Ah, Florida. It’s no secret why I live here. I had no choice. My parents forced me to move here from my beloved California when I was only eight.
Twenty-two years later, though, I have forgiven them. I now consider Florida – if not my native home – my chosen home. I actually love everything about it, with the exception of one tiny detail: the paralyzing and insufferable sauna that is summer.
But hey, who’s thinking about that this time of year? I’m thinking about street fairs and festivals, about backyard barbeques on my new, water-sucking sod and, well, just about anything that gets me outdoors. It is, as Mayor Baker says, another great day in St. Petersburg.
Know what else is great about St. Petersburg and, oh, I guess most everywhere in Florida? The coast, the water, the beach!
Everyone who knows me is now laughing hysterically. I am absolutely famous – infamous really - for my intense dislike of the beach. This is largely due to my skin’s propensity to fry like a conch fritter in the sun and my absurdly irrational fear of marine life in general – sharks in particular.
I know, I know. I just need to put on some sunscreen and suck it up. There’s 1200 miles of coastline to explore, some of it not even obscured by mangroves! Well, that’s fine, but I have better idea.
My buddy Dan – a guy so strapping and handy, he makes all of his friends feel like amoebas – has a boat. And, it’s not just any boat – it’s a 28 foot sailboat with all kinds of thingies and doodads and other impressive nautical business on board. He keeps it at the St. Petersburg Municipal Marina downtown, where I recently had a chance to come aboard. At night.
Despite the fact that my head was reeling with visions of Jaws IV, The Revenge (you know, that scene in the beginning? In a marina? At night?...of course you don’t, because I’m the only person who would ever see that movie), I was actually delighted to accept Dan’s invitation.
The Marina is a pretty happenin’ place. There is a secure boat house with showers, laundry and a communal space – complete with a TV and dart board. Fresco’s, the marina-side restaurant, even provides the distant wail of karaoke tunes for the lonely live-aboards.
Apparently, and according to Dan, who knows everything, there is a two-year waiting list to get a slip. Most folks circumvent that by simply buying a boat already in one of those sweet spots. That’s what his “neighbor” Matthew did with his new boat “Free Willy” (I’m sure Matthew would like me to note, for the record, that he did not come up with that designation).
It’s a lot less hassle to have a friend with a boat, though, than to go get one of your own. If you don’t have a boat-buddy, they’re not hard to find. The live-aboards are friendly folk, and they’re always ready to tell you about some impressive nautical doodad they’ve hooked up. Just hang around down by the marina and one is sure to ask you to check out it out. There is nothing like sitting on a boat, on a cool night, kicking back a couple of beers and pretending to understand mariner-speak.
Mariner-speak, I now know, is similar to car-fixing-speak and lawn-gadgetry-speak. It’s a kind of boat lingo that only official “mariners” use involving bizarre and, clearly, made-up words like “bilge” and “keel.” Its sole purpose, I’m convinced, is to instill awe and humility in “landlubbers” like myself.
I daresay that trick would have worked on me the other night, had I not been listening intently for the slightest rumbling of tubas and large fins in the water.
For the future, though, I am looking to shed these silly fears of skin blisters and feeding frenzies. As part of my recovery, Dan has promised to take me “out” in the boat. Apparently these things are designed for actual “sailing.” He says that if the wind is right, we might even get to “bury the rail.” Whatever that means.
Published in The Gabber Newspaper, Gulfport, FL 4/26/07
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