Legos in Riptide

So today as I was walking past the office, I found myself staring into the depth of a large box filled with Legos. Instantly I was transported to my 90s childhood, which featured countless hours spent rifling through various massive containers filled with plastic blocks and pieces of all shapes and sizes imaginable. I used to create elaborate settings, buildings, vehicles, and characters, acting out my own personal dramas for literally weeks at a time. Every time I saw a new movie or read a new book I would find further inspiration for this pursuit, and the beauty of those toys is their ability to be reconfigured infinitely.

So long story short, I rapidly absconded with all of the CIC legos and retreated to Riptide. I proceeded to start playing with them and was thus occupied when Phillip of West returned home. My fascination was undimmed by his laughter.

After a week of complaining about the sound of legos scraped through late into the night, my Riptide brothers conspired with Rasheed to steal the legos back. Treacherous bastards.

Mutiny on the Sabots

This actually happened a while ago...

So yesterday as I prepared to launch my mighty mosquito fleet of sailing vessels out into the Channel, the winds were roaring from Inspiration Point down toward Lionshead (out of the West). The previous period had gone surprisingly well and I was amped for a repeat performance. It was at this point that Barbara Radford, a cabin counselor, arrived with her cabin and informed me that several of her campers were interested in the exceptionally awkward acronym MLOP.

At our camp, this stands for Minimum Level of Participation, and is a concept put in place to coerce campers into at least trying an activity before we allow them to refuse to take part in it. At the climbing wall for example, the MLOP might be that kids have to gear up in harnesses and climb 3 feet up on the wall before they can choose to give up. Now I personally have never had a whole lot of use for this philosophy, as I decided long ago that my area's minimum level of participation was exactly the same as its maximum level: get in a boat and go sailing. If a kid actually gets out on the water and is really freaking out, I am happy to retrieve them via chaseboat and return them to the dock, but that doesn't really happen very often. The Challenge (climbing and ropes) staff are always talking about how leaving your comfort zone is how you grow, and that at CIC we like to do hard things, and these are ideas that I wholeheartedly embrace. I believe that even if a kid goes out and spends the whole period capsizing and recovering, that kid gains something from the experience, so pretty much I expected to have little trouble in convincing a camper or two to get out on the water.

And thus it was that I was quite surprised that while rigging the sailfleet on the beach, each and every camper from Barbara's cabin walked up to me and declared in one voice that they were refusing to go sailing. It was nothing short of mutiny! It was a full-scale rebellion of twelve year-old girls, and I can honestly say that in all my time teaching sailing I have never been met with such resistance. I have sent kids out on the water on days that made yesterday look like sailing in a placid pond, but never before did an entire cabin try to refuse to even get in the water. I asked the girls why they weren't interested in sailing, and they shot out a number of reasons, ranging from fear of the water, sharks, and capsizing to simple disinterest in being cold and wet. Seeing my opportunity, I quickly unleashed my secret weapon: PBA (Power Boat Activities). Now there are a lot of kids out there who will claim they don't want to go sailing for the above reasons, however there are almost no kids out there who will refuse to be dragged behind a powerboat on a tube at 20 knots, for any reason. Interestingly enough, PBA requires you to be just as wet, just as cold, and occurs just as far (actually farther) out to sea as sabot sailing does. Furthermore, this cabin of girls had literally just come from PBA the previous period (thank God), thus giving me a pretty strong argument against their supposed fears. After hitting them with the classic Dentinger motivational tool, "So you're willing to be dragged behind a boat at 30 mph with the potential to be snapped through the air like a rubber band but you're worried about falling six inches out of a boat whose top speed is about 10 mph?", several of the girls grudgingly agreed to get in the water. I knew when the group approached me that probably only 1 or 2 girls was actually committed to avoiding sailing, and the others just saw an opportunity and jumped on the bandwagon, and in short order I had carved away their supporters and only the ringleaders remained. I launched all the other boats first, then I convinced the last two holdouts to get into a fully rigged sabot. I actually was on the verge of backing down and letting them get out, but instead, in my most encouraging tone I said, "Girls, do you seriously think I would have you do this if I didn't think you were going to have fun and be safe at the same time?" they replied, "No, but we don't want to get wet!" I smiled and then I shoved their boat out to sea.

The girls actually ended up doing pretty well on the water, and were sailing fairly well given the wind speed. We ended up pulling the boats in early because they were starting to drift out of sight of the Tower and we wanted to be sure we had enough time to get them in. The mutineering ringleaders were on their way back in at the end of the sail when I saw them capsize, their screams rang out across the water. It was really too bad, they really did almost make it back unaided. I ran my boat over and decided they were too upset (more angry than scared) and took them aboard my boat, leaving Barbara behind to right the sabot and sail it the rest of the way in. For this I am extremely grateful, Barbara was a champ that afternoon.

