The One That Got Away

My Grandfather, my cousin, and I woke up at Freakin-Early o'clock to go fishing. Not just girly "stand on a pier for a while" fishing, but real, manly, deep-sea fishing. The kind of fishing where you stand on a boat for a while.

Apparently, conditions on this trip were not optimal. The current was running the wrong way, there wasn't enough wind, the rods were rigged for "guppy" fishing rather than "drift" fishing, and the boat was overcrowded. Of course, I wouldn't have realized any of this if people hadn't complained about it all morning.

I try to look at fishing as a Zen sort of experience, where you can turn your brain off and meditate. Long distance solo road trips, late night walks between campuses, and mindless internet surfing marathons serve the same purpose. Fishing doesn't work quite as well, though, because there's a goal, a metric for comparison. Didn't catch fish today? Oh, you must be frustrated. You'll never hear that after a yoga class. Did you achieve Nirvana and oneness with everything today? Poor dear.

So I didn't exactly center my root chakras today. That said, I did find out that indeed, I am all that is man. I caught 3 fish. Not only did I catch them, I also humiliated them. As I reeled them in, I talked trash, quoted Rocky 4, and made use of the fact that "fishes" rhymes with "bitches".

It's worth mentioning that my cousin Sol caught 5 fish, whereas I only caught 3. Also, 4 of his 5 were "keepers", whereas I was 0 for 3. Also, his legs are hairier than mine.

Three Last Names, One Fish-Terrorizing Bloodline
Let This Be a Warning to All Fish