don't drink and dink

Be forewarned, this is a serious post. "Don't drink and dink" sounds cute and tongue-in-cheek, I know, but drinking and boating is something people just don't take seriously enough. Please read on. I'm not going to judge you for drinking ten Painkillers and being ridiculous or silly, I promise. I just want us all to get home safely and be able to enjoy the water (and roads) without getting hurt.

When I discuss potential marinas in Annapolis folks always suggest a couple that are lovely, but a drive away from everywhere I want to go out. I explain I don't want to drink and drive, and I also don't want to cab it. I would rather just live in walking distance of my watering holes. The standard response is that I can just dinghy back across the creek so I won't have to drive. Really? Somehow I think that driving a dinghy home drunk at 2AM involves as many if not more perils as driving a car home drunk. Yes, one is less likely to get caught... but my concern is not just that spending a night in jail rather sucks, but I also want to arrive home safely, without hurting myself or anyone else.

So, what inspired this post? Maryland legislator Don Dwyer can't learn the simple lesson not to operate motorized vehicles when inebriated. After a drunken boating collision a year ago on the Magothy River, he just got arrested for DUI and over a dozen other charges after driving home drunk from Baltimore. Read the Capital Gazette article here and Washington Post article here. Naturally, Dwyer blames his drinking on marital problems (hey, idiot--it's the other way around, I promise you).

Apparently--and this actually turns my stomach--prosecutors in the drunken boating case have reached a plea deal that involves no further jail time. Seriously? Seven people were injured in that boating accident. Dwyer himself had to be hospitalized. This is NOT a situation where he had a couple hefty glasses of wine with dinner and then blew .08. His BAC was three times the legal limit. Read the Washington Post article on that incident here. Both boat operators were charged in that collision and apparently both failed to follow rules-of-the-road, but only Dwyer was charged with alcohol-related offenses as well. This guy shouldn't be operating motor vehicles on or off the water, period. When prosecutors just give a slap on the wrist they are endangering my life. It terrifies me that I am sharing the Bay with an idiot like this, not to mention the countless others who are only emboldened by the laughable "punishment" being doled out.

At my marina, at least two, (probably more), boats come back to their slips with virtually every person aboard trashed. Always loud and obnoxious, with volumes of beer cans in the recycling that actually shock me (and, trust me, that takes a lot). But sometimes staggering and slurring right when they step ashore. Who exactly was at the helm? And, no, these are not just power boaters. It scares me that I'm out on the water with these people.

I admit I have come back to the boat, both on foot and on another's dink, with little recollection of getting back aboard. I'm not proud of it, but it does happen to most of us now and again. And I am not judging folks who party to the maximum, and I'll just brush it off if others want to judge me. But we can and should judge behavior that objectively puts others' lives at risk.

Unfortunately, there is such a taboo around DUIs that virtually everyone denies that they ever drive when they shouldn't. I think that is usually just lying to ourselves, but it is also partly that people simply do not understand BAC (blood alcohol concentration) or how many "drinks" for BAC purposes are really in every "drink" you have. It isn't the most beautiful or easy-to-read BAC chart, and uses too many European measurements, but the one from Wikipedia doesn't have any axe to grind, as do most sites posting BAC information. (I am absolutely not a fan of MADD or other temperance movements.) This chart is much easier to work with, but comes with the message that any alcohol in your system makes you unsafe to drive.

For their own safety, everyone should know their BAC table. As a woman, I can have two drinks the first hour and one drink an hour thereafter and (theoretically) be just under .08. (And I really don't think you want to be anywhere near .08 and get pulled over lest you plan to spend the night in jail.) If I'm flabby, my BAC will be higher; if I'm muscular, it will be lower. Yes, the fat guys we would think could handle their liquor actually get drunk faster than the lean, muscular, fit guys. I rarely drink liquor when out if I'm going to be driving because no bar in Annapolis pours a drink with 1.25 ounces of liquor. Think two or three times that. Not many wine pours are only 5 ounces, and the volume is very difficult to judge because of the diverse wine glasses used in different restaurants. And a pint of beer is not one drink. A 12 ounce beer is one drink, so a pint is 1.33 drinks. I actually count my drinks very, very carefully if I am in a position where I will be driving.