Interestingly enough, this cabin of girls commanded by Ms. Radford was joined that period by a cabin of boys led by Ike Wallace of Montana, and their attitudes were diametrically opposed. None of those boys really knew how to sail, but they looked out at the wind and the waves and saw nothing but adventure and excitement. Because I had an uneven number of kids, I needed one camper to brave the seas alone, and when I asked the group for volunteers, not only did every single hand among Ike's campers shoot up, but each of them started yelling, begging, and jumping, desperately jockeying for my attention. This is the essential truth of learning to sail, that you need to be passionately interested in going out regardless of the threat of capsize and see if you can find a way to control the boat.

And so I witnessed two groups of kids attempt the same activity under the same conditions, and half of them loved it, while the other half (who interestingly were probably a little more competent at sailing) complained the whole time. As a Jedi Master would have said, "Many of the truths we cling to depend greatly on our own point of view"

Campfire Skit

Time to update ye old sailing blog! Leadsailor.blogspot.com, and here we go!

As staff training draws to a close, I take stock of what we have learned, of our trials and tribulations, and since I am now six days behind on my blog, the amusing highlights that will allow me to skip past everything else. Let’s take a look back at the past few weeks.

Old Man Shattuck

Earlier that evening, Nick Shattuck, the Bard of Wisconsin, regaled us with his musical talents as we sat around the campfire. His performance spoke to our very souls with a deep language of notes and rhythm, as he sang about Prohibition and Universal Suffrage. That Shattuck sure has lived a long time! Please remember to join the Facebook Group: Shattuck’s Medical Bills Won’t Pay Themselves, we just need 50,000 dollars more to keep his spine from twisting itself into a double-helix.

Phillip West doesn’t do shit

Now leadership coordinators have long been reviled for their lack of hustle, but this week P-We really kept that tradition alive by doing almost no work whatsoever. He instead became CIC’s own World Cup commentator and kept us all updated on the intricacies of each match as they unfolded. Phillip also spent a great deal of time trying out his new cushy bed in Riptide, as well as viewing the complete filmography of the illustrious artist Kevin Smith. But wait, there’s always more at Catalina Island Camps! Phillip also mastered the exquisite art of ineffective DJing, as he managed to screw up roughly 75% of the songs at the Dancing with the Specialists event!

Andrew and Joe

The much anticipated drug test came and went uneventfully, with all male staff passing with colors ranging from clear to a dark amber. However, during those terrifying moments we spent loitering just outside the Golden Doubloon awaiting our test results, we witnessed a strange and romantic sight. Joe Silver, Her Majesty’s Secret Air Ninja Operative, and Andrew Wright, noted Batman-imitator, chose to engage each other in single combat to the, uh, kiss. While no doubt their wrestling was manly and impressive, and upon reading this either one of them (or both) will likely prove their martial prowess to my soft and sensitive face, there were some rather awkward looking positions they found themselves in along the way. Pictures were taken, check them out here on facebook! Share!

Rasheed Paddleboard

Later in the week, for reasons that remain unknown, the Cabin Crew decided it would be a good idea to take out some paddleboards late in the afternoon. For those of you who are unfamiliar with the weather patterns at CIC, it may be relevant to note that typically our afternoons are characterized by strong westerly winds. These winds typically cause significant disruptions in waterfront programs aside from Capris, and this afternoon was an abnormally windy day. The Cabin Crew however does not include a single former-sailor among its ranks, and thus this fact was unknown to them when they set out upon the water. It quickly became apparent that the conditions were too much for the Cadre of Camp Commanders, and right as they lost Max Genovese to the sandline, I ordered Shahar into action and he solved the problem with his thermal vision. (Thermal vision is an Israeli expression that means, “Tossed Tim Barker over the side and told him to grab the paddleboard.”) And so, the sailors rescued the Cabin Crew from losing the Camp Directors’ nephew, and returned victoriously to the float, heroes in the eyes of all who reside at this wondrous place. Training is now over, and I’m looking forward to an excellent summer, may the Force be with us all.

Quotes

I've decided to get blogging again. Sorry for the long silence but I got distracted. I found a bunch of old drafts so I guess I'll just post them all now.

"But I don't wanna eat dinner with Becky" - Tommy Kern

"You poop, you lose" - Miah Smith to Andrew Wright

"When you complain, it makes an ass of you and me" - Phillip West

"Awww, it makes such cute sounds!" - Ashley Bowen
"That's just what they said about the velociraptors" - David Dentinger

"Do you want ants? Because THAT'S how you get ants." - Mallory Archer

"The theme for Miah's birthday party is 'naughty-cal', dress accordingly" -Julie Baweja

But I don't wanna eat dinner with Becky!

