I put most all the money I had in the stock market before I started this voyage on Sampaguita. There is definitely some risk in that, but duh, I also signed up to sail a 20-foot boat across the ocean alone. You might say I’ve said, “frack it.” I diversified as much as I could. I’m not old enough to retire, but sailing and writing is the only thing that really interests me now. I was hoping I could get some income writing, but that has not been a reality. So, I have to make what I have, work the best it can for me. I’m not sure if they are still given, but tests called SATs and ACTs were required for college applications back in the 80’s. They were essentially aptitude exams. I only scored slightly above average. I was a big fish in a small pond. Which means I was a small fish. I recall, the logic equation was common on those tests. If P, then Q. P is true, therefore Q is true. That sort of thing. For example: If there is conflict, there is money to be made. There is conflict. Therefore, there is money to be made. Here’s another: The defense industry thrives during conflict. Some people invest in the defense industry. Therefore, some people thrive during conflict. Pretty messed up, right? I’d rather make money writing. (But not marine store clerking.) But I didn’t make the world, I’m not very good at it, so I just have to survive however I can. I live in a big pond now. Pelagic fish are huge. They swallow small fish all day long. This small fish is never going to be a big fish, and he has no interest in being feed for them. This should explain a lot of my writing and actions.

I figure at this point, I am unemployable. Another reason why I need the stock market to thrive, by whatever means. My earning potential is so low, any job and it’s pay that someone would give me, isn’t worth the breaths at this point in life. And I haven’t proven a good businessman. If someone else can wrap their head around it, more power to them. I envy them for it. For being able to do what makes me miserable. A lesson I had drilled home with me when growing up was this. I would say something like “Bill gets to play football.” Or, “Terry has Ocean Pacific T-shirts.” The answer often enough was “Well, you’re not Terry (Bill, or whoever), are you?” (Terry was half Hawaiian and the star quarterback, and Bill got his collar bone broken a week into practices and never played again.) Not-so-ironically, I was voted the most individualistic male in my class my senior year. Now I sail the smallest boat in the anchorage. The youth are very impressionable.

Another lesson I learned was how to save a dime, and how to work a system, all in one. I think the how to save a dime was intentional, the how to work a system, probably not so much. Let me explain. In rural New Berlin, New York I grew up about five miles from the one-stop-light town where I attended New Berlin Central public school. This was the 1980’s and there was something called a pay phone in the school. I think it was a Bell telephone for those of you who might understand the dark humor in that. (It is still easy to envision on the wall in the hall.) Now, what I am about to explain started with my older brother and sister, so this wasn’t just a lesson offered to me. If we had an after-school function, and mind you, time was more flexible back then, and we would need someone to pick us up (we were at the far reaches of the district, so catching a ride from someone else was not practical) we were instructed to use the pay phone. This is how. We were not given dimes, but there was a loophole in the system. We could make the call, it would ring, we could hear our parents answer the phone, but without putting in a dime, they could not hear us. But they were expecting us to call and would say, “If this is Josh, hang up.” We would then hang up and they would know to come pick us up. About 10-15 minutes later they would show up. I’m certain parenting is ridiculously hard which is why I didn’t touch it with a 10-foot spinnaker pole. My parents are pretty honest and wholesome people and I think the full lesson they were teaching went over their head. They were just trying to save a dime.

To lighten the mood, here’s a gem. I included a segment on poultry husbandry a few weeks ago. If you missed it, here is the link:

The picture included at the top of this essay is one of those lucky roosters that got to be the uncontested king of the roost. Here, he is in costume at the Otsego County Fair Grounds about to participate in The Best Dressed Animal Contest. There was a short-lived super hero program in the 80’s called The Greatest American Hero. So, what you have here is The Greatest American Chicken. My mother made the costume. He either won or came in second. I really can’t quite remember. When the contest started, I was holding him. Because chickens will run away and you may never catch them. The Judge suggested I put him down. Uh Oh. Well, I did. The costume constricted him enough that he couldn’t walk very easily, and definitely couldn’t run. Phew. But he tried and did this little dance…..And the crowd went wild. Since half of the contest was about audience applause, he was a huge hit. So that’s the story of The Greatest American Chicken.

The poor kid with the poop on his leg is Jeff, a classmate from New Berlin Central. He was mortified that the chicken pooped on his leg. And even more mortified when my mother took a picture. I’m the other super skinny kid with the bad hair and the glasses. Some things never change.