No Comprende, It's A Riddle

We came back to the house to discover that our uncle had filled a cooler with Tecate Lights. There was some scoffing and some derision tossed out our uncle's way (playfully, but we were being quite clear at the same time that if he pulled shit like this again there would be righteous pain). But I like to think that I am one who likes to make lemonade out of lemons.

Or in this case, quick alcohol delivery systems out of crappy light beer.

My brother and I began to shotgun Tecate Lights as if the heathen gods of the Gulf of California demanded it. Until that case was done, there were fairly constant sly looks from one to the other, to be quickly followed by, "you know what your problem is? You're off balance by about 12 ounces of fluid." To which the other would reply, "I know a really quick way to fix that."

This tin can puncturing, open topped guzzling didn't even stop for a family wide fishing trip. I think Captain Mike was a bit shaken to see two grown men challenging each other to a chug off at 10 in the morning, but as it would turn out, I wouldn't really care what Captain Mike thought.

The last time I had been fishing on a boat in Mexico, I was seventeen and taking full advantage of the lax ID checking going on at all beachside bars outside the Puerto Vallarta hotel we were staying in. I was 8 kinds of hungover the morning my dad woke me up and insisted I get on a boat with everyone else. Already queasy from the margaritas and the pina coladas (and I do like getting caught in the rain, by the by), spending 5 hours on a rocking boat seemed like a great Roald Dahl-like punishment for my illegal drinking. For years I thought my father a near brilliant strategic mind, come to find he had no idea when I told him about it this trip.

But Captain Mike... Captain Mike... Captain Mike was like one of those guys who takes on as his direction in life the teachings of Jimmy Buffett. Shaggy hair, t-shirt and shorts, owns a boat that he charters to the likes of us for a day of fishing, has a fiancé out of the country and a puppy named Tequila that he bought at a bar.

Fine, I don't have an issue with the lifestyle per se, but there was something about Captain Mike I didn’t like, some douche baggy ticks that I couldn't quite collect as a valid character assassination; just a feeling.

There was the fact that he started getting a little too chummy with my female cousin (who, while simply trying to be friendly, comes off as a little too friendly). Throughout the trip he continued to ply her with margaritas from inside the boat and ignore the rest of us. When she stated that he should come by later (which was a dumb idea, but she was all done up on tequila, sweet and sour and god knows what else) he took her up on it.

Captain Mike showed up to the house later that night while we were cooking up the fish we had caught. He walked right on into the house and started conversating. When the bad vibes finally got to be too much for his stoned head, he retreated. But before leaving he managed to get out the "booty call" description of how to get to his house; that is, enough landmarks to ensure that said booty can find its way over.

It did not. Captain Mike is a douche bag. I did not miss Captain Mike.


Feb(r)uary Song of the Day: Another twofer Tuesday with "Whenever You Breathe Out I Breathe In (Positive Negative)" by Modest Mouse and "(I Got A) Catholic Block" by Sonic Youth (as do I Thurston Moore, as do I).