A while back when Staff Training was in its darkest and longest hours, Danny Sudman presented an idea. The idea was to have a staff auction, where the employees of this fantastic facility donate items or services and bid on them, donating the proceeds to ACA scholarship programs. A great array of items were donated, ranging from t-shirts and back massages to shark-chumming trips and spear-fishing lessons. I myself donated an epic story. I offered to interview the winning bidder, turn a story of their exploits into a campfire story of daring and adventure, to be told in front of kids at a closing campfire. Miah (my supervisor) ended up winning it for 20 dollars, I was impressed, and actually kind of honored. Anyway, one of the big prizes that Riptide (me and my cabinmates) attempted to bid on was a dinner for 4 at the Kern's House. Tom Kern is the site manager, and dinner at his house is apparently a famed honor on the island. We REALLY wanted it, but Becky "Angeleyes" Morrow furiously outbid us until our minds overtook our stomachs. And the instant she did so, Tommy Kern, perhaps the cutest and most mischievous child I've ever encountered, calls out, "But I don't wanna eat dinner with Becky! She'll make me eat spinach! We could have played Grand Theft Auto!" I can't really add anything more memorable than that to the experience.

Coriolis Withdrawals

I am now four days behind on this blog and have realized that the only way I will ever catch up is if I just summarize the major events for the past few days and proceed onward.

On June 15th, we hiked back from Shark Harbor via the Eagles route, a trail that I was unfamiliar with. It's a pretty cool hike until you get to Two Harbors, because there is this ridiculous ridgeline trail that shows you how weak you are in the eyes of the world. It skyrockets up out of Two Harbors at an angle comparable to that of a space shuttle launch. That hill is easily the nastiest piece of topography I've attempted to conquer with my boots in years, possibly ever. We dragged ourselves up it, one staggering step at a time, while I cursed the hill loudly at each flat spot. Anyway, several hours later we stumbled into camp and threw ourselves off the dock into the ocean. It was quite nice. While the hike was pretty hard, I was glad to have done it because as Alan Doud (my high school physics teacher) would have said, happiness can only be achieved through hard-work and self-denial. Sumner would have liked that man.

That afternoon we had the good fortune to try out a new training program: the Parent Panel. Several parents came out to talk to us about their expectations, fears, and ideas about summer camp. It was actually a very interesting discussion. I was quite surprised at how laid back the parents were, I always felt like parents were much more uptight about their kids at camp, but these folks seemed not to worry about anything other than tooth brushing and inappropriate comments.

The next day we got to view the film on intentional camps created by Nick Osti and Nick Horner. It turned out rather well.

I have tried to write this like five times now, I'm going to just stop trying to cover this week. I can't catch up, the week is lost to the sands of time. Also Prince of Persia is going to be awful.

The Bite of the Fox

I arose at the horrific hour of 4 AM, brushed my teeth, packed up my graduation loot, and made for the Seattle-Tacoma Airport to make my triumphant return to CIC.

My passage through the airport was uneventful, except I got to walk by this sweet mural that depicts this full-size magic show in various stages. I used to LOVE that wall as a kid, and it calls out to me with mystery and excitement, and I don't know what it is, but even though the magician and his assistant are obviously two dimensional and composed of paint, there is something haunting about them. It really does seem like they are staring at you right out of the paint, silently watching the thousands of air passengers that pass them each day. Moving right along...

Flight went without incident, except for some little kid that screamed for take off and landing, which I'm not really too bothered by, I think the kid's mother was more concerned than anyone else on the aircraft. Maura Schmitz, the famous German philosopher picked me up from the terminal after I checked on the status of Elizabeth's Virgin flight, which was about half an hour early. We proceeded to Panera bread where I purchased a soda for the philosopher-queen and two bacon and egg sandwiches for myself. They were delicious, satisfying a deep hunger that had burned from 4 AM onward. We sat for about two hours chatting about various things at camp, and she regaled me with the madness that was the 2009 CIC Challenge Area. I think they get a little nutty back there because they are so far from the waterfront and they get dried out. There was more than enough drama back there last year to qualify them for their own reality TV show.

We then proceeded to the airport and recovered another staffer, an Elizabeth Brewster of New York. Maura whisked us over to the boat terminal and we waded into a sea of Boy Scouts to await our boat to Two Harbors. While there, Elizabeth asked a number of questions about camp, which I was happy to answer, and I tried to talk to a couple of the scouts about Emerald Bay. Usually they'd respond to my questions respectfully and then leave the area. I miss my patch-laden khaki shirt and my worn green Scout pants...

Anyway, boat ride over was uneventful, we shared the vessel with some staff from Emerald, one of whom I congratulated on being an Eco (Ecology/Conservation or Nature) staffer and exhorted him to make Scoutcraft (the arch-nemesis of all things green, living, and intellectual) look stupid. As if that needed doing...

We were met at the dock by none other than the legendary Tom Horner, who saved my bacon two blog entries back. He welcomed us both warmly, and transported us to the interior of the island in some sort of SUV (Land Cruiser? Land Rover? Landmobile? Landmonster?). Before reaching the destination of the staff overnight (Shark Harbor), we ran into Becky the Administrative Director and Master of the Internet, along with several other staff members. Tom stopped to say hi, there was a brilliant flash of light, and suddenly he and his car were gone and Elizabeth and I were walking on the road with everyone else. It was disconcerting to say the least. I suspect Emi G might have used her 80s magicks on me.

