into all the little nooks and crannies that creak and rattle and make all sorts of annoying noises. I know, I know. The ship was built in 1998. You would think somebody would have fixed them all by now. Believe me, they have tried. The evidence of their efforts is all over every room. This is an ongoing battle that can never be won. It is like Whack-a-Mole. There is always a new noise popping up.

Q: Do you like working on an oil tanker?

A: Compared to having a real job on land? Very much so. Compared to working on a tramping cargo ship? No.

Q: Is there anything you really like about working on a tanker?

A: Right now I am lying in bed watching the Braves play. And the salad bar is always fresh.

Q: What sucks about working on a tanker?

A: It is loud. It is smelly. Everybody is all serious like if they accidentally crack a smile oil will dump into the ocean. It doesn’t go anywhere fun. You have to wear hardhats at sea. You have to wear long sleeves. The ship is chartered for $100,000 a day but the mattresses are so bad you can hardly sleep on them (I mean, seriously. I am all for making a profit but the little people who put in the work should be able to get a decent night’s sleep. I would invite the accounting department to spend a night on these devil beds.)

Q: What sort of work have you been doing?

A: Painting, painting and painting! Uggghhhhh… I hate starting off with painting. I usually like to impress people with how good I am at stuff before they see me paint and realize I am a retard. Yeah, I know it is 2014 and you can’t say retard. You know, I am not insulting mentally challenged people when I say that. That is an insult that people of my generation grew up using. I hate that you are an awful person because politically correct people have changed the language. I mean, God forbid you call somebody a faggot. I don’t refer to homosexuals that way. It is just an insult we used growing up and we didn’t even think of being gay when we used it. When I call a guy a pussy I am insulting him but guess what my favorite thing in the world is? That’s right – chicken wings. So you get my point.

Q: How is the crew?

A: They’re good. No problems. However, it brings up another thing I don’t like about tankers. You get the really weird sailors on deep sea ships and that is one of the things that makes this job interesting. Not that everybody on a tanker would be the most normal guy in the insurance agency, but you don’t get the super weirdos here. I like the characters. For one, I’m kind of messed up myself although I have the ability to disguise myself as normal. And they tend to be entertaining. But on a tanker you aren’t out of touch for months at a time, you know what is going on in the world and Wal Mart is never too far away. I think that keeps people a little more grounded. Plus, it is easy to fire a guy on a tanker because you are always in port. You can fire somebody on a deep seas ship but Captains are more reluctant as there is the problem of flying them home and flying the new guy out. And, if you’re in the middle of the ocean, well, it’s hard to get fired there. The point is my shipmates are fine guys to sail with but none of them will make it into my book.

Q: What will be the best thing about publishing your book?

A: Giving my parents the first two copies. There isn’t even a close second.

Q: What is the most screwed up thing about the Democratic Party.

A: Their deviousness. Look, I don’t want to argue politics with you and you may not believe this but I respect your opinions. I really do. If you believe in your heart that the path to a prosperous America is to tax hard working people at higher rates and redistribute that wealth, I disagree, but I respect your right to believe that. I will give you the benefit of the doubt and believe that you have put thought into your opinion and have some knowledge to back it up. But this is where the Democrats are really getting one over on the country. They have mastered the strategy of making people believe that they are the party that cares. “I don’t hate gay people because that would be mean and I am not mean. Therefore, I am going to vote with the party who loves everybody. The dems care about people and they are in favor of the Affordable Healthcare Act therefore I am in favor of the AHA.” So many people are voting against their core beliefs because they don’t want to be labeled as mean, hateful or uncaring AND IT IS ALL SO UNTRUE!! The perfect example of this is a situation where some idiot atheists forced some grieving people to remove crosses and other religious stuff that was marking the spot where their friend/family member was killed in an accident. I don’t care if you are an atheist. It is America, after all. But where did you get the idea that you have the constitutional right to never, ever see a cross or hear the name Jesus? You have the right not to be forced to worship Jesus. That’s it! Anyway, the poor family has to take the crosses down because these atheists just hate people, I guess. Now, there is no way, no way, no way in a million years that this represents the core value of your average American. We are a loving, caring, and yes – Christian! – people. We just are. Deal with it. But the atheist and freedom FROM religion thing is a left issue. Let’s follow the steps. “I think a grieving family should be able to mark the site where their son died but the atheists have rights too and I don’t hate atheists. I don’t hate anybody! They should have freedoms too! Who else supports what they believe? Oh! The democrats. Well, I agree with them so I also believe that the military should be reduced to pre-World War II levels, corporations are evil and the rich don’t pay any taxes. Oh yeah, everything is George Bush’s fault.” It is tricky, it is devious and it is wrong. I would just ask everybody to really look inside and get in touch with your core values and vote those. I will love you no matter what they are. I really will.

Q: How is a great guy like you still single?

A: Ummmm….I don’t know. The women that think I am great are women who don’t have to make the decision of whether or not they would date me – family, married friends, friends dating other people, friends with extreme age differences, etc. The women that could date me don’t want to. I guess that tells us something but I don’t know what. Generally speaking, I love the wrong women – those being the women that don’t love me.

Q: What are the best things about being a sailor?

A: So many things! No matter how much I screw up financially I can get on a ship and be debt free in a month. I get to see the world. I see stars at night that I didn’t know existed. Dolphins come and say hi to me all the time. It gives me stuff to write about. I am really good at my job and by the time people are getting tired of me, I leave! I don’t have to deal with any of the stuff that depresses me at home. Things that hurt at home don’t hurt quite as much out here. I am healthier out here. I am happy at sea. Lot’s of stuff.

Q: What do you hate about being a sailor?

A: Being covered with paint all the time. Having a tiny bathroom. No chicken wings. Sometimes I want a hug.

Q: How come we are not having blog music?

A: Well, I am not listening to any. Let’s do High in the Morning by Tom Petty and the Heart Breakers. I only pick this song because I wrote a song about six months ago to the tune of this. I might have used this before. It is better each time you listen to it, trust me.

Q: Are you going to watch The Masters even though Tiger pulled out?

A: Yeah, but I won’t like it.

Q: What’s better? Opening day of baseball or opening day of football?

A: Football is far and away the better sport but opening day of baseball should be a holiday. Baseball wins this one.

Q: Is this going to be a long or short blog?

A: Short! I just had an idea for my book!

Life is good on the ship. My body is hurting a little bit but other than that I am well. I guess I will see you guys in August or September. Whoever is nicest to me between now and then I am coming to see first. And we are going out for a really good dinner!

Stay safe. Vote your heart. Smile at strangers. Tell your loved ones you love them.

Russell Yale

 

I’ve been all over the place with music lately so it is hard to pick a song for the blog.  I think you would agree that you can never go wrong with Eric Clapton.  Let’s go with Running on Faith

“Lately I’ve been running on faith.

What else can a poor boy do?

But my world will be right

When love comes over me.

 

Lately I’ve been talking in my sleep

Can’t imagine what I have to say

Except my world will be right

When love comes back this way

 

I’ve always been

One to take each and every day

Seems like by now

I would have found a love who would care…care just for me.”

 

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Every time I decide that I am simply not writing blogs for a while because I want to work on my book, spend time exercising, I am pouting because nobody reads them, or any other reason, a port like Douala comes along and I have to record it for myself if nothing else.

First, let me take all suspense out of the blog and let you know that pirate waters were dull in the extreme.  No attacks.  A few sightings but they were scared off by the sight of guns.  The most intense parts were the drills when I had to suit up in body armor, which I still think was pretty cool.  As much as I like exciting times and good stories I have to admit that I didn’t want to be kidnapped by Nigerians so I suppose I should be happy with how things worked out.

We knew Cameroon would be a pain in the ass because all African countries are a pain in the ass.  The officials are so corrupt that they just make life difficult.  As we got close we were informed that there was port congestion and we would have to float on the hook, maybe for a month.  Yay.

Twenty four hours later some money must have changed hands because we got moved to the front of the line and were told to heave the anchor and head in.  You can only sail into Douala twice a day on high tide because some corrupt official had most likely made off with the money earmarked to dredge the channel and it was not quite as deep as a kiddy inflatable wading pool.

