THAT WAILING NOISE in the distance is
the chairman of John Vigor’s Silent Fan Club, Ivor Tungin-Cheaque. He has just
discovered that the number of pages viewed by readers of this blog has just
passed the 500,000 mark. As the administrator of the world’s largest fan club, it
is his duty to ensure that no member ever steps out of line by openly praising
the content or quality of the writing in this column.
You
will no doubt recall that membership is completely automatic, and open to all
people of every nation and creed. But Mr. Tungin-Cheaque has always been
obsessed with the notion that the more columns I publish, the greater the
likelihood that someone, somewhere, will actually like one, and be tempted to praise my clever use of metaphor and
simile, the sharpness of my rapier-like
wit, my vast command of grammar, and the wondrous depth of my knowledge of
manifold subjects.
And
if that should happen, Mr. Tungin-Cheaque has the unpleasant task of expelling
that someone, somewhere, from John Vigor’s Silent Fan Club. So far, luckily, he has never had to perform
this duty, but he is starting to cavil at the steadily increasing number of
page views this column generates. I have tried to persuade him not to worry,
but he feels that the law of averages is against him, and that the greater the
readership, the greater the likelihood that some Silent Member somewhere will
experience an uncontrollable urge to praise me — and thereby start a wholesale
stampede for the exits.
So,
on his behalf, and for sake of his sanity, I must beg all of you Silent Members
to abide by the rules of the club, and
to steel yourselves against the temptation to shower me with the praise I so
richly deserve. Please don’t crown me with laurels or even whisper congratulations,
much as you would like to.
Thank
you. Mr. Tungin-Cheaque will be most grateful.
Meanwhile,
we have unfortunately come to the end of the series of essays named The Disease Called Cruising, which means I
shall have to find something new and fresh to write about. Damn, it’s not easy.
However, here’s a tidbit that might intrigue you
if you own a boat. Writing on the Three
Sheets Northwest website earlier this year, Scott Wilson made this comment
about the Seattle Boat Show:
“A
popular and frightening statistic you’re likely to hear at the show is that
every year, the average age of boat owners increases by six months.”
Now think about that for a moment.
It’s generally accepted that the average age of most people will increase by 12
months every year. But it seems that if you own a boat, your average age
increase from year to year will only be half that of the general population. In
other words, instead of living for three-score years and 10, boat owners may
look forward to seven-score years even.
You may find this a frightening
thought when you add up the cost of an additional 70 years of boat maintenance
and slip fees. And one is forced to wonder how sprightly a 140-year-old would
be on the foredeck while jibing the spinnaker.
But perhaps this is just a local
phenomenon. If I were you, therefore, I’d take great care to stay well away
from the Seattle Boat Show.
Today’s Thought
When you become senile, you won’t know it.
— Bill Cosby, NY Times 17 Mar 87
Tailpiece
A
local junior-school teacher was trying to teach the concept of distance. She
asked whether her pupils throught they lived close to school, or far away.
Nobody
was willing to hazard a guess except little Susan, who was quite adamant that
she lived very, very close to school.
“How
are you certain?” asked the teacher.
“Well,”
said little Susan, “every time I come home, my mother says: ‘Hell, are you home
already?’”
(Drop by every Monday, Wednesday,
Friday for a new Mainly about Boats column.)
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