We walked about the last fifth of the Sharks hike, and arrived in Little Harbor to many congratulations and singing of pomp and circumstance (a song that while I appreciated, I have little interest in hearing ever again). Shortly after our arrival, we proceeded to the beach and learned the ways of the overnight and daytrip from Miah, Julie, and Heather. Miah taught us that waves are curvy, Julie taught us that Nick Shattuck can harmonize, and Heather was awesome in some vague way that escapes my memory.

While normally on a staff training expedition to Shark Harbor, there would be swimming, sunbathing, and some misguided but hilarious attempts at surfing, on that particular day the waves were small, the clouds were thick, the wind was strong, and the air was cold, thus only a few insane individuals entered the water, and it saddens me that their names have been lost to the mists of bad memory. However, on the way back, Chris Orosz, Abigail Johnston, and myself ventured up onto some rock formation that Chris called, "The Whale's Tail", which afforded an excellent view of Shark Harbor. While we were up there, Nature Detective Chris located the skeleton of an eel atop one of the cliffs, and theorized that a bird had carried it up there to murder it and feed on its flesh. It was very cool looking, and I believe he got some excellent pictures, investigate (stalk through) his facebook page sometime if you get the chance.

When we returned to our campsite, Nick discovered that his backpack had been destroyed. Blaming Eoin for the damage (not sure why) he nearly carried out his revenge through painful and lethal means, but his hand was stayed when he noticed a squirrel carrying part of his bag in its mouth. The vandal cackled in the high-pitched laughter of insane men and malevolent rodents, and ran into the bushes. Eoin was emotionally scarred but survived the ordeal.

At this point, dinner was served, and we gorged ourselves on a fantastic meal of bean burritos and probably some other stuff. I helped by warming up the tortillas over the fire because Danny "Announcements" Sudman had to run off and wrestle a Bison. After dinner, the camp staff who would be living with kids were split up into Boys and Girls camps and engaged in that most aptly named of CIC training programs: Speed Dating. Basically the idea is to let counselors and specialists rapidly interview each other so they can figure out who they want as a co-counselor for the first session. This process actually was somewhat more involved this year than I recall from my previous seasons, and ended up taking over an hour.

In the meantime, Leadership busied itself with cleaning up after dinner. We finished these tasks relatively quickly, and found ourselves with nothing to do, and I'm unsure how it started, but someone shot a foam dart at Phillip, and this action evolved into an hour long game that was probably the most fun I've ever had with the leadership team. We started rolling hula-hoops on the grass and attempting to dive, duck, or slip through them before they fell over. Only at camp could such an activity hold the attention of so many adults for so long, but we stood in a circle for a good long while as each of us attempted to run the proverbial gauntlet time and time again. Miah Smith and Chris Orosz (aforementioned Nature Detective) seemed to be the most taken with this activity, but all of the LT was involved. For a long time I did not participate, but a part of my mind was summoned back to the damp shores of Silver Lake, where a Waterfront Director once taught me the subtle science of the running somersault after he had tossed me through the air onto some gravel and wounded my hand. I pondered for a long time whether or not this skill would be applicable in the pursuit of passing through a rolling hula-hoop, and finally decided to practice the maneuver off to the side, much to the amusement of Phillip West. After everyone finished laughing at my reluctance to attempt the roll in the middle of the group, I decided to give it a shot. It was a decided failure, but ended up looking cool and generating more chuckles. Something about my legs coming up always catches the top of the hoop.

I got a little heated talking about the failings of the movie Avatar with Tom Horner, and was disgusted when Andrew "Rope Burn" Wright called that most excellent of TV shows, The X-Files, merely "okay". A less true statement has never been made. Phillip also exported some confusion over the difference between television and film.

As the light fled from the skies, the staff gathered around the campfire, as some primordial imperative seems to consistently drive us into doing. Guitars were unsheathed, songs were sung, and smores were immolated. Tom Horner slipped off into the shadows in his snowy-white Landsmasher, and a number of directors approached me and leaned on me until I agreed to tell a campfire story. The story was the same one previously posted on this blog, and it went perfectly, until I screwed up the very last stanza and then swore quietly. Laughs were had, which were okay, but I still would have liked to get it right. Oh well, this is why we have training, so I can screw up and make things better for the kids.

The staff slept in a huge blob of loud comments and chatter, while Nick Osti and Phillip West retired to the camp van, like the pathetic excuses for outdoorsmen that they are. They encouraged me to join them in their automotive cowering but I retained my dignity and chose to sleep on the ground, as it should be. I am unsure where the Directors went to sleep, but they invisibled themselves quite effectively. After indulging Phillip's ravings on secret code names for roughly twenty minutes, I laid out the sleeping bag that Nick Osti had lovingly packed for me while I was commencing, and put my own sleeping bag on top of it. I laid down, resting my tired head on my right arm, looking forward to harassing Phillip in the morning for his weaknesses. As I lay there, my eyes shut, my mind dim, on the very cusp of sleep, I felt a pair of tiny teeth indenting on my index finger. I was so utterly shocked by this sensation that I jolted awake, my eyes flying open to discover the identity of my toothed attacker. And there, sitting about two feet in front of my face, was my formidable arch-nemesis, glaring at me with all the evil and malice born of a thousand cold and moonless nights spent wandering the hills and vales of this godforsaken rock: a Catalina Island Fox. Weighing in at what looked five pounds, the Nameless Foe regarded me with surprise, I suspect it assumed that I was dead or incapacitated, and had failed to take into account my wiles. I swore loudly in surprise, and smacked my fist against the earth, sending tremors out across the campsite. The Enemy recoiled in fear and disappointment, and scampered off into the bushes. I swear on the United States Constitution that this last paragraph is 100% true.