Luckily for us we had little cargo and were running high in the water with about the shallowest draft possible for our ship.

Not so lucky for the ship in front of us was the fact that they were sporting a healthy draft of 8.4 meters.  And while the Douala pilots said that there was plenty water to accommodate them, I am not sure that anybody actually bothered to check the tide table.  What I am sure of is the following:

The ship ran aground.

She ran aground right in the middle of the channel.

We were the next inbound ship.

You know, cruising up the channel to go to the dock.

With, as I have previously pointed out, a ship aground in the middle of the channel.

I don’t really know how to paint a clearer picture.

We hear on the radio that other ships behind us are being ordered back to anchor so the Captain tells me to bring her to the right so we can find a safe spot to drop the hook.  No sooner had we found our new resting place when the pilots came across channel 12 and told us we could head on in as there was plenty of water for us on the starboard side of the grounded ship.

The Captain looked back at me and I shrugged my shoulders.  I mean, these decisions are above my pay grade.  The Old Man thought for a second, told me to make a round turn and we headed back in.

We were inching our way up the channel with a wicked current coming on our port quarter.  The Captain would run without engines which meant I couldn’t steer because I had no water being pushed past the rudder.  Right when I would start to lose control he would kick it to dead slow and I would have control for a second.  Basically he was trying to give me just enough control to stay between the buoy and the grounded ship.

Just because things weren’t interesting enough there happened to be an outbound ship that was going to pass the ship aground right before we did.  They were passing on the port side of the ship.  Then we found out that our pilot was on that ship.  After passing the grounded ship he would get off onto the pilot boat and come over and join us.

The outbound ship past the ship aground and now was astern of us and we were probably three ship lengths from the grounded ship when our pilot came over the radio freaking out.  “What are you doing, Texas?!?!  No water on starboard side!!!  You must pass on port!!!”

That is exactly the opposite of what we had been told.

So, with the current pushing us to the right we had to swing the rudder hard over to the left, kick the engines on – but not too much because if we went outside the buoys on the other side we would run aground also – pass under the stern of the grounded ship by about 100 meters, hard back over to the right and then in a masterful display of helmsmanship I had to steady her up in a crazy current with no water under the keel, hardly any water flowing past the rudder and a big ship heeling over within spitting distance on my starboard side.

Whew!!!

I had just caught my breath when the 4×8 AB came to relieve me at the helm.  Of course he came just as things got easy but that is how it works sometimes.  Instead of getting a break I had to go out on deck and pull lines.  You see, most of our mooring lines are kept below decks on long sea passages so we have to pull them out the day before we get to port.  We didn’t pull them out early in Cameroon because in Africa they will sneak aboard your ship, tie off one end of your line to a little boat and race off with them.  We had planned on pulling them our last day at anchor but of course now we were going in with no notice so we were racing to get things set up.

We just barely had the lines in place when the Captain came across the radio to send the first line.  I am the one that throws the heaving lines so I got everything ready.  One problem – we had also not had time to remove the razor wire that was covering every inch of the fantail.  That meant I got to cut my arms to shreds as I tried to tie lines together and somehow throw the heaving line out through little gaps in the razors.

Somehow we got it done.

Naturally, because I am such a lucky fella, it was my watch right after we had tied up so I was on the gangway when every “official” in Cameroon descended upon the ship looking for a bribe.

First was Quarantine in their official looking uniforms.  Then Customs.  Then Immigration.  Then the Fire Brigade.  At least all these guys were in uniforms and had some sort of official purpose.  They would get all the documents they needed and then come off the ship 15 minutes later burdened with cartons of cigarettes and cases of soda.

If you are wondering why we give out cigarettes and soda, well, all I can tell you is that we would still be in Cameroon if we didn’t.

After the first gang of looters were done we soon got the second wave.  This is where it got suspicious.  Some guys would stroll up wearing a colorful African robe and flip flops and announce they were customs.  They would have one piece of notebook paper that meant nothing and insist they needed the Captain to sign it.  My favorite guy was a hugely fat man whose name was, I swear, Mo Mo Fatso.

Me – “We already had customs here.”

Mo Mo Fatso – “I am second customs!”

Me – “I think you ate the first customs.”

Mo Mo Fatso – “Funny Americans!  Hahahaha.  I must see Captain.  Very important.”

Me – “So, you work with the guys who were here before?”

Mo Mo Fatso – “Yes, yes.”

Me – “Or are you from a different agency?”

Mo Mo Fatso – “Yes, yes.”

Me – “You just want some cigarettes, right?”

Mo Mo Fatso – “Yes, yes.”

He only got one carton but also a case of Root Beer.

I got a break from the gangway to get some water and had to escort the Health Inspectors onboard the ship.  This absolutely kills me.  These guys who live in squalid filth, haven’t bathed since Jesus walked the earth and don’t even have a health code in their own country are going to come and inspect our ship for cleanliness.  They make the ship dirtier just walking aboard.

Well, the only thing they wanted to check was the galley and this was because they wanted ice cream.  I gave them each a Klondike Bar and Creamsicle which seemed to please them and then the Captain came down to sign their papers.  When they met the Captain they demanded cigarettes.  At this point of the evening the Captain was fed-up and pointed out that they already had ice cream and weren’t getting smokes.

One of the guys pulls out a white glove, puts it on, reaches under the sink, wipes his finger across a pipe or something, pulls his hand out and then almost throws up in disgust when he sees his finger has a smudge of grease on it.  He shows this to his companion who shakes his head in amazement that any ship could be so filthy.

“This is a big problem, Captain,” says the inspector.  “A BIG problem.”  Then they started pulling papers out of their briefcase and began proceedings to arrest the ship for being so disgusting.  Thirty seconds later they were happily disembarking the ship laden down with Marlboro Reds.

All told we gave out $1,100 worth of cigarettes, which may not sound like a lot until you realize that for us a carton of smokes is $14.  No tax out here, folks.  It is all such a stupid game.  It would be so much easier if we could just have $1,500 in cash at the gangway and hand it out before they ever got on the ship but everybody has to pretend like they are actually doing a real job.

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While I was at the gangway a steady stream of guys were coming up and introducing themselves as representatives of the Seaman’s Club.  I found this strange as I knew the Seaman’s Club was closed (I had been corresponding with the Pastor who runs the place via email) and they could not provide us any transportation to town at the late hour we would need it.

Basically, I got off work at midnight and we were sailing at 0330.  That meant that callback to the ship was 0230 which gave me (do the math) 2 hours and 30 minutes of late night carousing in Douala.  There was no way I was passing that up.

The Captain was none too thrilled I was going but he can’t stop me.  The Cadets begged to come along because they are too young and stupid to know better so I offered to let them keep me company.  The first order of business was finding transportation.

Well, these guys who had lied about being from the Seaman’s Club where actually just drivers wanting to charge us to have them drive us anywhere we wanted to go.  There was an all out brawl on the dock between the guys as they fought over our business but we managed to choose the oldest most trustworthy looking guy, which isn’t saying much.

His car was a small hatchback of indeterminate make and model that was minutes from totally falling apart.  Everything that could creak creaked.  Everything that could rattle rattled.  Everything that could groan…well, you get the point.  He seemed confident we would get to our destination, wherever that was, so we just let Jesus take the wheel and enjoyed the ride.

Here was our conversation on our short road trip.

Me – “We want to go buy souvenirs.”

Driver – “No problem.”

Me – “And postcards.  I want to buy postcards.”

Driver – “No problem.”

Me – “Do you know what the fuck a postcard is?”

Driver – “No problem.”

Me – “How much is it going to cost me to buy you a new car to get me back to the ship when this one falls apart?”

Driver – “No problem.”

Me – “Are we going to get murdered tonight?”

Driver – “No problem.”

Our fascinating conversation was occasionally interrupted by the 47 road blocks that materialized out of nowhere by people wanting bribes.  Our driver would scold them in whatever African dialect they speak and eventually we would be let through.  From what I gathered, we would pay him at the end of the trip and then he would pay all these guys off.