When I took friends out for a cruise Saturday before last I did drink. It isn't illegal to drink while underway and I don't think it's irresponsible per se. But how much did I drink? Six drinks spread out over eight + hours, and with plenty to eat. Food does not prevent alcohol from reaching the bloodstream, but the right food (fat and protein) does slow it down. My BAC was probably about .04. Some people will take the view that anything over 0 is too much. I understand their reasoning, but I think that is extreme. But I do take my responsibility at the helm seriously. The safety of my friends and crew (including my pets) depends on it. It's good seamanship. I want to have fun on the water and hope everyone can, but, yeah, it's better not to drink and dink.

schmear

Not too long ago I met up with my friend Mike for brunch at Boatyard. (Be forewarned: their website has very annoying music that plays automatically; add that to the pet peeve list.) I had not had that particular bartender before but he executed my favorite Stoli O Mimosa perfectly (think four parts Stoli O, two parts champagne, and one part pulp-free orange juice). Mike had a Bloody Mary. Life was good.

I usually struggle with whether to have breakfast or lunch when out for brunch because breakfast usually leaves me hungry an hour later. But I think that morning it was early enough that lunch was not an option and I sort of felt like having an omelet; I went with a delicious combination of smoked turkey, avocado, and feta. The omelets come with breakfast potatoes and toast, but one can upgrade to a bagel. I checked with the bartender that they had everything bagels. And then came the all-important conversation...about schmear. This whole thing kind of cracks Mike up, though I think he has become a true believer.

The bottom line is this: I'm paying the restaurant to schmear the bagel for me. Period. I can go to the grocery store and buy a bagel and cream cheese; I'm paying for the service of the restaurant toasting and schmearing it. Why some restaurants and coffee shops fail to understand this, I simply cannot comprehend. The bagel needs to be schmeared in the kitchen, while it is hot, with ample cream cheese. (It's the same with buttering toast. Cold, dry toast with a couple of frozen butter pats; yeah, thanks for nothing.) The places that force me to schmear my own bagel are also chintzy...they never, ever give you enough cream cheese for even half the bagel. Bagel schmearing fails include virtually any cafe chain (like StarFucks, Au Bon Pain, etc), Main Ingredient (a surprising disappointment since otherwise good food), cafes at airports, and other places I have blocked from memory due to the mental trauma of the whole thing. Places that schmear like they mean it: Naval Bagels, Bagels and..., and virtually any place in New York or Boston.

So, back at Boatyard... I had this come-to-Jesus talk about the importance of pre-schmearing the bagel and the bartender assured me they do. My bagel came out schmeared with ample cream cheese, I think I managed to avoid walking around all day with poppy seeds in my grill, and life was good.

The next morning Mike, his mom and aunt, our friend Dave, and I met up for brunch and found ourselves back at Boatyard. Sunday mornings are extra-busy there and no seats were available at the bar. When I arrived I found the group at a table. I ordered my favorite Stoli O Mimosa but what arrived seemed to be nothing but an extra-pulpy glass of orange juice; yuck! It didn't seem like a bottle of vodka or champagne had even been near that drink. I've spent a good amount of time in hospitality so I am loathe to send something back, but that mimosa was an abomination. Rather than risk another failed mimosa I opted for a Fordham Helles (a/k/a Boatyard Lager).  I decided on a repeat performance of the prior day's breakfast, ordering my omelet with smoked turkey, avocado, and feta, and upgrading to an everything bagel with cream cheese. Unfortunately, what I got was this:

Yeah, as you may have noticed, there was no schmear. A couple sad butter pats and jellies accompanied the bagel. Let's just say I was apoplectic about the whole thing. And it took so long to get the waitress' attention and then get the most miniscule amount of cream cheese, which I had to schmear myself, that the bagel was completely cold by the time I could eat it. When Mike saw me snap the photo of my naked bagel he said "Oh, no; this is going to be on the blog, isn't it?" Umm... yep. I'll certainly be back and ordering my favorite mimosa and everything bagel, but I'll be at the bar, never a table, so I can make sure my mimosa has liquor and my bagel is schmeared. Is that really so much to ask?

Since I'm on a food rant, I'll just add this: if you aren't already following Thug Kitchen, do it post-haste.

Want to call out schmearing fails or give some props to the folks who do it right? Drop a comment so readers know who's a hit and who's a miss.

lazing around

The past few days have been cool enough that air conditioning was not a concern and I have been enjoying sleeping with the forward hatch open. I awoke at six this morning with little raindrops coming through the hatch and hitting my face. I hopped up and scrambled around the boat in the twilight to close up open port lights to keep the rain off of books and other stuff and then dropped the forward hatch. The morning has been a rotation of very gentle sprinkles, steady light rain, brief downpours, and dry spells. A friend may have found a used A/C unit to replace my current one, but a rainy day may not be the right time to play around with the largest electrical system on the boat.

