Broken, Breaking News

Broken, Breaking News

I can’t watch tv news anymore. The competing networks are just too over the top. Deciphering the truth eventually leads me to believe nothing is the truth. There is probably a fancy word for that, but for now, let’s just call it bullshit.

The bullshit is basically that everyone either has or will get the virus. The whole world is protesting (Trump supporters don’t wear masks because they are immune from their last vote) looting and burning. Cops are killing people at random, and being black, white, or gay is worse than being a woman.

But I think I have found a bright light at the end of the tunnel. I saw an ad last night for a lawyer looking for people who have been abused by priests. This tells me at least one person in the CNN ad department thought it was a good idea to take this lawyer’s money so he can help those poor people and put a bad guy in jail.

 

Peace, chris

“Roma” Nah, Romer Shoals

“Roma” Nah, Romer Shoals

I remember fishing with my dad out beyond the tip of Sandy Hook near Romer Shoals. There is a lighthouse that helps captains navigate the waters into New York Harbor. It was also a great fishing spot, and I would imagine it still is. (The lighthouse story is a good one, the tale could be a book or movie. Google it for some fun reading.)

The trip began from Pauls Boats in Rumson. We could make the trip out, fish, and get back after work and before dark in the summer. I remember bouncing around in our boat as we passed over the shoals several times with our lines in the water. Trying to maintain your footing in a heaving boat with a fish on the line was always an extra challenge. Mom would make Chicken Kiev and wrap it in tin foil to maintain the heat. (Who the hell eats Chicken Kiev fishing on a boat, near capsizing, on a shoal outside NY Harbor? My mom was an excellent cook, and Dad liked to eat). I recall watching him biting the Kiev balls right out of the tin foil wrapper, butter running down his face and onto his shirt, the other hand steering the boat.

My dad’s absolute fascination with the water came from his relationship with his father. The latter was a global captain he hardly knew. Bad relationships and distance kept them apart. For me, it was just a bad relationship. And I only had a mild interest in boats, they require effort well beyond any I am willing to expend.

As the sun started to lower to the west, we turned for home. I always liked looking at Highlands as we made our way under the bridge heading South. Then the right turn up the Navesink. This meant home.

 

Peace, chris

Wear Your Gun Outside Your Pants

Technology companies are going to drive the gun nuts, nuts. It seems there is a push to develop an app to determine if someone has been exposed to the C virus. I am all for, and all four, for finding this thing and eradicating it from the planet, but how we do it has to be considered too. It’s not as easy as emailing it back to China or hiding it in the hair of the new white house press secretary. She’s so pretty, but why wear a painted leather football helmet from the ’20s to work?
Staten Island may provide an answer. The floating graveyard that some people call home could be the Alcatraz of the Quarantine Islands. Just move everyone in the tri-state area who are C+ or positive 😉 there until they test free of it. The advantages are that they will still be close to home, residents will feel like they’re on an island vacation and….wait for it. The rest of us won’t have to wear masks. In fact, SICV residents won’t either, which will allow everyone to wear their gun outside their pants. This is probably as good as being a character barricaded inside of a Suzanne Vega song, for life. You gotta start somewhere.
Peace, chris