It didn’t take long until the car pulled into this street that lined with small bars, people cooking food on the street, little “casinos” where they just basically put a gun to your head and take all your money as soon as you walk in (the Las Vegas Gaming Commission has never heard of this place, believe you me) and people walking around with wicker baskets on their heads full of everything for sale from cigarettes to dead chickens.

The driver parked his already dying car on a heap of twisted scrap metal, hopped out, opened the doors and starting ushering us to the busiest of the bars.  “What about our souvenirs?”  I asked.

Well, he claimed that all the stores were closed (his English had improved immensely) and that he had a souvenir guy who was going to come set up shop at the bar, just for us.  I had my doubts but I am not one to turn down and adventure.

In the bar we walked.

Two seconds later I had the unique, and surprisingly unpleasant, sensation of fifty women suddenly grabbing every inch of my body at one time.  My hand went straight to my wallet and I warned the cadets to secure their belongings.  The bar was about the size of your average living room and packed with about 20 dudes and 300 gals, all fighting for over the three Americans that had stumbled into their midst.

Our driver went over and started screaming at these three big, muscle bound scary dudes to give up their couch and surprisingly they did.  We sat down and within half a second had three women each in our laps.  Women crawling over the couch behind us.  Women touching every exposed area that they could get to.  Women were whispering in my ears that they wanted to do things I had never considered doing with a woman, and still am not sure if it is physically possible.

Now, I am a single guy and I can do anything I want on the other side of the world and not tell you or anybody else about it.  Having said that, the following is the truth.

Some of the women were pretty.

Some of the women were strikingly beautiful.

90% of the women had awful body odor.

I don’t know this for a fact, but in my mind 95% had AIDS, although at one point my driver told me he could provide medical records for the woman of my choice.  All part of the service, I guess.

Most importantly, I almost exclusively choose to be attracted to women who I never get to actually spend time with, who have given their hearts to other men, who live on the other side of the world or who simply don’t love me.  And I have found over the years that avoiding AIDS infested hookers causes them to love me just as little as they do now and for some messed up reason that system works for me.

This was the kind of place that I could have a great time if I was going to slam about 20 of the local beers.  If I could go in, drop what to these people is a year’s pay on drinks for everybody, dance on the table tops and in general make an American ass out of myself, then this might have been an epic night.

However, I really try not live that way these days and even if I did I was steering out of that tricky channel in two hours and being half in the bag on Cameroonian beer would get me fired with a  quickness.  The deck cadet couldn’t drink because of work and that left the engine cadet as the only one really having fun.  I basically just looked after the youngsters and made sure nothing bad happened them.

It came time to go and the souvenirs had never showed up.  We went out front and the crowd had tripled.  People were running all over the streets like wild animals and we were the only white faces anywhere to be seen.  Everybody was cool though, and I never felt in a bad spot.  At least until I got pissed.

I had told the driver I wanted to leave by 0145.  At 0140 I asked the driver to get our bar tab.  It was $105.  I had one bottle of water and bought one beer for a particularly pretty gal.  The deck cadet had two cokes and bought two beers.  The engine cadet had four beers and bought two.  For $105 I should have been able to buy the bar.

Whatever.  I gave the guy $120 and told him with the change we wanted some meat from the street vendors.  The next thing I know I see our driving heading off at high speed on the back of a motorcycle with our money clinched in his hand.

I was pissed.

I told the cadets we would give him till 0200 to make it back and then get a cab.  The women had chased us outside and I had gone from amused to annoyed.  I just wanted to be back on the ship.  Right at 0200 the driver shows up.  I all but yanked him off the moped and lifted him up by his shirt demanding to know where he was running off to with our money.  I don’t think the locals had seen too many white guys manhandling one of their own in the middle of a busy street at two in the morning.  They were a little shocked but fortunately found it amusing.  At least nobody came to his defense.  It turns out he was off changing our money to local money.  I didn’t feel too bad about losing my temper because I am sure he pocketed half the cash.  I told him we needed to leave now.

Just a minute he says.  He ran down the street and came back with a something wrapped in brown paper.  It was our street meat.  It was little chunks of what I thought was goat that you stabbed with tooth picks and dunked in a pile of spice.  It was ok.

As soon as all the women got a whiff of the meat they descended on it like ants at picnic.  It was crazy.  The drunk engine cadet was trying to fight them off but it was like trying to hold back the tide.  We finally just gave them the stuff, said hasty goodbyes and went back to the ship.

Man, I am getting tired of typing.

We made it through all the road blocks, and one stop at a gas station in the hood, without incident.

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Of course the trip wouldn’t have been complete without almost killing one of the Africans.  We brought up the gangway.  This is a big steel staircase thingy in case you weren’t aware.  When it is all the way up it is flush with the ship.  You put out hooks and tighten them with giant wing nuts to hold it in place.  I had put my hand out to put a hook in place when my finger almost gets ripped off.  I barely had time to say, “Owww!!” before I heard, “Boooom!!!!”   The gangway wire had snapped sending it plunging back to the dock.

Where it missed crushing a longshoreman by about two feet.

We had about twenty minutes before we would miss the tide so we had to frantically hook up a chain fall and sling to get it high enough off the dock to sail.  This is worth a more detailed telling but I DON’T WANT TO TYPE ANYMORE!!

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Just before casting off we made a tug fast on the stern and I was making turns around a bit when the tug took a strain on the line and almost removed my hand.

It was one of those kinds of nights.

*************************************************

I rush to secure the stern for sea, cleaned up and went to relieve the helm.  As I took the wheel I got this feeling of Déjà vu.  There was a ship in the middle of the channel.  It was not going anywhere.

THE SAME SHIP HAD GOTTEN STUCK IN THE SAME SPOT!!!!!

An inbound ship was about to meet us at that exact spot.  Three ships.  One little spot.  Shallow water.

Good times.

It was the same thing in reverse that I told you about at the beginning of blog.

My fingers hurt.

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I hope everybody had a wonderful New Year’s celebration and that 2014 is a prosperous and healthy year for you and your entire family.

I wish I could hang out on the couch, eat some nachos and watch football with you cool cats tonight.

Stay Groovy.   Always.

 

Russell Yale

 

Pasteurized cream and salt.  Those are the ingredients in the little butter packets that rest in a bowl in front of me as I sit and enjoy my meals aboard the M/V Maersk Texas.  You can’t convince me that a substitute containing 29 ingredients, some of them with names that contain every letter of the alphabet, is healthier than butter.

I like butter.  Maybe I will be the last one standing but if I do nothing else in my life I will continue to fight the good fight and slather everything in sight with real butter.

I was frying up some chicken wings one weekend back in the day when I was married.  My soon to be ex wife strolled in about the time I was whipping up some homemade wing sauce and was aghast to see that I was adding approximately a pound of butter to the mix.  You see, she was somewhat a health nut.  Well, that is if you don’t count a fifth of vodka a day.

Anyway, she never ate my wings again.

That marriage was doomed.

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I like my blog music to be original, mostly because I like to impress my readers with my wide reaching knowledge of the musical world.  The truth, however, is that the music that is currently tickling my eardrums sometimes inspires what I write and it would be less than truthful to try to sound cutting edge and funky when in fact I am enjoying an old standby.

I’m listening to Pink Floyd’s The Wall.  Possibly this is fitting as a large part of my vacation centered around this album and I have yet to write about it.  I think I will be probably be blogging bits and pieces of my vacation over the coming months so I won’t apologize for setting the mood with a classic.

Tune your stereos to, “Hey You.”

“But it was only fantasy.  The wall was too high as you can see.  No matter how he tried he could not break free.  And the worms ate into his brain.”

Yeah….That’s my present state of mind.  You get it or you don’t.  As always.

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Nothing much blog worthy has happened on this ship as of yet.  I have a feeling it will only be a matter of time.  However, writing being somewhat like exercise I felt the need to flex my literary muscle and work out some of the kinks and get the soreness out of the way before the good stuff comes along and requires my “A” game.

I’m going to tell you a few things about my ship, share a few unsolicited opinions and give you a flashback to the early days of Rusty the Pirate.  Go ahead and get offended by the Rusty the Pirate poem.  It will save time later.