I was somewhat disturbed by this event, and so I decided to move my gobstopper-containing pack into the van with Nick and Phillip in case of another assault by the evil fox armies. I then moved my sleeping arrangements over near the staff blob, but was soon driven away by the volume. And so I braved the empty field alone, I clutched my heavy flashlight close, and listened to the calls of the foxes in the distance, eventually drifting off into an uneasy slumber.

Hades' Commencement

Now some people are not fans of large research universities, they don't like the feeling of being lost within a sea of undergraduates, regarded by a cold, uncaring administration, as a number rather than a unique and beautiful snowflake. Personally, the 40,000-strong undergraduate population never bothered me all that much, I had my own circle of friends, and when I'd hang out with them it made the place seem as intimate as anywhere else. The 2010 UW Commencement shattered that illusion entirely. It is extremely difficult to feel proud, significant, or satisfied with an achievement when you find yourself surrounded by 4,000 people who have achieved exactly the same honor (or the 169 doctorates who make your own success look pathetic by comparison). It reminds you quite effectively that you are small, average, and insignificant.

Add to this mixture the fact that this was perhaps the hottest day I've ever spent in Seattle, and all of us students are wearing black robes, not to mention the fact that we have to shuffle 4000 pairs of feet across that stage. It was a rough way to spend the afternoon.

Bill H. Gates spoke, and gave a pretty good talk, but the other speakers were mediocre. The student speaker stood out with his fantastically bad performance. I suspect I could have come up with a better speech given ten minutes and a crayon.

However, there was light at the end of the tunnel, and afterward my parents and grandparents took me out to a fantastic dinner at probably the best restaurant in Seattle. I ate me a mighty fine chunk of dead cow, that will probably live in my memory as one of the greatest meals of my life. Kudos to the folks and grandfolks, and many thanks.

I went to bed happy and extremely excited about returning to Catalina the following morning.

Tom Horner is my hero

Yesterday began as days at CIC often do, with a lot of alarms going off and a lot of groans. I have been pretty cold in the mornings lately, I must sneak into Trips like a ninja snake mutant and carry another sleeping bag off into the night, like that time in Jurassic Park when the little dinosaurs carried off that Costa Rican infant and the midwife claimed it was SIDS!

Breakfast was pancakes, but THIS time they had blueberries in them, buried within the dough like juicy berry goldmines. Alright I'll ease up on the extreme analogies. I always like blueberry pancakes, because they remind me of sailing. Those readers out there who are more informed may be shaking their heads and thinking, but David, EVERYTHING reminds you of sailing, (which is amusing since such a thought ignores Star Trek) but seriously, the first time I recall ever having blueberry pancakes was on my parents' 30-foot Ericsson they used to take me out on in the San Juan Islands. Those were awesome trips as a kid.

The morning was dominated by chaseboats. We focused on towing practice, and Claire of Oregon bravely volunteered to sail a sabot while we performed these exercises. After Slater and Owen gave towing a shot (and performed admirably I might add) I switched places with Claire so she could tow a Sabot. I then tested a theory of Slater's that we might be able to empty a large portion of the water out of a righted post-capsize Sabot (for those of you who are unfamiliar, immediately after a Sabot is righted after a capsize, it shares many characteristics with a bathtub full of seawater). This was also nice for my sailors because I had forced them to practice capsizing the day before while I watched from a chaseboat, so now they got to watch me capsize while they stayed dry. Revenge is a dish best served wet? Slater's plan was to pull the bow of the Sabot up out of the water, onto the gunwale of a chaseboat, thus spilling forth the majority of the water from the Sabot hull. As Jae-Zee might have put it, it was a bloody smashing success! We shall see how well the plan works in swells, but for now I am extremely hopeful about our ability to help kids get back into their boats after a capsize with far greater alacrity.

For reasons that remain unclear, Slater chose to go through the whole day affecting an Irish accent. I suspect the Challenge Staff may be responsible. My vengeance will be subtle and terrifying, like an invisible hippopotamus.

