Pope Paul VI:  “Are there memories left that are safe from the clutches of phony anniversaries?”

Oscar Wilde:  “Experience is the name everyone gives to their mistakes.”

Last Saturday evening, Splash and the Wild Thing hosted an indoor, post-paddle fluid replenishment session, minus the preliminary pre-paddling. It was a warm, convivial affair with a cornucopia of Malden Yacht Club Hall of fame nicknames in attendance. You couldn’t turn around without bumping into a Bullwinkle, Bad Idea Man or a recently leashed Don Juan No More. Escape to another room, and you would find the Artful Codger conversing with Madman and Mary PatPins. On the porch near the beer, Pauldo, Don’t Drive Like Danica Miss Debbie, and Mrs. Ol’ P made short work of their brews as they pretended to listen to Coop lobby to have his nickname changed to Duke (I could always make it Dupe, Coop), while by the buffet table Missesty alternated spearing the Ol‘ Philosophizer with her finger of steel and inquiring “does it hurt when I do this?” Yes sir, this was one great evening.

What helped make this get-together particularly pleasant (besides the abundance of food and drink, and the generosity of the host and hostess) was the presence of all those potential paddlers to be nick-named later. Whether they were spouses of the MYC-famous, kayakers who had yet to paddle with us, or those who have paddled in our company but have not yet distinguished themselves MYC style (like Bubble Wrap Bubba), they came to check us out in a controlled environment. Will this be the year that some are handed a hallowed handle that will thence forth be their monikers? It’s hard to say … by which I mean it’s not only difficult to quickly say “handed a hallowed handle” three times fast while chugging one of the new Dos Heinies (you’ll have to ask Bullwinkle what that means), it’s also hard to predict if this is the year that someone new decides to do something particularly stupid noteworthy. But if I picked up on the vibes correctly, I think this could be the year that our supply of sobriquets swells.

Is This The Year Bubble Wrap Bubba Gets An Official Nickname, Or Will This One Stick?

One of the reasons I feel encouraged about this prospect is that one of our semi-frequent paddlers, who is still straddling the fence between maturity and immaturity, claimed to be a reader of the Malden Yacht Club Blog. If that representation is the case, and is not in large part party braggadocio, then that would make him one of our Disreputable Dozen regular readers. Confidentially, that assertion seemed to be a difficult boast for me to swallow, and I preferred to have an offer of evidence to support this claim. Happily, it was volunteered before I could ask. Having made his claim of being a reader, the aforementioned Bubble Wrap Bubba continued “there are times when I have to stop because of a word I’ve never seen before, and when I look it up on Google, it isn’t there!” Well, of course it isn’t! One of the benefits of claiming to be a “writer with an eccentric style” is that you get to make up your own words whenever you want. Heck, the best past of this gig is trying to string together silly sounding senseless sentences simply so they make you giggle when you compose them. And that, folks, brings me to the subject matter of this blolumn.

Today marks the second anniversary of my first post on the Malden Yacht Club Blog, and as I have my doubts about lasting another two years, I thought I should celebrate this occasion. Not only should I celebrate it, but I should do so with the same lack of coherence you might expect from someone who would quote both a Pope and Oscar Wilde at the beginning of a blolumn. So here is what I have decided to do. I have gone through the posts from the first year and selected one or more sentences from each that rated high on the Ol’ Philosophizer’s Chuckle Chart. That way, each of you can re-live a year’s worth of Ol’ P experiences (or as Oscar Wilde might suggest, Ol’ P mistakes).What follows is a list of some of the things I found to be funny, or at least, I thought they were funny when I wrote them. Hmmm, it’s possible that this list may explain why only a dozen or so regularly read the blog. Oh, well. Hopefully, you’re one of the rare breed that shares my weird sense of humor.

From: HAPPY NEW YEAR or Happy New Year?

I must confess that I considered making a resolution to eat chocolate every day and spend more time staring at women; but  being successful at both might land me in court, where I would have to wear an orange jump suit so large that it could also serve as a covering for the Good Year Blimp.

From:  January 1 in Malden: Who needs the Rose Bowl?

For all our familiarity with the Malden Park, the weather conditions so disguised the shore and river, that it seemed like we would be paddling on a strange and endless sea today. What better way to start the new year?