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Captain Phillips

Pretty Good movie.  I am glad that some light was shed on an industry I have grown to love.  Not only does it pay my bills but I believe in what we do.  I believe in doing it while flying and American flag.  I believe most of you have no idea what it takes to be a merchant marine.

I can’t stand people who think their job is so much harder than everybody else’s.  Jobs are called jobs for a reason and you receive a paycheck for going for a reason.  In some form or fashion, they suck.  Some aspect of your job is difficult, stressful or challenging.  You have a boss that is a douche bag or an employee that is an idiot.  You have customers that are impossible to deal with and vendors that don’t keep their promises.  If you get out of bed in the morning and do something to support your family and contribute to the economy then I respect what you do.

The difference with my job is that I think our unique challenges are unknown to the general population.  Even if you are not a nurse working in an emergency room you are aware that they have to work long hours, deal with difficult patients and more difficult doctors.  You don’t have to be a cop to know that they take a chance of being shot.  Not many people know that we exist, much less realize what we sacrifice for our jobs or what we contribute to our country.

I’ll write my ode to the merchant marines another time.  We were talking about Captain Phillips.  The Maersk Alabama was carrying food aid to Africa, among other cargo.  That ship doesn’t come back to the United States.  At least it didn’t back then.  The sailors signed articles and committed themselves to sailing back and forth in that shit hole for up to four months at a time.  There was no shipboard internet back then.  No cell phones.  They feed us well but fresh fruit and vegetables run out quickly.  You can’t go out to a restaurant, we are not allowed to have a cold beer after work and nobody is flying your girlfriend out for a conjugal visit.

On my first ship I was not too far from the Alabama’s location when I received word that my Peepaw had passed away.  I was very close to my grandfather.  I didn’t get to say goodbye.  I didn’t get to hug my dad and tell him I was sorry his dad was gone.  I didn’t get to cry with my grandmother.  I didn’t get to stand up and tell everybody what a good man I thought he was.  I just sat in my room alone for a few minutes and looked at the floor.  Then I went back to work.

We give up a lot.  I ran away to sea because nothing else in life was working for me.  For some people it is in their family – their dad or uncle was a sailor so they became a sailor.  Some are just too weird to fit in anywhere else.  Some come for the money – I have no idea why.  We all have our own reasons but we have some things in common.  We serve our country.  We help the military.  We are often the first to answer the call when other countries are in need.

It is a good life but a lonely one.  People have asked me how accurate the movie was.  I have no idea.  I wasn’t on the ship when it happened.  But I can tell you that it was good to see my industry get some press.  People need to realize we are out here.

Hug a sailor today.  It helps.

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Obamacare

Seriously?  I have to address this?  What a joke.  Here’s the problem with politics in our country.  Yeah we have corrupt and lying politicians, out of control lobbyists, bills being passed with earmarks that have nothing to do with the legislation in question…ok, I’m getting a headache.  The point is that there is plenty wrong.  But I was going to tell you the main problem.

Us.  We are the problem.  Obamacare is a disaster.  It just is.  Sorry.  I know some of you wanted it to work.  Guess what?  It’s not working.  It’s not going to work.  It was never going to work.  It is a bad idea.  Of course conservatives like me are going to jump all over it.  That’s what we do.  Obama could say he was giving everybody free ice cream and we would scream that he was killing diabetics.  What we need are liberals to hold him accountable for his actions.

That will never happen.

We are such party line people.  If the Republicans could hold their people accountable when they are whack jobs or come up with ludicrous proposals (are you listening Marco Rubio and your ridiculous immigration reform?) then something might change.  Republicans don’t much care what liberals think – you aren’t supposed to like us.  But when the people whose votes they depend on point out their buffoonery, change may happen.

The White House doesn’t care that every Republican and their grandmother knows Obamacare is a joke.  We aren’t voting for him or his cronies anyway.  Sometimes, people, you have to admit that your guy is wrong.  That is the only way your guy changes.

Enough of that.

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I’m not worried about an asteroid smashing into the earth.  I don’t understand why people get so worked up over that stuff.

I could eat spaghetti for dinner and ice cream for dessert 13 straight days before growing tired of it.

This football season is a total write off.

If your kids were half as cute as my niece Izzy, you would have some pretty cute kids.

However, I hope for your sake that your kids are significantly better behaved than Izzy.

I’m growing a beard if anybody cares.

I haven’t been in a relationship since 2002.  I’ve probably spent 33% of that time with a broken heart, or at least a sad one.  That seems kind of fucked up to me.  And, yes, I realize it’s nobody’s fault but my own, in case you are reading this and think I am throwing darts, which I’m not.

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4 hours of bridge watch at night and it is freaking cold.

Me – “Christ!  It is some kind of cold on this bridge.”

3^rd Mate – “Yeah and I forgot my hoodie!!”  He is Ukrainian so it is pronounced “hooowwdeee.”

Me – 1 hour later – “I can’t feel my nose.  I swear to Christ I can’t feel my nose.  Why is it this cold on the bridge?”

3^rd Mate – “This is bad word ridiculous!  I’m going out to smoke a cigarette and warm up.” Go out to warm up???

Me – 2 hours later – “Brother, we are going to have to cuddle and share body warmth.  I can’t take anymore.”

3^rd Mate – “You’re joking, right?”

Me – last hour of the watch – “Why is there no temperature control up here?  I can’t believe this is normal.”

3^rd Mate – “Oh.  I can adjust the temperature.”

Me – “?!?!?!?!?!!?!?!  #$$^$#&$@#!%#@$#!!!!!!!”

3^rd Mate – “Ummmmm…..yeah…….sorry.”

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Unless I have acquired some new readers, you all know Rusty the Pirate.  He is a scallywag.  I don’t approve of his actions or his morals but I can’t help by love him like a brother.  It is important to not get me confused with Rusty the Pirate.  I am a nice guy.  I am a momma’s boy.  I revere women, look both ways before crossing the street and wash behind my ears.

Rusty the Pirate…..not so much.

Before he was a pirate feared across the land and the Captain of his own sailing vessel, Rusty was a young deckhand on a merchant vessel.  He didn’t like being told what to do.  He didn’t like the way the world worked.  He didn’t like how women treated him.  He had thoughts about how he would like things to be.

This is a story of those times

 

Rusty the deckhand pushed his swab

He swiped it back and forth

He was enjoying cleaning the deck that day

As the ship was sailing north

 

Then some jerk-off officer wandered out

And gave young Rusty a hard time

He spit right on the fresh clean deck

And to the crow’s nest made Rusty climb

 

The young lad did just what he was told

But he wasn’t happy at all

Thoughts started brewing in his pirate head

And a new life was giving a call

 

“Ye tell me to swab the deck and empty the trash

And cook you fat boys a meal

Well I tell you what I’ll do it for now

But soon there will be a new deal.”

 

“’Cause nobody asked me what I want

So I’ll tell you loud and clear.

I’m gonna climb down this mast and bend you over

Then shove me swab straight up your rear.”

 

“I’m gonna take this ship and all your crew

Then send you walking down the plank

To Davie Jones’ locker yer gonna go

Beware this ain’t no prank.”

 

“I’m Rust the Pirate and here to stay

A deckhand I be no more

I aim to pillage and plunder and rape and steal

They’ll be fearing me from sea to shore.”

 

Rusty kept those thoughts to himself

And went on about his day

The ship made port in the Bahamas

And Rusty went ashore to play

 

He met a beautiful lass in a local whorehouse

And Rusty fell in love

He thought that she was perfect in every way

And thanked the Lord above

 

She told him of all her problems

And of the other men in her life

But Rusty didn’t get no sweet lovin’

And she didn’t want to be his wife.

 

Rusty was the best friend she had ever had

She couldn’t imagine messing things up

Our pirate friend pretended that was great

But started seeking comfort in his cup.

 

“You want to be my dearest friend

And come crying when he slaps your face

Take me hard earned money when you are broke

And then disappear without a trace?”

 

“Well you forgot to ask me what I want

So let me tell you how things will be

I don’t give two fucks about Tom or Brad

I’m leaving you for the sea.”

 

“I got just one use for that big mouth

And your opinion ain’t what I mean

So keep quiet for once for goodness sake

You make me ache from head to spleen.”