After testing the Slater Theorem, I let my peeps go try out the chaseboats beyond D-row for a while, and I sailed over to the skin-divers and harassed them. I managed to catch them at a vulnerable moment, as Kate "McAwesome" Clover had her crew out on the water practicing with camp's brand new fleet of paddleboards. The Paddleboards are colored an orange so extreme it calls to mind the convective layer of the sun, and they look a lot like thin sea kayaks. The idea is you stand up on top of them and paddle them with a longish canoesque paddle. As a result, your center of gravity is quite high, and any wind or waves can be quite harrowing. Just as I approached, the wind kicked up (which was cool because I could sail circles around them) and I started trying to knock Birkey off his paddleboard. I decided it would be a little too malicious to go all the way through with it, and Kate told me to knock it off because she wanted her people to stay warm. I relented, remembering that time in 1812 when the British got upset with us and burned down the White House. Obama is stressed enough already without having to face a flamethrower-wielding Kate Clover.

Lunch was chili cheese fries. I passed and ate a salad. I feel like I'm turning into a whole different person. Also I need to cut down on the dressing, there was a bit too much Caesar on mine. Why is Caesar dressing so-named? I always think about the show Rome when I'm using it and wonder if that most beloved of dictators had anything to do with the dressing that faithfully bears his name two millennia later.

After lunch, I packed up my gear for the overnight and for my trip back to Seattle for UW commencement. Nick "Frodo" Osti and Nick Horner were in Riptide working furiously on the previously mentioned Intentional Camp video for staff training. I heard back from Nosti late last night and apparently the video has turned out great. Way to go Nicks! I finished packing and proceeded to the dock.

This is where my afternoon gets exciting. And ridiculous. And illustrates the truth of this entry's title. So I was set to depart Catalinaland aboard the good ship Island Express, captained by the notoriously evil -and Dutch- Captain Van Der Decken (see proof of his existence), which was to depart out of Twin Harbors at the hour of 2 PM. The legendary pilot Brandon "Scrimshaw" Coble gave me a ride out of CIC to Two Harbors and we left at 1:40. We arrived at the dock without incident, and I proceeded to the ticket counter, where I had to wait to pick up my tickets. I obtained them, turned around, and walked down the dock, only to see that the cruel Van Der Decken had pulled Island Express away from the dock and was reversing toward the channel. I called out to one of his deckhands, inquiring if I could still climb aboard, as Brandon stood ready to shuttle me out to the vessel -a manuever that would have wasted mere seconds-, and the hands all looked up to their mighty and formiddable leader, and he stared down at me from his high perch on the bridge of the Express. I could see the disgust in his eyes, and without hesitating he shook his head, annihilating my dreams of passage across the channel with a slight gesture. I dropped to my knees and screamed out my exasperation to the heavens! Then I called Rasheed "Sugar Frenzy" Anthony.

As I explained to SheedRo what had gone down, a cool thing happened. A great big sea lion flopped up on the Two Harbors beach and started hanging around, right in front of me, so while I explained to Rasheed how I had managed to completely miss the boat (granted it left several minutes early), I got a real good look at the seabeast. It boasted several scars from what might have been sharkteeth, but may have been something more mundane.

I heard Rasheed announce my monumental failure to Tom Horner over the phone, and winced as the entirety of my mishap was laid bare before the boss of bosses, who then leaped into action. Within moments a plan to get me back to Seattle had been outlined and relayed to me. Tom had Brandon Coble whisk me back to CIC, where Tom himself came down to the dock to drive me to Avalon in a Parker so I could catch the 3:45 boat to Long Beach. I called Kevin West (my original ride to the airport) and discovered that he could not deal with the schedule and location switch, and had to back out. Upon hearing this, Tom contacted his sister-in-law by way of Maria and arranged a ride for me to the airport, saving me probably fifty bucks in cab fare. On the way, we got to see all these awesome rock formations that make up the coast of Catalina, and Tom handed over a pass that allowed me to upgrade my ticket and get into the commodore lounge on the Island Express, AND get a free beverage. What an awesome boss I have, I somehow manage to miss the boat and he hooks me up. Thank you so much Tom Horner. You rock.

I ended up catching an earlier flight and got into Seattle at 930 PM instead of midnight, which was a much appreciated reprieve from staying up to unholy hours. I talked briefly with my
grandparents and hit the sack, dreading the endless day of commencement that lay before me.

How Becky stole the internet

So it may have occurred to those of you who follow my demented ravings that I didn't update my blog last night. This was mostly due to the lockdown of the camp interweb by Becky the Administrative Director. I used my charisma to re-establish an internet connection, and will endeavor to continue making entries.

Yesterday, approximately six separate alarms sounded in the halls of Riptide, including P-We's who didn't even sleep here last night. He merely stopped in to play his part in the cacophony. Also no one woke up and went running. We've got to be careful or we're going to build up resistances to our own alarms.

Breakfast was waffles. Someone complimented the symmetrical arrangement of food (bagel, waffles with strawberries, and bacon) on my plate. I blushed.

Knowing that the return of Rasheed was imminent, my associates Emi G and Nick endeavored to make it seem as if they completed a great deal of work in his absence. I busied myself with driver training, which was very laid back as Phil, Jill, and I had been drivers at CIC in the past and were fairly familiar with the procedures. Pretty much we drove around camp in a series of wide turns for several hours. Phil of West failed to back up properly due to an extremely exciting story I was telling but cannot remember the details of.