I had high hopes for the holiday weekend. I planned to really get the boat cleaned up and company presentable, get the cockpit back to the relaxing environment it was when I first moved aboard. I got off to a good start on Saturday, starting to work my way through the boat with my new mold treatment: a solution of tee tree oil and water. Saturday afternoon I also fiddled around with the VHF radios, (though I never managed to get an automated radio check to work on the inside radio), and hailed the harbormaster's pump out boat. It was my first time using the pump out boat, and I'll enjoy the convenience of that service until it shuts down after boat show. The tank was not yet full after seven weeks.

I was off to a good start, but my Saturday night became more of a party than I had initially planned, and Sunday was spent trying to keep down ginger ale and Gatorade and nibbling Saltines. When I went topsides on Sunday there was wine spilled all over the deck and cockpit. I even found spots of red wine spilled on the dog--what a bad mother I am! (I wasn't actually the one spilling wine everywhere, at least). The kitchen counter was piled with shot glasses. I think a good time was had by all. Well, except my poor tummy, which can no longer handle red wine without a full meal and in small quantities.

Monday I ran out for a meeting midday and then rather than dive into all my projects I lounged on the boat napping and watching almost all of season two of Game of Thrones. Sometimes we all need to just rest and vegetate a bit, I guess this weekend was my turn to laze around.

The big event this weekend at my little marina was the departure of one of my dockmates, the Eleanor Q. Frank and Mary Marie have been preparing their beautiful Gozzard for cruising and have been living aboard her the past few weeks. Memorial Day was the day they finally shoved off and took the dock lines with them. Buttercup will miss Frank throwing a ball for her and following them both around trying to "help" with whatever project they may be working on. They are headed north first and then down to the islands. Check out their blog Voyages of the Eleanor Q. They were great neighbors and will be missed, but hopefully we'll shove off ourselves and run into them in the islands down the line.

I'm frustrated that the remote project I'd been working on since September did not work out. I had been hoping that it would be profitable enough to cover core expenses and allow us to take off and cruise. Unfortunately, it did not turn out to be as profitable as hoped, was plagued with delays and difficulties, and I felt I had to cut my losses rather than continue to bleed time into it. Right now I am not here because I want to be, but because I lack the resources to go. It's not that I dislike it here, but I want my freedom so badly, want to be able to cast off the lines and go wherever, whenever I please. I know, we all want freedom and almost all of us simply have to endure a life without it. But I do not want to surrender so easily, do not want to live each day just to get by.

Another liveaboard friend has started a blog, but not about living aboard. She is undertaking a project in which various of her friends get to write one-month chapters of her life--giving her challenges to test herself, delve into her weaknesses, and embrace personal growth in a very out-of-the-ordinary way. Take a stroll over to living chapters and check it out.

sense memory

The smell of fresh cut grass. Fleeting carefree moments of childhood. The scent of patchouli. A tangle of floppy hair and collarbones and sunny college days blending one into another. Digging toes in hot sand. The warmth of the sun on my face. The smell of the ocean, the sound of crashing waves. At once so alive and so peaceful.

The stench of beer and liquor seeping from pores. Disgusted and repulsed. Leaned on, pawed, and petted. The burden of babysitting, politeness, codependency. The sound of beer cans popping, one after another into the night. Trapped and hopeless.

Sun catching dirty blonde floppy hair. Memories of my first love that make me smile. Wrapping fingers in dark Jim Morrison curls. Makes me curl my toes and sigh.

The sensations of life map out my haphazard course. Drawn to them time and again like a dancer's muscle memory. They sketch out light, darkness, passion, hope, anticipation. Perhaps it is sense memory of being in the womb that draws the liveaboards to be rocked to sleep by the sea. A time when the cruelty of the world had not yet been revealed.

I need to better heed my sense memory. Breathe deeply the fresh cut grass of springtime. Savor the musky, passionate scent of patchouli. Grab those Jim Morrison curls and don't let go. But do not sit quietly amidst the drunken mayhem; do not become the caretaker. Those years lost should be dead and buried, I served my time and earned my hard-fought freedom.

Gratefully, my legs remember how to run, remember how to balance as the boat rocks in the wind. At last I returned to my yoga practice this morning--the first time aboard. The cabin lacks clearance to raise my arms outstretched above, (sun salutations will have to be topsides), but otherwise accommodates my much-needed meditation, stretching, and balance.

I am looking forward to some spring renewal and rebirth; a return to running, eating better, drinking less, finding physical and mental balance in yoga and elsewhere. Somehow in all the spinning one must also maintain a focal point. I can't say that I know what mine is. Yet I always hold onto it, do not topple over.