 

“I be Rusty the Pirate and love who I please

You can climb in my bed or get down on your knees.

But if whining or crying is what you need

There be the door, leave your keys.”

 

Rusty kept all these thoughts silent

But the pain inside him grew

And he was determined to be an outlaw

Just him and a murderous crew

 

And the day finally came

When Rusty drew out his sword

The Captain went down

Rusty had kept to his word

 

“Ye never asked me what I want

So I’ll tell you with me blade

This be my ship and my new life

Today a legend has been made.”

 

A new flag went up

On Rusty’s ship that fine day

It had a skull and two crossbones

There was nothing left to say

 

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Me?  I’m a lover.  A thoughtful, sensitive guy.  I don’t approve of rusty any more than you do.

You should take time today and appreciate the loved ones you have in your life.  Anybody who plays a part in driving away the loneliness is a special thing and should be revered.  I think we forget that at times.

Godspeed

Russell Yale

I decided to check the news headlines the other day while I was in port in Galveston.  I like to stay on top of current events.  One of the headlines on CNN was a story about a woman who killed her boyfriend by smothering him to death with her breasts.  Turns out they lived in a trailer park.

The three thoughts that crossed my mind – in order – were:

1. Not a bad way to go.

2. This could only happen in a trailer park.

3. Will the jurors have a chance to see the breasts during the trial?  They’re evidence, right?

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Blog music is Goodbye Cruel World by Pink Floyd of The Wall.

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What did I feel when listening to the Presidential Inauguration?

Sadness, mostly.  I felt like the judges from American Idol when the voters choose to get rid of the person who is obviously the most talented and keep the marginally talented cute girl that all the teenagers are crazy about.  The judges look at each other in disbelief and then use their “save” and say, “You got this one wrong America!” and the good person gets to stay on the show.

Except this is real life and I am not a judge and don’t get a “save” so I was just stuck staring at the TV in disbelief wondering how you can get more then 50% of the American voters to ignore fiscal common sense and say to themselves, “Bankruptcy sounds like a neeto idea!!”   The President didn’t even talk about the economy.  How could he?

I wish we could have two Presidents.  Let’s have a fiscal President that nobody has to like.  He just has to know something about money and he can get the economy going in the right direction and we can all have a savings account and job security.  Then we can have a popular President like Obama and he can lead the masses in flushing common sense and the moral values of our country down the toilet, which is apparently what people want.

Then we’re all happy.

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Why do fat people hate skinny people?  Well, let me tell you.

It’s not that I wish anything bad happen to skinny people.  I have skinny friends and I have even been in love with skinny people.  Given the chance I would still like to make sweet love to a skinny lady or two.  The problem is that it is just so unfair that you get to be skinny no matter what your lifestyle or eating habits.

Let me be clear.  I am not talking about people who are nutrition nuts and hit the gym every day.  If you are putting hard work into something you deserve the results you get.  I am talking about most people who are skinny.  You know, the people who couldn’t get fat if they liquefied Big Macs and shot them straight into their veins.

I don’t drink anything with sugar.  Ever.  That means I have zero calorie intake through beverages.  I eat sweets once a week if at all.  I eat few complex carbs such as bread, pasta, rice or potatoes.  I don’t necessarily eat small portions but I load up on salads and vegetables before eating anything else to prevent gorging on higher calorie items.  I am no gym rat but I do exercise a few times a week.

In spite of this I am a fatty.  If I was the last woman on the face of the earth I would not have sex with me due to the disgustingness of hideous fatness.  When I got on this ship I looked in the mirror and grabbed two handfuls of fat on my belly and swore that I was getting rid of it.  I have lost 11 pounds and I can still grab the two handfuls of fat.

Skinny people may watch what they eat because they think they’re supposed to, but they don’t really need to.  If they decide they are hungry and want to run through McDonald’s for some chicken nuggets and a small milkshake, that’s what they do.  They enjoy their snack and when you see them later on and ask about their day they tell you about their snack and how much they enjoyed their milkshake.

You know what I do if I cave in and eat some chicken and have a milkshake?  I eat it in the car and then panic that somebody at home will find out.  Not that they care but guilt comes with being fat.  When I get home I remove all evidence from the car, sneak into the garage and bury the garbage at the bottom of the trashcan and then go inside and brush my teeth before I talk to anybody.

I would feel less guilt ridden walking into the house ripped on cocaine.

Last night I was hungry before going to watch at 7:50pm.  I never eat after 8pm but sometimes I need a little something before watch.  I try to eat something fairly healthy.  Last night the only thing available was leftover spaghetti.

I like spaghetti.  I LOVE leftover spaghetti.  I had not eaten the spaghetti for dinner that night.  I had just eaten a salad and a bowl of the meat sauce.  The cook had mixed the sauce and the pasta all together and left it out for night lunch.  That, of course, is the best way to eat it.  All mixed up.

I gave in.  I was good.  I didn’t eat the whole giant plate.  I ate one scoop in a little bowl.

And then I felt awful the entire night.  I hated myself.  I thought of nothing during watch except how fat that spaghetti was going to make me.  I didn’t enjoy the stars, I didn’t think about pretty ladies….nothing.  I was just mad, sad and disappointed with myself.

That’s why we fat people hate skinny people.  You don’t know what it’s like to have 4 hours of self-loathing over 7 bites of spaghetti.

Jerks.

You also know nothing about the horrors of shopping for clothes.  Clothes are designed for skinny people.  Fat people’s clothes are just larger versions of the same clothes.  Well guess what?  Fat comes in all sorts of different shapes and we don’t fit in that stuff.  Clothes never fit right!!!

I paid $250 for my last pair of jeans.  That’s a pile of money.  I didn’t pay that much because I had to have that brand of jeans.  I don’t think anybody I hang out with would recognize the brand name if I told them.  I bought those jeans because after trying on twenty pairs, they fit the best.  When I looked at the price tag I almost passed out because I didn’t know jeans could cost that much but I paid it anyway.  I just couldn’t try on any more jeans.

My cousin April is a smoking hot pretty lady.  She is skinny.  I am sure she likes nice jeans.  Put her in designer jeans and you would have a magazine cover.  But you know what?  Drag a pair of jeans out of the dumpster behind Walmart that are either two sizes too small or two sizes too large for her and she would look awesome in them.  She would look so hot that you wouldn’t even notice the stench of rotten garbage from the dumpster.

It just really pisses me off!!

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I’m outta here for awhile.  For several years I have slowly been piecing together a book.  I don’t know that I am any closer to finishing it today than I was one year ago.  It really upsets me.  It is hard to write a book.  If you don’t believe me, try it and find out for yourself.

I have limited free time on the ship and I spend a lot of it reading and some of writing these blogs.  That leaves nothing for my book.  I am going to try and spend at least 90 minutes a day working on my book and see if I can make some progress.

If something exciting happens I will write a quick blog and let you all know what is up.  However, there are not too many exciting stories from this ship.  The fact is we just run between Tampa and Galveston and that doesn’t allow for many adventures.

If you want to drop me an email on occasion I promise I always respond.  Personal correspondence is always fun.

See you when I see you.

Russell Yale

It was not originally my intention to steal the title of my blog from Jimmy Buffett.  As crazy as it sounds, I was standing watch and the title popped into my head and I thought it was original.  It wasn’t until I was ready to write this blog that I remembered the Buffett song.  I decided to keep it as a play on his song.  And although Buffett was not going to be blog music I will give him his due and make his song, “A Pirate Looks at Forty,” the song for the first section of this blog.

As a matter of fact it has inspired me to have a different song for each section of this blog.  On top of that, I will get fancy and insert links that you can click on and hear each of the songs.  Open them in a separate window and listen while you read.  It will make the blog more fun.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=df1E4NJu7ng

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First, I promised my friend Brook a public apology.  He responded to my plea for contact information quickly and humorously.  He took exception to being lumped in with the non-responders I blasted in my last blog.  Brook, let me take this opportunity to…..

Wait a minute.  Last July I lost my phone and he didn’t give me his info then.  And isn’t this the same Brook that failed to lead a helicopter raid into Maracaibo and rescue me from Hugo Chavez?

