Sunday, November 13, 2005

That Sinking Feeling...


A few years back I was writing a semi-regular column on my company's website which I called "A Touch of SASS!" I attempted to be clever and humorous and at the same time tie the column back to some meaningful information about the company's mobile commerce service. One of those columns was a play on the title of this post... I called it "That Synching Feeling..." and focused on the advantages of using our service to synchronize data between a handheld device such as a mobile phone or PDA and your desktop PC. A clever bit of BS, if I do say so myself...

Now, thanks to that horrible, hideous, heinous hurricane called Wilma
I find myself faced with a very different and very real sinking feeling... this time I am dealing with the literal sinking of my old sailboat, ELSEWHERE...

I have been a sailor since the age of 10, when I had the thrill of playing the role of human ballast, huddled near the bow of a BlueJay in the crowded waters of the Long Island Sound as my dad "crewed" for a neighbor who owned the boat. As apartment dwellers, it was a real bonus to find a means of spending a weekend afternoon on the water, so as our boat owning neighbor (a successful young veterinarian) moved up the boat owning ladder and traded in his BlueJay for a larger vessel, we were always available to tag along and help out. I loved the sounds and smells of sailing and the salty white crust it left on my skin after a long day out in the wet and wild wind.

I was hooked, and took my love of sailing with me to Summer Camp, where over the years I honed my yachting skills on Sunfish and Lasers in the weedy waters of Lake Onota in Pittsfield, Mass., eventually becoming an instructor. Years later, after college, my dad and I went to the Boat Show, and with fond memories of Richard the Veterinarian we left the show the proud owners of a MacGregor '22. We called her "A Touch of Sass!" and sailed her every summer, first in Manhassat Bay and later in the Great Peconic Bay.

Miraculously (read "stupidly"), when I decided to move to Florida in 1994 instead of bringing A TOUCH OF SASS to the Sunshine State, we sold her, leaving me to live in the land of year-round boating without a boat. Dumb decision number 23,462. I missed sailing and thought about it often, living vicariously from ashore and through the pages of magazines. Finally, in 2002 I jumped back in the water and acquired a 1979 Chrysler S-27 Sailboat called "ELSEWHERE."

She was a solid, steady comfortable old boat that had once served as the home to a University of Miami Law Student. I got her from a charming couple who lovingly kept her in shipshape condition. While the kids and I debated calling her "A Touch of Sass II" or "Kiss My Sass!" we ultimately decided we liked the name ELSEWHERE and would rather not tempt the sea demons to give us bad luck by changing the vessel's name. I spent many enjoyable weekends going elsewhere on ELSEWHERE... with my kids, with friends, and alone...every day journey a unique adventure on Biscayne Bay... She was a wonderful boat, and she was hostess to many, many wonderful afternoons...

As HURRICANE WILMA took its predicted hard right turn toward the Florida Peninsula, the projected path put my home clearly in harm's way. The boat, in Coconut Grove some 35 miles to the southeast, seemed to be less a target of Wilma's pending pounding. WRONG! Wilma whacked me on both sides of my head, causing havoc at home and sending Elsewhere somewhere else... namely up against the rocks and seawall of Dinner Key Marina...

She was dis-masted, lost her (new) rudder, chainplate ripped through the deck, lead keel ripped off, four visible holes through the hull, and, thanks to being half submerged, the water inside ruined the cabin and all its contents. Elsewhere would never go anywhere again.

As my oldest son and I watched the 70-Ton salvage crane lift her into the air, water pouring from the swiss cheese that a few days before was her newly restored hull, we understood just what that sinking feeling was...


ELSEWHERE, 1979 - 2005

Friday, November 11, 2005

Nice Jewish boy with a chainsaw...