On This Day, River Slush Provided Something We Had Never Experienced Before

From:  A Tale of Scissors and SpIce

So while Mary PatPins was confined to the back seat of the car, with plenty of time to imagine the worst,  Coop was now inside the best little hair house in Texas, where we will join him shortly.

Note: there were several posts that I enjoyed writing so much, that I could have picked numerous passages to include. This was one of them.

Only Coop Can Turn A Hair Cut Into A Duke Worthy, Wild West Adventure

From: Is This Any Way To Run A Meeting? (Part 1)

The expressions on the faces of the patrons seated at nearby tables were frozen in anticipation, fixed on the dozen dishes diving in a dizzying descent toward a disintegrating destiny. It was the proverbial train wreck about to happen, and all that was lacking was the final denouement.

From: Is This Any Way To Run A Meeting? (Part 2)

Taking advantage of the resources at hand, Captain Mike launched an investigation into the likelihood that surgically enhanced barmaids could cause the tongues of cloistered Canadian conventioneers to hang all the way to the floor … With dozens of wriggling tongues draped over the frosty floorboards, like night crawlers on pavement after a July monsoon, the little known touring troupe of  Hibernia’s Honduran Husky-Hefty-Humungo Step And Salsa dancers bounded into the conference center, and started tap-tapping and clop-clopping away … Only the fact that he could now create a new topic to study (the tongue tenderizing techniques of a traveling stomp, tromp, and trample troupe) prevented the conference from being a total disaster.

“Is That Your Tongue On The Floor, Or Did You Forget How To Tie Your Tie?

From: Fifth Friday in February Fun Filled Festival

eXclude eXasperating eXperts who eXplicate their eXploits

From:  The Top 10 Reasons Why the MYC should be THE SLIMY CRAPPY  PROFITEERS of the Quadricentennial (part 1)

The pug-ugly bug Magicicada Cicadidae Cicadoidea serves as a model for the Malden Yacht Club in two respects: it has a magnificent name that belies its prehistoric appearance, and it lives underground for 17 years at a time, before making itself visible to the public.

From: The Top 10 Reasons Why the MYC should be THE SLIMY CRAPPY  PROFITEERS of the Quadricentennial (part 2)

Henry Hudson sailed with a crew of 18, half of them Dutch and the other half English. That would make them Dung-lish (that obviously fits us).

From: THE IDES OF MAC OR THE TIDES OF MYC?

So here I am, left with two inspirations too insipid to skedaddle, and in the background I can hear a froggy voice croaking “Bull-spitzer Prize, Bull-spitzer Prize.” Oh, Crap!

From: It’s Time To Break Out of Winter’s Grasp And Jump In A Lake (part 1)

Once we review all applications, and have denied all the teary-eyed unqualified, petrified, horrified, and terrified who have applied, and a satisfied guide identified those qualified for our joyride, we can set about in earnest to spread our little water wings.

From: It’s Time To Break Out of Winter’s Grasp And Jump In A Lake (part 2)

(The lock keeper) will set into motion very complicated machinery to lower the water level in the lock. This consists of pulling on a very large chain that is attached to a hard rubber plug stuck in the bottom. While he is yanking his chain, we will pull on each other’s fingers to counteract the aforementioned ’yak flatulence.

Captain Mike Prepares To Pull The Plug, While Everyone Else Gets Ready To Pull A Finger

From: The Ol’ Philosophizer Responds To A Challenge (or, The Foibles Of Phil)

On a hot, humid night in August, Buster Buster and his blushing bride, Ima Ball Buster, left the HONEYMOAN (n., v., hopefully, what honey do on the honeymoon) suite of Flushing’s Golden Waters motel, and headed for the ballpark …

The Ol’ P reassured Phil that his interest in the ladies was entirely normal, even if his methods for satisfying the urges of his SPRITZER (n., derogatory term for a little man’s “little brain” that sometimes causes him to act in an INSEXCUSABLE manner) were not.

Note: This is another one of my favorites!

