Postcards from the US Open

The 22 foot-deep superpipe at this year's Burton U.S.

Snowboarding Open at Stratton, Vermont.

Mardi Bras.  And this doesn't just happen the week

of fat Tuesday.  Nor does it just happen at Stratton.

Bras?........Where?

Kazu Kokubo won the men's halfpipe for the second

year in a row.  One very small bright spot for Japan.

Whether dancing with the stars or pulling off a 

front-side fakie McTwist, Louie Vito is a crowd

pleaser.  He asked my daughter to pose with him.

She said fine, but make it quick! 

It's hard to resist, even at $4.50 a pop.

We moved the clocks ahead an hour the night before,

so by looking at this picture can you tell me what time

it is?

#49264 patiently waiting for summer.

The Big One

Little did I know that the girl of my dreams summered

a half mile upbay and around the point from 829 South

 Drive. Geez, we practically peed in the same bay water.

Now, if that isn't romantic, I don't know what is.

We met when we were nineteen, and the rest is history.

My better half, my best friend.  You're as stunning

as ever.  Happy 50th Baby, you're the greatest!

Birds of a Feather

Tony Bourdain.  One of my heroes.  Jersey

guy, went to the CIA.  Even had some chef-instructors

that I would have 4 years later. I found that out 

when I read his book, "Kitchen Confidential".

We would eventually have the opportunity to

rehash those memories several years later at the 

home of his publisher.  He is, I think, the original

American Bad Boy chef.  Punk rock loving, pot-

smoking, hard-drinking............... Anyway, I read 

his book and immediately felt a connection to him

like anyone else who has worked in the restaurant 

business.  He told it like it is, for the most part (I've

never caught my chef having his way with a new bride

over the dumpster behind the restaurant during her 

reception).  But you get my drift, right?

  

In our heyday in the kitchen, we all felt the same kind of

bravado and invincibility that Bourdain wrote of.  We were

the Kings of the castle, the rulers of our domain, and to

hell with anyone who thought otherwise. We held the knives,

we cooked the food, we controlled the pace at which our 

customers dined. And sometimes when we were in the shit,

we found a way to blame it on the servers.  In no way did

we originate that.  I can assure you.  

Bourdain's menu at the home of his publisher, whose

name and number are upside-down on the bottom.  I

trust none of you would be weird enough to call him?

By far, my absolute favorite item on the menu was the

marrow pipes.  Marrow slathered on croutons with grey

sea salt sprinkled on top is my most coveted of treats.

The cheeks were okay, but I quickly concluded that

ours at the restaurant were better.  I helped carry out

the clafoutis to the table and proceeded to bump into

someone on the way, dropping one on what I imagine

was a very expensive rug.  Cherries don't stain, do they?



American Idols

I've been watching American Idol with my wife and daughters

and I can honestly say that after 10 years, I'm actually making

it a point to sit down and watch the entire show this time. They

make fun of me for getting weepy when they run the hard-luck

stories of some of the contestants. I'm a sap. With the final 24

chosen, I've already come up with my 2 best guys.  The girls

I'm not as sure about.  But I'm really enjoying the process.

Simon and Garfunkel were and still are my American Idols.

From a very young age, I heard their music in the background

of our house during the day while my Dad was at work.  That

was probably the only time when Mom felt comfortable playing

them. I always thought it was funny that "The Graduate" stole

Mrs. Robinson from them.  Put it in her pantry with her cupcakes.

For reasons known only to me, I cried kind of hard at times
on and off while viewing this clip, while wondering whether
this was the take I wanted to post.  It most definitely was.
This clip is dedicated to a dear blogger to whom this music,
as I found out, means alot.  BTW, was that Carole King?

Chicken Soup

It's always good for the soul to visit Beaton's in the winter.  You

immediately don't feel so alone when lamenting about how much

longer it's gonna be until the boat goes in the water.  Everyone's

in the same spot.  It's funny; I look at the names on these boat-

covers and I know about half of them.  As much as things change,

they stay exactly the same, year after year.

This place is like the unspoken choice for winter storage among

the "haves" around these parts.  There's almost a feeling of a

God-given right to rest your catboat on the sacred cinder blocks

of David Beaton and Sons' boatyard.  Besides the Bay itself, I

may like to have some of my ashes accidently dropped along

the lanes of this venerable display of forgotten and not-so-much

forgotten vessels.  When you look at some of these boats and

see that the registration stickers are from last summer, you wonder

how the hell they were able to float!  Testament to the spirit of

the boats themselves, and the determination of the skippers too.  

Bat has been here on the hard for the last two years.  One of the

original A-Cats, every additional year she sits here signals to me

the end of her illustrious racing and,  frankly, sailing career.  The 

only way for her life to be re-kindled would be for someone with

deep pockets to take interest in her and again refurbish her to

her former status as one of the grand ladies of the Bay.  But no-

one around here has any money.

I always wonder who owned or owns this Finn.  It was never a

big class on the bay, but always a world class boat.  Could it have

been sailed by Carl Van Duyne?  Peter Commette? Muzzy Barton?

John Bertrand?  Paul Elvstrom?  This boat would be perfect for

my sized body.  Well at least more buoyant than the Laser. 

Beaton's garvey.  The on-water lifeblood of the boatyard.

First in the water in spring and the last out, probably in December.

I respect this boat so much, I needed to post two pictures of her.

The on-land version of the garvey, this Ford tractor moves boats

of all shapes and sizes, and has done so for untold decades.

The A-Cat "Ghost"'s freshly varnished mast.  You know it's starting

to get nice out when shit like this is lying around on sawhorses.

It looked so wet when I approached it.  How they avoid the

brushmarks is what I'd like to know.

Waterfront view of Beaton's and all 8 channels on TV!

One of the main reasons I come here these days: 

Russ Manheimer's "Sjogin".  He's sometimes hard

to meet up with;  he lives about 15 or 20 minutes away

and comes and goes like the wind itself.

Lines so nice, I had to show her twice.

Vast array of masts and a lot of frigging rigging.

The buoys would like a side of mushrooms.

An old surf boat, presumably from the Lavalette Beach Patrol.