I grew up in an apartment in Queens, NY. My parents both grew up in apartments. No one in my family had ever lived in a "house" until I purchased my first home in Rockland County. I had never heard of the expression "DIY." In my apartment life there was no such thing as "do it yourself." Instead, I was weaned on "calling the super!" The "Super" was the "superintendent"... The resident building handyman who lived in an apartment on the ground floor near the elevator, but was usually found in a creepy, disheveled "office" in a far corner of the basement, past the even creepier bicycle storage room. Window stuck? Call the Super. Radiator leaking? Call the Super. Toilet won't flush? Call the Super. Exotic reptile pet the kid brought home from summer camp missing from it's terrarium? Call the Super.

When I moved into my first home and experienced my first driveway and my first yard I was truly excited. I looked forward to the prospect of participating in the ancient rural rituals called shoveling snow and mowing the lawn. How nice it would be to spend early morning hours in Arctic-like conditions, braving frostbitten extremities in order to free my car, only to drive onto an ice covered street and slide uncontrollably into a similarly tractionless oncoming vehicle... How delightful it would be to spend an entire weekend day with a vibration sore rump from sitting on a riding mower, face, arms, and legs continually pelted with pebbles, twigs and grass spewing from beneath me, only to end the day green-stained, allergic and itching from head to toe, too exhausted to enjoy a Saturday night out... WHERE WAS THE SUPER WHEN YOU NEEDED HIM??? Alas, there is no Super in Suburbia...

So now, years later, here I am in Florida, where, thanks to an annual celebration called "HURRICANE SEASON" I have been forced once again to ignore my apartment living roots and fully embrace the concept of "DIY." Thanks to the local HOME DEPOT I am the proud owner of a gas powered handheld thingy called a CHAINSAW... and thanks to a former cartoon cave-dweller turned heinous hurricane (i.e. WILMA), I have become quite adept at wielding said chainsaw to free my humble and wind weathered abode from the numerous trees that took respite on my rooftop...

As they used to sing on Monty Python's Flying Circus... "I'm a Lumberjack and I'm okay..." Not bad for a nice Jewish boy from Queens. I think my Super would be proud of me.

Wednesday, November 09, 2005

I stink, therefore I blog...


A year between posts? Ok, I am a little slow... Look at the bright side, I have a year's worth of stuff to say... hopefully there are a few poignant gems amongst the stones of my existence. I'll let you be the judge of that...

I stink, therefore I blog... I am just getting over 11 days with NO ELECTRICITY, NO RUNNING WATER, NO PHONE LINES, NO CABLE and NO INTERNET... As I told Adam Curry in an email to the Daily Source Code (read by Adam in DSC#272), I was "Living Like The Flintstones, Thanks To Wilma!" Until power was restored at the homes of nearby friends, we literally bathed in a lake, "Survivor" style... It was during this sweaty, stinky, sawdust covered time of post hurricane hysteria that I decided that if I ever again had access to a (reasonably) reliable internet connection I would take the time to start regularly contributing to the sassholes blog...

So, here I am. Hopefully you will hear from me again before another year passes...

Let's end today's post with a song... Here's a little ditty I wrote to entertain the kids while chopping downed trees:

"Wilma's Worries"

Lyrics by J.W. Sass

Sung to the tune of "Don't Worry, Be Happy"

When wicked Wilma start to blow...
See da trees wave to and fro...
Don't worry, be happy...

When all da water hit da house,
We hide inside just like da mouse
Don't worry, be happy...

We get back pow'r sooner or later,
It would be better with a generator...
Don't worry, be happy...

I meet my neighbors, shoot da breeze,
Borrow a chainsaw to cut da trees
Don't worry, be happy...

Wait all day on line for gas,
Pray to see FPL truck pass
Don't worry, be happy...

I won't be goin sailing today,
Because my boat she washed away
Don't worry, be happy...

Thanks to Wilma school is closed
Summer vacation is gonna be hosed
Don't worry, be happy

If Hurricane give you big fears,
You may not like da next 20 years,
Don't worry, be happy!

Wicked Wilma she's to blame,
For my big insurance claim
Don't worry, be happy...

Things are not as bad as they seema
If you can get some money from FEMA,
Don't worry, be happy!