Apology?  I got your apology right here, Brook “The Cat.” (You remember that?)

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I was born on January 15, 1973.  I never gave much thought to any particular age.  What are the big ones?  Well, in Louisiana you could drink at 18.  However, I started drinking a little earlier than that and had already graduated from my first rehab just before my 18^th birthday.  I was actually driving a U-Haul truck to Chattanooga where my family was moving on the day I turned 18.

21 is big I suppose.  My 21^st birthday was spent alone in my parent’s basement drinking a six-pack of St. Pauli Girl.  The only notable thing about this birthday was that it ended 3 years and 2 months of sobriety.  That may still be a record.  I don’t really know.  It is one of only two times in my life I have counted days.

Is 25 an important birthday?  Your car insurance rates are supposed to go down.  Mine didn’t, mostly because I didn’t have a car.  I had lost it because I pawned the title to pay for dope.  The twenties were bad for me.

30?  I have no idea where I was when I turned 30 or what I was doing.  I can’t for the life of me remember.  I think I used to know.  This is really going to bother me.

Oh well.  The point is that age and birthdays have just not meant that much to me.  I have been in rehab on birthdays, dumped just before birthdays, arrested on birthdays…you name it.  I just don’t give them much thought.  That is why it shocked me when I was in the shower at noon on January 14, 2013, some 39 years 365 days (last year was a leap year) after being born, and the crushing realization of turning forty hit me.

One second I was scrubbing my body with my poofy sponge.  The next I was crying.

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The next blog song is No Reason to Cry by Tom Petty.  How many great songs has this guy written?

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=80MUFBP8Y94

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I have written before about crying over stupid movies, crying when I eat good chicken wings and crying because people don’t email me enough but the truth is I don’t cry.  I do get choked up at some movies, and some songs but that just makes me human.  I don’t, however, sit around and cry.  I’m not a girl.

But I broke down in the shower.  Out of nowhere.  And you know what?  It’s not an age thing.  I don’t even feel 40.  I have lots of friends who say, “I don’t feel 40!”  Guess what?  You’re 40.  You have kids, mortgages, relationships, PTA meetings, real jobs and all that crap.  That is what people over 40 have.

I have nothing.  I float around the world getting into trouble because I have no reason to be responsible.  I don’t have kids, a wife or even a hamster.  Sometimes I have a small pile of money in the bank and spend it like I’m rich and then I go back to work when I’m broke.  I don’t have any idea what a gallon of milk cost, although I would guess it is between $2 and $5.  I can think of at least 15 Winnie the Pooh items in my bedroom right off the top of my head.  Hell, my room is painted Pooh Bear yellow.

I talk to my momma every day that I am not at sea.  If momma would let me get tattoos, I would have “momma’s boy” tattooed on me.  That and I would have Pooh Bear wearing pirate clothes tattooed on my bulging bicep.  But momma doesn’t let me have tattoos.

Before you make fun of me because I still have to follow momma’s rules, let me tell you that I am a big boy and can do whatever I want.  The only rules I have are no tattoos and I have to be home before midnight.  Momma says nothing good happens after midnight.

Other than that I can do whatever I want.  Leave me alone.

So, I don’t feel old.  What hit me that moment in the shower was what I had just wasted.  If you aren’t one of those people who are just skinny no matter what (and if you are, know that I hate you) you have probably been on a diet before.  If you have been on a diet you will know what I mean when you cheat and then tell yourself you will just start over tomorrow, or Monday and it will all be fine.

That is what I have done with my life.  I kept advancing my start-over point.  Now I’m 40.

40 years down the toilet.  In 40 years I have never had a successful, functional relationship.  I have never had an extended period of financial stability.  I have made so many mistakes in my life, some that I may never be able to accept.  At 40 I am where I should have been at 20.  I am a heartbroken, lonely sailor just trying to figure out where he belongs in this world.

It is true that I have made strides the last 5 years of my life.  I am not trying to deny the things I should be grateful for.  I am just saying that at that moment in time in the shower I was overwhelmed by the totality of the failures of in my life.

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Ready for some new blog music?  Let’s go with Cocaine by Eric Clapton.  We’re going to talk about drugs for a bit.  Don’t worry – this blog isn’t go to be a long pouty poor me blog.  We’ll touch on drugs, mention women and then look forward.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dRCkWsoJzZo

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I’m not going to tell a bunch of war stories here, but I can’t think about my twenties and early thirties without thinking about drugs.  They are what defined me.  I spent all my money on them.  I did things I can’t forgive myself for because of them.  I am convinced I have done damage to my brain.  You know how smart I am but I truly believe I have lost about 10% of my brain power.  If it wasn’t for drugs I would have invented a floating car by now.  Plus, my hair wouldn’t be falling out.

Of all the stuff I have put in my body it is cocaine that really got a hold of me.  For one simple reason – I liked it.  I liked it a lot.

I’m not in the mood to write funny stories and sad stories about drug use.  I’ll write about those some other time.  I will touch on addiction for a second.  Addiction is a truly horrible thing.  Let me tell you a rehab story.

I was in a hospital in Huntsville, AL.  Some of the stuff in rehab is stupid, some is ok and some of the stuff you do has some merit.  I am not sure where the meeting I am about to describe to you falls, you can judge for yourself.  A group of about 10 of us were in a meeting and the idea was to share something that you were deeply ashamed of.  Because you were surrounded by other addicts who would presumably understand how you could do such a thing, this was a golden opportunity to get it off your chest, have people tell you it was ok and move on with your life.

Well, some things are harder to move on from than others.

A young lady, whose drug-of-choice was crack, told a story on how she stole Christmas from her children.  Basically, all the Christmas presents for her two children had already been purchased and it was just a day or two before Christmas.  She went on a crack binge and spent all her money.  Out of desperation she returned all the presents.  What makes this story disturbing is the explanation she gave her children for the lack of presents.  She told them that they were bad and Santa crossed them off the list of good boys and girls.  Therefore, no presents for them.

Take a minute to digest that, especially those of you that have children.  The easy initial reaction to have is disgust at the woman.  I concur.  Anybody would.  She was disgusted with herself.  What she did was unforgivable.  I have told that story more than a few times and have never heard much sympathy for the woman.  I would like to submit that if you understood a little about addiction, while you might and should still think that the woman committed a horrible deed, you might see that it was not because she is an evil person but she was a person with an addiction problem.

When I met the lady she was clean from drugs.  She was cute, charming and funny.  When she told the story she couldn’t hardly get through it.  She was suicidal at times because she couldn’t forgive herself for what she had done.  And you know what the worst thing was?  When asked why she did it, she couldn’t answer.

Addiction makes you do things and leaves you without answers.  You are responsible for your actions.  Bottom line – you did it, you own it.  However, I would not have done the things I did and she would not have done what she did had we been clean.  The easy solution to that is not to use, right?  Well, of course.  And that is what makes addiction so evil.  You can’t just stop, even when you want to.

The most popular theory is that addiction is a disease.  It is just something that people like me have and if we choose (and it is a choice) to give in and use then the disease will make us powerless to stop.  Some people will say it is all just a matter of willpower.  I don’t know.  I really don’t much care.  I do know that it’s real.

The only reason I am mentioning addiction is that is has ruled about a third of my life.  If I look back at that time of my life I have to quickly look away as if I just seen a horrible car wreck.  Thoughts of what I did will pop in my head when I am staring at the ocean and I will have to make sure that nobody is watching me because I will have tears of rage leak from my eyes.

Don’t get me wrong.  It is not all bad horrible stuff that I did.  I did a couple of bad things in my life and I have done why I can to atone for them.  It is the thoughts of the way I acted, the dishonesty, the lack of self-confidence, the way I let people take advantage of me and the lost opportunities that haunt me.  And while I have some issues that I deal with, most of it was because of drugs.

I heard somebody say in an NA meeting once that addiction is the hardest job in the world.  I kind of liked that.  You have no idea how hard it is to live like that.  Nobody would voluntarily live like that.  It is a fulltime job.  And the strength it takes to break out of it is something that a lot of people don’t possess.