From: The Ol’ Philosophizer Reminisces

The problem with an impulse buy is the inevitability of buyer’s remorse. It may not occur immediately, but it will show up sooner or later. The speed of its arrival is usually directly proportional to the amount of money spent. With the kayaks, this unwelcome visitor arrived as I was driving home with Mrs. Ol’ P,  who was quietly pondering whether or not the kayaks were destined to join my growing collection of unused exercise equipment.

From:  Get Thee Gone, Gremlins!

If it’s true that the popped hood of a vehicle attracts a crowd, it’s even more true that it will attract something else: suggestions. Just like a butt, everybody has at least one. Tonight was no exception. The Bad Idea Man thought that the battery might be dead, so once again I produced my jumper cables. Nothing. Hmmm. Coop figured that the problem might be with the solidvoid, so he suggested that the Bad Idea Man hold a screwdriver between the sassafras and the frimwidgit, and try to arc the spark. Again, nothing. Hmmm. We stood there silently, shifting our weight back and forth from our left foot to our right, holding our chins, and staring at the hunk of cold metal. “Try kicking the tires.” That was Splash’s solution.

From: This Is Why We Don’t Plan

Planning is perfectly acceptable for responsible, adult like, activities such as organizing golf tournaments, or picking out assisted living facilities. But it has no place in the Malden Yacht Club. We are below that.

From:  The Official Opening Day Party of the Malden Yacht Club Is Coming

“How do I know if I’m Malden Yacht Club material?” There is no simple answer to that question, although there are dozens of simple Malden Yacht Clubbers who will give it a try. Do you like the water? Do you like to laugh? Do you like to laugh so hard that you shoot beer through your nose and wet your pants? These are among the attributes that the Malden Yacht Club values highly.

If You Recognize This As An Essential Piece Of Kayaking Equipment, Then You Are Malden Yacht Club Material

From:  The Ol‘ Philosophizer Dispenses Matrimonial Advice, Business Tips, and Other Interesting Tidbits

Men, it really isn’t that hard to do if you are a little bit devious.

Note: That is probably my most informative quote of all time!

From:  Everyone Has To Start Sometime

So get ready to suffer through more reminiscences of the Ol’ P, because I have decided to tell you about the very first time I kayaked in the Hudson. Coincidentally, the anniversary of that event happens to be tomorrow. Besides, maybe by posting parts of my memoirs on the Blog, I can claim to have written a blook.

If I Can Sort Of Evolve As A Paddler, Maybe I Can Do The Same As A Writer … Just Thinkin’…

From:  It’s Sooo Hard to Get Good Help These Days

A high percentage of the guests happened to be artists. I really can’t explain the phenomenon, other than to suggest that there might be a movement within art colonies to get back to primitive concepts. Anyway, they were there in full force: photographers, painters, graphic artists, performance artists, sculptors, and finger painters. If this keeps up, the slogan for this year’s T shirt may be “The Malden Yacht Club - We’re Weirder Than Woodstock.”

From:  Gentle Bull

As the gale grew, so did Bullwinkle’s enthusiasm. Matching gusts with guffaws, Bullwinkle became more jolly by the minute during our slog down the lake. Instead of biceps, he had pistons, and where his forearms should have been, you could see steel bars, much like those that used to turn the wheels of steam locomotives. Up, down, forward, and back. His paddle spun through the air and churned up the water. He was the master that afternoon, and he could spit into the wind and not regret it later. Buoyed by his joy, but quailing at his relentless pace, the rest of us tried to stay close.

BULLWINKLE! … Don’t Leave Home Without One!

From:  It’s Summertime

Novelists love to depict the summer as a warm, sultry season, when the pace of life slows down, and time passes by like the trickle of water in a dried up stream bed. But the truth is that Summer is the fleetest of the seasons, time accelerates, and before you know it, it will be over. If I had to come up with a stage-name for a tantalizing exotic dancer … now there’s a job for which I am ready to forsake retirement … I would pick “Summertime,” for there is no greater tease than Summertime.

From:  The Rescues Are Coming, The Rescues Are Coming

We will be having a night devoted to rescue practices. I guess that’s proof that there has been some growth in the group that convenes at the Malden Pollution Solution and Redistribution Institution, and it’s not the kind of growth that sends you scurrying off to see a dermatologist.

From:  Boy, Oh Boy! Do I Have An Idea!