Lunch was chili dogs. Nick did not approve. I didn't put chili on mine.

After lunch, Becky summoned the driving triumvirate (Phil, Jill, Vid) to pilot the mighty and venerable camp vans down the long, winding road that leads to Two Harbors and the semblance of civilization. The ride out with Phil was a lot of fun, we chewed the fat and he said a lot of things about his personality that I didn't understand. We arrived in the TH without incident (you will never find a greater hive of scum and villainy) and met the Catalina Express, which had borne its precious cargo of 20-something CIC staff across the channel and unloaded them in town. We met them, hugged the precious few returning staff members, (curse you Stephen!) and awkwardly pretended like we were meeting the new staff for the first time, even though we all had stalked each other mercilessly via facebook for weeks beforehand. We loaded up their gear and took off for camp. On the way back I nearly drove the van off a cliff, which spiced up the journey for all involved.

The afternoon consisted of waterfront orientation. Miah taught us all the ways of the waterfront. This ensemble was concluded with a brief swim test. It was somewhat cold in the waters of the Catalina that day.

Dinner was tacos, and my roommates all concur, they were delicious.

The evening marked the beginning of Specialist Training. I assembled the Sailfleet for the very first time, and we discussed the basics of the sailing program. I feel much more confident and prepared this year, it seems as if everything has changed about my outlook toward leadership and the sailing program, and for the better.

"The sea hates a coward." Eugene O'Neil

Today began with another glorious alarm chorus, but at least this time Andrew got up and lifted some weights. He apparently fucked it up and managed to give himself a massive blood blister. Which he later popped on camera in a grisly display of manliness. I'd upload the video but it was overly disgusting for me to view.

Breakfast was breakfast burritos. Could have used a meat component. Or beans. Still, I ate well.

This morning we enjoyed an epic training session led by the infamous Tom Kern on the intricacies of chaseboating. Tom employed his celebrated wisdom and quirky style to train us on the various boats in the CIC navy. My staff performed admirably, in particularly their docking abilities were impressive. After Tom Kern's dissertation we took the Zane Gray (a boston whaler named for a prolific writer of westerns) out to Ship Rock, and showed my staff around the general area around Howland's Landing (cove where camp is located). This was a lot of fun, everyone got a chance to drive, we chilled with some sea lions, it was a great morning.

Lunch was sandwich day, AGAIN. I love it. Sandwich day is like the best day of the YEAR. I could compose epic poems to the glory that is making my own sandwich at this camp. Perhaps with vikings.

After lunch we had an afternoon packed with sailing. We rigged up a Capri and took it out, and practiced a complex Jack Sparrow-esque maneuver that involved me leaping off of a moving sailboat as it passed the dock at full speed. My sailors indulgently allowed me to practice this trick several times. After this we took out sabots and practiced capsizing. All in all, an excellent afternoon of strong winds and hulls slicing through the waves.

Dinner was meatloaf.

After dinner I met with my sailors, discussed some stuff. Then I attempted to edit the footage produced by the Cabin Crew using the Apple-produced nightmare that is iMovie. Now I am a man who believes that people should be able to choose to buy computers that are designed to be used by idiots, it just infuriates me when I am reduced to utilizing them as well. The complete lack of customization on that program is so aggravating that I want to turn into the Hulk and go on a doomspree through downtown Cupertino. Anyway, the attempt failed, as did my attempts to install Adobe Premiere Elements on Rasheed's laptop, so pretty much the movie has not been edited. Hopefully Nick and the Cabin Crew will be able to figure it out over the weekend while I am off graduating. Adios.

"Many of the truths we cling to depend greatly on our own point of view" - Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi

Cetaceans of Catalina

I awoke this morning to the sound of Nick Osti's missile-launch style alarm from his iPhone, only to hear him groan and veto his own prior decision to run before breakfast. It apparently rained last night, and while I was initially mortified at the possibility my sailing manuals which I had left out last night would be utterly destroyed, fortunately the Force was with me, someone had placed a big plastic box on top of them and inadvertently safeguarded them from utter annihilation. It actually drizzled all day today, I pity the lifeguards immensely.

Breakfast was the traditional meal of specialist meetings, The egg McHowland's sandwich.

Today started off pretty mellow, finished up planning my staff training days, then worked on the movie some more. I hope it isn't too complex for Rasheed to decipher. Becky the Administrative Director became annoyed with my presence in the office around 11 AM, and diplomatically suggested I take a Capri out on the water in the afternoon. I required minimal convincing.

Lunch was melted cheese and bacon sandwiches. I approved heartily.