So when I was in the shower the day before my birthday and thought about how I had given 13 years away and how those decisions still affected where I am today, well, it hurt.

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The fourth blog song of the day will be Little Black Submarines by The Black Keys.  Let’s chat about women for a minute.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1wklgehHnDE

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I didn’t date until my senior year in high school when I became not the first – nor the last – guy to fall in love with the first woman I went out with.  I was young, naïve and stupid.  Add whatever adjectives you want.  I was blind to what was going on with her the summer leading up to college and ended up asking her to marry me the next year after having been cheated on more times than I can remember.

Not to say I was a prince.  I was fresh out of rehab and I was a young judgmental guy who had just been given all the answers and was ready to tell her how she should live her life.  I was really a pain in the ass in some ways.  But I was also very loving, loyal to a fault, doting and stupid enough to believe we would be together forever.

I believed it until she disappeared at Christmas and just didn’t come back.  How do you do that to somebody?  You spend two years cheating on me and then when you decide to leave me you can’t even tell me to my face?  I still don’t understand.

I don’t think about her much.  I don’t have any hard feelings.  It has been too long.  But when I do think about her, say at a time like this when I am purposely writing about it, I still don’t get it.  I might have deserved to get dumped, but I don’t think anybody deserves how it happened to me.

There were three women of consequence in my life during the time I lived in Chattanooga after that gal dumped me.  Two of them were never more than friends but we were as close as a man and woman can be without being a couple.  Not to say that there wasn’t attraction on both sides, but my life was a mess and I think they were too smart to get involved in that.  I know it made at least one of them sad that the opportunity was lost because of how dysfunctional I was.  I loved both of them very much.  Again, I don’t think about them much but when I do it makes me sad that I lost the possibility of something good because I was screwed up.

The third gal chose drugs over me.  I cleaned up for a year.  She decided to start using again.  We actually talked it out and remained friends.  It tore me up.  I really liked her.  She really liked me.  She loved cocaine.  What are you gonna do?

I moved back to Florida, took an ill-fated job and started messing around with a lady at work.  Somehow we ended up getting married.  I was talking to my momma the other day about this.  I have no idea why I got married.  I am a loving guy.  I love people more than they want me to love them.  My wife?  I don’t really remember being all that much in love.  Maybe because we were so drunk all the time.  I don’t know.  I am not saying anything bad about her.  I just don’t know why we got married, or how we made it for 18 months.  And to be totally honest I was 100% messed up at that point in my life.

I have had one “relationship”, and I hate to use that word, since I started sailing.  She lied to me, defrauded me and stole from me.  I acted like a pathetic spineless asshole.  It was a hard lesson to learn.  I hope she’s doing well.  That’s all I have to say about that.

To recap, I have never had a successful relationship in my life.  My choices of women have been poor, to say the least.  The women I have dated that I didn’t mention above left me with less than glowing opinions of the opposite sex.  And the good ones, and there are some really good ones, that I have liked have not liked me in the same way.

That was the second thing that kind of hit me pretty hard in the shower that day – failed or lack of relationships.  Usually, thinking about women in the shower is more pleasurable.

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Final song of the blog is Rewrite by Paul Simon.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3UygiBWXTO0

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Well, that’s one side of 40.  40 years defined by addiction, poor decisions and bad relationships.  I had a nice childhood, but take that out of the equation and you have a wasted 40 years.  It hurts.  It hurts a lot.

I get mad at God sometimes.  I get mad at Life at a lot.  Life has smacked me around.  Life has bloodied my nose and beat me up pretty good.  If my first 40 years was a twelve round fight between me and Life, I am pretty sure that the judge’s scorecards show Life winning every round.  The fight should be over.

I have been knocked to the matt more than once.  There have been a few standing 8 counts.  As much as my family and friends love me, there has probably been a time when the people in my corner were ready to throw in the towel.  I have failed in every way it is possible to fail.  To put it simply, life has kicked my ass.

I started over about five years ago.  You know what starting over means?  That doesn’t mean you have a clean slate and start everything from ground zero.  Starting over means you are at the bottom of a pit and are given the opportunity to claw your way out.  Well, I did.  With Life kicking me in the face at times and shoveling dirt on me at others, I made my way out.  I built a solid foundation.  I am on solid ground and ready to go.

You know where you fucked up, Life?  You taught me I could take a punch.  You taught me I was strong.  You taught me I can fight back.  And guess what?  It’s not just one 12 round fight.  I have at least 12 more rounds in me, and I’m ready to go.

I may not have much, but I have parents who love me more than anything in the world.  Maybe I was knocked down on the matt but their love gives me strength to start to pull myself up.  I have a sister who understands me.  I have my Auntie who supports me no matter what and is always there for me.  I have cousins who love me.  I may not be a dad, but I’m a pretty good Uncle.

I don’t have a wife but I am blessed to have the most amazing women in my life.  When I need the strength to stand up I remember my friend Michelle who for some reason thinks I am a really special guy.  Or my friend Scottie who may be the most compassionate person I have ever met.  I think about my friend Jennifer who can write a one sentence email that makes me laugh three different times and it changes my mood from sad to happy just by seeing her name in my inbox.

God has blessed me with all of those people who have given me the strength to stand up again.  I am shaking off the past.  I’m ready for you, Life.  You won the first fight, that’s true.  But it’s time for a rematch and I know all your tricks.  This time is mine.  Of that, I have no doubt.

Live on pay-per-view, Life vs. Russell Yale.  $99.95.  Call your satellite or cable provider.  No holds barred cage match.   And I’m gonna kick some ass.

When I am stooped over in the shower at 80 I will break down and cry once again.  It will be tears of joy at the amazing 40 years I have just lived.  You can’t stop that from happening, Life.  You have already thrown your best punches and I have proved myself too strong for you.

“I’m working on the rewrite, that’s right.  Gonna change the ending.  Gonna throw away the title, and toss it in the trash.”

I’m changing the story.  Get ready for something exciting.  I’ve got my gloves on and I’m ready to fight.  Somebody ring the bell.  Life and I have twelve rounds to go.

I’m working on the rewrite.

Let’s get ready to rumble.

Russell Yale

Rusty the Pirate sailed the Caribbean Sea

Looking to rape and pillage and do as he pleased

Then he spotted an Island that was not on his chart

And he sailed quickly to it straight as a dart

 

Rusty ran his ship right up onto the sand

His crew waving their swords as they stormed the land

But Rusty was defeated before he even began

And not by an army, a soldier or a man

 

Sitting on the beach reading a leather-bound book

Was a beautiful lady who Rusty fell for with one look

She had curly hair and a figure long and lean

Her eyes where quite humorous not at all mean

 

Rusty thought this gal is no ordinary lass

I can’t just walk up to her and slap that nice ass

He dropped his sword and sent the crew far away

For the first time ever he didn’t know what to say

 

The Pirate went away to wash and was feeling real weird

He put a new feather in his hat and even braided his beard

With his boots freshly shined and his breath smelling of mint

He strolled by the lady and started dropping hints

 

Rusty winked and he flexed and he looked her up and down

He did everything to catch her eye but he looked quite the clown

Finally she put down her book and laughed a laughed that was sweet

She said, “Is this your odd way of saying you’d like to meet?”

 

Rusty blushed and said, “Hi” then offered to shake hands

This pretty little lady made him more boy than a man

The gal starting talking like they had been friends all their life

And the next thing you know they had hung out all night

 

The next day Rusty came back and spent the day with his friend

The built sand castles and laughed until the day had to end

Rusty had never known that a lady could make him feel this way

He vowed to himself to change and be with her every single day

 

The Pirate dug through his treasure and found the biggest diamond he had

He offered it to the lady but got an answer that made him sad

She said, “Rusty, we have fun and are friends – all of that’s true

But I have to be honest, I just don’t love you.”

 

“You’re a pirate, you break the law and you drive a stolen ship

I think you are nice, you make me laugh and you are kind of hip

I’m afraid, however, you just aren’t the marrying kind

I want to believe you would change but I’m just not that blind.”

 

Rusty’s heart broke right there on the beach but he took it like a man.

He gave his lady a hug then trudged off across the sand.