Anyway, I was nominated to be the “unconscious paddler.” Well, that seemed easy enough. But then I was told that I had to tip my kayak over, remain in it, and do … nothing … just hang upside down, under the water, and do … nothing … because I was the “unconscious paddler.” Talk about a self-fulfilling prophesy.

We’re Supposed To Rescue Ol’ P … Anyone Seen Him?

From:  And Now You’ll Know The Jest Of His-Story

However, being raised as a courtier and nobleman of France, and being rigorously trained in the culinary arts, he answered in a diplomatic way that did great credit to his countrymen: “when invited to dine …I much prefer wine … but if it is free … I’ll drink fermented horse-pee.”

From:  An Insane Refrain, Us Birdbrains On Champlain

No sir, it’s time to come to grips with this fact: in forty days and forty nights, the Malden Yacht Club will unloose a deluge of peripatetic paddlers upon the environs of Ticonderoga. Maybe the residents of that area should build an arc, or at least a bigger fort.

From:  Have You Ever Wondered About Our Nicknames

If it was odd that two new paddlers would decide to join us for just the last day, it was even odder that Otter, the elder of the pair, would settle for merely one day.

From: So, I’m Thinkin’, This Is What We Should Do Next Year …

Of course, we don’t want to kill the initial buzz right away with a lot of boring stuff like, you know, words. No, what we need on the inside page of the brochure is something that will appeal to the Malden Yacht Club masses. What we need are more pictures!

From: Hey, Ol’ Philosophizer, What REALLY Happened On Lake Champlain? (Part 1)

With a wild gleam in her eye, a look that Splash has learned to fear and respect, the Wild Thing pushed the Splashmobile to the limit. It raced south, quickly overtook the next exit, which it navigated on two wheels, and in an instant was northbound again. In the distance, they could see the pfd bobbing and weaving in the breeze, looking very much like a butterfly on steroids. This time there would be no opportunity for failure. The Wild Thing followed the path of their target, dancing through traffic like M.C. Hammer performing the song “Can’t Touch This.” As a matter of fact, she was singing that song. Gradually, they closed on their quarry, and she and Splash exchanged a look that said it all. Splash knew what he had to do. Rolling down his window, he braced for the opportunity that would only come once.The Wild Thing urged her stallion on … that’s the car, folks; I’m talking about the car … and the gap decreased. Splash sat coiled on the seat, waiting, waiting, waiting … and then he sprang.

Maybe If I Hadn’t Attached This Balloon To My PFD, It Wouldn’t Have Flown Away

From: A Recent Rendition Of Our Inscrutable, Unsuitable Dry Suit Tradition

Then one day, enlightenment came in the form of a one piece, two color, include de booty, don’t skipper de zipper, zoot suit lookin, dry suit. Once we saw Coop and Mary PatPins sashaying along the riverbank in theirs, the rest of us had to have one. Gradually, that wish became reality, and now when the Malden Yacht Club paddles in the winter, we look like Nathan Detroit, Sky Masterson, and Nicely-Nicely (Icely-Icely ?) from Goretex Guys and Dolls.

From: Hey, Ol’ Philosophizer, What REALLY Happened On Lake Champlain? (Part 2)

Would Captain Mike find paradise at Pair-a-ducks Lake, or would it be paradise lost? Would Rock save the day by leaving a trail of bread crumbs, or would the ducks quack that plan by eating them? And what if one of the ducks was the child of the other, and there were two platforms for loading boats that stuck out into the water, one more appropriate for roosting on than the second, but the senior duck choose to sit on the less suitable one. Would that create an apparent paradox of a parent duck on a pair of docks at Pair-a-ducks Lake?

From:  It’s Time To Wrap Up 2008, And Dry Suits Too

So therein lies the blog dialogue (blogalogue ?) dilemma. Do we go out and recruit people off the street to pick ludicrous code names, and send sophomoric signals to the rest of the retro-adolescent paddlers of the world that claim that the MYC way is the best way; that the Malden Yacht Club is a movement, and at our age, movements are good, real good. Or do we continue on our merry, apathetic way, perusing posts periodically, while keeping closeted comments closely confidential? What …ever! As Bullwinkle says: “It’s all good.”

And so it is!