After lunch I rigged up a Capri and took it out along with Andrew and Jill, which was immensely enjoyable. I spent a few minutes teaching Andrew to operate the boat and he actually manned the helm for the rest of the voyage. Instead of yelling 'helm's a-lee' to let us know he was tacking, he chose to yell 'Helm's Deep'. I was okay with that mistake. We tacked up into Emerald Bay, waved at the Scout Camp, then saw a bunch of seagulls clustered over a spot out beyond Arrow Point. In the interest of spotting a shark, I ordered Andrew to reach out toward the area. When we got close we realized that actually it was a pod of dolphins that had corralled a school of fish together and were devouring them. We were able to get pretty close (unfortunately couldn't get any good pictures) but it was an amazing sail. Dolphins swam right up to the boat to check us out, there must have been a couple dozen of them.

Dinner was chicken and mashed potatoes. I keep eating salad too. What is happening to me?

Now I'm in the office answering Star Wars trivia with the leadership team. More money more problems!

"I wish to have no connection with any ship that does not sail fast; for I intend to go in harm's way." - John Paul Jones, Father of the American Navy

D-Day +1

Today was a day of preparatory adventure.

Breakfast was pancakes and bacon, I savored the sensually seductive slices of sow. HAH! That was a wicked alliteration.

This morning I spent several hours attempting to write a script for a video on the Intentional Camp theories of Michael Brandwein. It needs some more work but is shaping up to be entertaining and informative. Hopefully it will keep people awake without distracting them from the material too much.

I took a break from scriptwriting to help Emi G do the giant swing, a challenge course activity that involves hauling a person up high in the air and releasing them, causing them to soar through the air in a large arc. I personally find the activity unappealing, but it is fun to watch. We took a video that effectively captured the moment: http://www.facebook.com/video/video.php?v=399465937461&comments

Lunch was taquitos. And salad. It's weird I just keep eating that stuff, which is strange and confusing. Intriguingly, Julie and Tom produced a dish called 'Coca Cola Chicken' which is prepared in a dutch oven and coated in coke and ketchup. It was pretty damned good. They also made some beans but I didn't get a chance to devour any.

In the afternoon I attempted to assemble the sailing center, but achieved minimal progress. While setting up the sabot sails I noted that many of the ends of the sail sleeves were ripped open from 2 years of abuse, so I had to stop the whole process and wait for repairs. At least I got the lifejackets out of the back of camp transported down there.

Did some work on the sailor manual, updating ancient policies and procedures.

Dinner was ravioli, a dish that I usually pass on, but decided to try. It actually was pretty good. Tom and Julie continued their habit of Dutch Oven Creativity and produced peach cobbler and brownies, both of which were excellent.

After dinner I refined my plans for staff training, chilled in the office, and discussed the strengths and weaknesses of Darth Maul. Now we are preparing to view an episode of How I Met Your Mother. Hopefully tomorrow will bring more adventures worthy of recording.

This is Vid, Captain of the CIC Sailfleet, signing off.

"It is not that life ashore is unpleasant, just that life at sea is better." - Sir Francis Drake

Andrew said some stupid stuff.

Leadership training, Sea Bass, Sailors

Today marks the conclusion of leadership training 2010. I was actually quite surprised and pleased at how quickly it passed by, as it had to be condensed this year due to scheduling concerns. It was actually really nice, we reviewed some important concepts but didn't whip a dead horse, which was my fear for this year's training. Now I have 2 days of Area prep, where I'll get to plan out the training of my staff and assemble the sailing center. Excitingly, camp has decided to upgrade the nasty green mat that served as the stage for our sailing lessons in prior years with some sort of synthetic boards set into the ground. Should be a nice change.

The excitement last night occurred when staffers Nate and Chris caught a large sea bass while chumming for sharks. I say caught in that they retrieved one, but it was less of a catch and more of a scooping up out of the water near the surface. Apparently they happened upon the unfortunate fish as it was being assaulted by a sea lion, and were able to drive right alongside it, allowing Nate to gaff it right into the boat. The sea lion was probably quite annoyed. The victorious fishermen marched their catch triumphantly right up to the camp office in the middle of a leadership meeting, which promptly broke up for an impromptu session of storytelling and photography. The still-beating heart of the great fish (30ish pounds) continued to throb adamantly for several minutes after it had been removed, calling to mind traditions of a dark cult once encountered by Indiana Jones. Apparently the fish was quite tasty as well, Nate served some samples to a group of staff watching How I Met Your Mother, which I tragically missed because I was hard at work on the final essay of my college career, which I emailed with a gargantuan sigh of relief earlier today.

Today I had the chance to meet my new sailors for the summer, and my first impressions have been excellent. Each of them is highly experienced (probably more so than I am) in sailing, and all are excited to get out on the water later this week. I suspsect this summer's sailing team will live forever in the annals of CIC history as a group of champions who proved their mastery of wind and wave time and again. Either that or we'll be forgotten as soon as we quit working here. Either way I'm happy to have the new folks aboard. (Claire even has her own captain's hat!) Shahar the Israeli Superhero and Sailor Extraordinaire arrives on Friday, an event which heralds the superb summer waiting beyond staff training.

Anyway, that's all for now. Jolan tru.

"Ships are the nearest things to dreams that hands have ever made." - Robert N. Rose