He looked back one time but the lady was reading her book

He stared for a minute but she didn’t give him one final look

 

He boarded his ship and shouted at his crew to set sail

“Go east, west or north or we can sail straight for hell.”

Rusty stood at the wheel and watched the sun disappear.

He said goodbye to his love but she didn’t hear.

 

Rusty gave up the helm and went off to his room

Laid down on the bed, opened the window and stared at the moon

He cursed and asked God, “What the bad word’s wrong with me?”

But God didn’t answer all he heard was the sea.

 

Then for the first and last time Rusty sat there and cried

And he swore not to love again from now until he died

I’ll just sail the world raising hell in my pirate boat

With ten barrels of rum and good Peruvian coke

 

He opened his door and shouted out at his crew

Told them to sharpen their swords and gave other orders to do

Tomorrow we pillage and we rape and we steal and we rob

We be pirates, by God!  That’s our mother bad word job!

 

Rusty climbed back in bed feeling like his old self

He drank a few shots from a bottle on the shelf

He thought of his adventures and all the treasure he took

But his very last thought was of the lady with the book

 

Our favorite pirate terrorized the world for many more years

The ladies all loved him everybody else they felt fear

And although Rusty often would laugh and make jokes

He was never the same after the day his heart broke

Russell Yale

 

‘Twas the night before Christmas

And on the bridge of my ship

There was not a thing on the radar

Not one single blip

 

The Captain and crew

Were all snug in their beds

With visions of cold beer

Dancing in their heads

 

I gazed out the window

To watch shooting stars

I looked back and forth

I looked near and far

 

Then what to my wondrous

Eyes did appear?

But Hugo Chavez on a slay

Pulled by eight nationalized reindeer

 

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(You know, when old Chavez wants something, say oil rigs belonging to American petroleum companies, he just nationalizes them.  Santa made the mistake of delivering presents to the fine people of Venezuela.  That is how the reindeer got nationalized.  Try to keep up.)

 

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I cursed and I spat

Then turned my rudder hard right

Chavez boarding my ship

Had filled me with fright

 

I maneuvered with all

My considerable skill

But it all mattered naught

Hugo came for the kill

 

I prepared to sound the alarm

And abandon the boat

When I saw something coming

That filled me with hope

 

It wasn’t Superman or Batman

Much better than that

It was Rusty the Pirate

Wearing his big feathered hat

 

Rusty soared in on a ship

Made of gold and moon beams

His Parrot named Buster

Shouted out a war scream

 

Rusty kicked Hugo hard

With his one wooden pegged leg

Then cracked open his skull

Like a rotten old egg

 

He picked up Hugo and

Tossed him into the sea

Then went to the reindeers

And set them all free

 

Rusty saved Christmas

But he still wasn’t done

He had brought lots of presents

It was like a lottery was won

 

Belgian beer, Jamaican weed

And Colombian whores

Enough for the whole crew

And still there was more

 

He saw I was sad

There was no present for me

He handed me a box

And I shouted, “Wheee!!”

 

A SpongeBob Christmas special

On BluRay DVD

With special features and a bonus disc

And all just for me!

 

I thanked my pal Rusty

And said my goodbyes

Rusty grabbed a lady

And some weed to get high

 

He said, “Anytime that you need me

Just give me a call

I’ll be here in a jiff

And we’ll have us a ball.”

 

He was off in a flash

His ship golden and bright

He shouted, “Merry Christmas me hearties

Ye have a super-groovy night.”

 

Merry Christmas to all the fine folks who waste their precious time reading this stupid blog.

God Bless you and you and your families.

Russell Yale

 

Since the ship I currently work on always stays in the Gulf of Mexico, we have Direct TV in our rooms.  This is nice as I am able to watch all my sporting events.  Scratch that.  I gave up overtime money to watch the Bucs get beat 41-0.  Having TV sucks.

Still, when in my room I find that I have the TV on more often than not, even when I am not watching it.  I am an avid reader so I spend most of my free time doing just that.  Well, except when I am writing these blogs which depressingly few people read.  Thanks to those three or four of you for tuning in.  Apart from sports there is no particular programming that I care for.  There are a few shows that I like but I stand watch during primetime programming so ninety percent of the time my TV is just left on ESPN, sometimes ESPN 2 because you have to have variety in your life.

The exception to this is when I get off watch at ten minutes till midnight.

TBS shows reruns of The Office at midnight.  I will turn that on while I read a few chapters.  I enjoy the show and I am a big fan of the Jim and Pam love story.  I so much want to be loved like Pam loves Jim.  But we aren’t going there tonight.

Here’s the problem:  I have brushed my teeth and sat down on my bed by 11:55.  That leaves 5 minutes till my show.  Unless there is a good band at the end of Conan, I don’t want t to watch the end of his show.  Lately, I have found myself flipping through channels for five minutes which is not something I regularly do.

My dad is a channel flipper.   I can’t tell you how many times we have missed the end of shows because he flips over to something different and then gets interested in the new show.  Not me.  I just read during commercials.  Now, if there are two really good football games on I may switch to the other one on occasion, but that is about the only exception.

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Blog Music is Californication by the Red Hot Chili Peppers.  Name 5 bands that are have been more consistently excellent than RHCP over the last 25 years.  You can’t.

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I hate to admit this, but I have spent more and more of my channel surfing lately on Cinemax soft-core porn.  It started over a title that made me laugh.  I think it was “Bikini Babes from Outer Space.”  I just had to check it out for a minute.  I was so entertained!  My five minutes of soft-core porn has become one of the highlights of my day, and not for the reason you think.

These movies are so ridiculously bad.  And they are even worse when you just jump in for a few minutes without knowing what is going on with what little plot they do have.  I am sure that you are watching at least five minutes a day of these fine movies, but on the off chance you are not, please allow me to share some of my favorite highlights and some questions that arise when I watch for five minutes.

I turn on the movie and a man in a Tuxedo is in the shower with a naked lady and soaping up her breasts.  She is really getting into it and for about 3 of my 5 minutes she is moaning and sensually moving her body all around.  Then she opens her eye and exclaims, “Who the hell are you?!?!?!”  Who was she expecting?  And why was the guy wearing a tuxedo?

A lady is a giving another lady a massage.  The lady being massaged is naked.  They both really seem to be enjoying the experience.  Then the camera flashes to a guy doing curls.  You know, working on his biceps.  He is watching this massage as he works out.   The masseuse keeps giving the guy these sexy looks.  One thing leads to another and we basically have full-on lesbian sex on the on a massage table that is apparently in the middle of a gym.  The dude, whose arms never get tired because he is still doing his curls, is just watching the entire time.  I know this because the camera moves to him for like 30 seconds at a time.  Finally, the lady who was being massaged looks over and notices the guy and is shocked!  I don’t get it.  Why did she disrobe to be massaged right in the middle of the gym if she didn’t want people watching?  Is this normal behavior at this gym?  Do they charge extra for it?  And why does the director of the movie think that anybody wants to watch this jackass do curls for 30 seconds?  If you are watching soft-core porn, aren’t you watching it for the sex part?

Why is it that beautiful women will star in porn but the guys are almost always weird looking?

A naked woman in a pool is trying to coerce a naked man to join her.  There is a crashing sound in the house.  The man looks behind him and says, “What was that?!?!”  The woman grabs the man by his penis and jerks him into the pool.  I don’t know what all was going here, but that’s just mean.

I think this is my favorite.  I enjoyed it so much I had to watch another 5 or 10 minutes.  There was a pretty lady who was a witch.  I only know that because the title was something like, “Sex Witch.”  The thing is, her being a witch never tied into the sex parts.  She had just moved into a new house and would use her powers to do things like decorate her house without actually having to work at it.  Then the movie would cut to another scene of two people who weren’t involved in the movie and they would just start having sex.

Can somebody please tell me why they don’t just put together an hour of sex scenes?  These movies make absolutely no sense to me.  But they do give me 5 minutes of humor in my day before I wind down with my book and The Office

If you want to try and film a soft-core porn movie with me, let me know.  We can probably come up with a better plot than these other stupid movies.

Truth be told, I am already filming the movie with you in my head 🙂

Russell Yale