The Great Weigh-In

One of the things I truly enjoy doing is attending events that allow me to experience some of the local culture to which I’m not familiar with. Yesterday, a friend of mine invited me to a ‘weigh-in’. My mind was thinking “you’re too thin to be doing weight watchers,” but what came out of my mouth was “what exactly is a weigh-in?”

“A fishing contest. People weigh the fish they catch for the contest. There are different categories, age groups and prizes for the fishermen,” she explained.

My thought process went something like this: “That really doesn’t sound like something fun to watch. But, she does seem excited about it so there’s gotta be something to it. Hey, Jesus hung out with fishermen, maybe I should too. It’s gonna be like 200 degrees outside, will there be air conditioning? I hope it’s not going to be stinky fishy smelling. Okay, I’ll go. Would you be totally embarrassed if I brought my camera and acted like a tourist?”

Then I imagined what this event might look like. I envisioned a wooden platform on a pier with men dressed in wool coats, wearing ties, standing next to a 10 foot tuna hanging from a scale, and holding a sign with the weight of the fish on it. Of course all of this was in black and white, just like all the old-school photographs hanging on the walls of the various seafood restaurants I’ve been to.

When we approached the parking lot I asked, “Please don’t take this the wrong way, but is this a redneck contest? I’d really like to experience something redneck.”

“Nah, this is fishermen stuff. You have to go more inland to see redneck stuff,” she said a little surprised by my question and probably thinking, “Dumb Yankee.”

The first thing I noticed upon approaching the event was the small metal bleachers that provided the only shade to us curious spectators. Naturally, I made a beeline for the bleachers. My first impression of the event was that it was much smaller and less organized than I anticipated it would be.

There was a table which the fishermen officially entered their catch and next to it a scale. To the right of the scales, there was a large white leader board displaying the top 8 leaders in the 4 categories: Kingfish, Dolphin, Wahoo and Juniors. Names were continually added and removed as the fish came in and were weighed.

After studying the leader board, I casually mentioned to my friend “I think it’s nice that the leaders name their fish.” My comment caused the man sitting next to me to chuckle.

“She’s not from around here,” my friend explained to the man.

“Those are the boat names,” she grinned.

“Oh,” I studied the board, “that would explain why some of the people share the same name.”

I have to admit, it didn’t take me long to get thoroughly engaged in what was happening around me. Maybe it’s my curious nature or just the fact that I’m easily amused. Whatever the reason, I had fun.

You’re probably wondering, what happened at the weigh in? Basically, fishermen pulled up to the docks, unloaded their catch and escorted their fish to the scales. A local radio host emceed the process and rallied the crowd into guessing the weights of the fish by handing out prizes to the best guessers. Now I pride myself on being a great guesser, but guessing answers to the question "Guess what?" is much more my forte than guessing weights. Much to my dismay, I walked away prizeless. Not that it was a bad thing cause I honestly have no use for fishing gear.

So what did I think of my first weigh in? I thoroughly enjoyed watching the anticipation on the fishermen’s face as they waited to see if their catch was the winner. It was fun to watch the kids try and hand off fish that were bigger than they were. It was definitely a great people-watching event.

I felt sorry for the fish though. I’m sure it’s because I had an aquarium in my office for 20 years. I secretly was happy when the winner of the contest flipped the fish over his back and the fish’s tooth gashed his ankle. “Yea, fish, way to get even.” I was also happy when no Wahoo’s were caught. “Way to go Wahoo’s for eluding all 200+ fishing boats.”

Will I attend another weigh in? I honestly don’t know.

Reason #152 Why Hands Free Devices Should be Required While Driving in Florida

You know the old saying, pictures speak louder than words. Well this photo doesn’t require a lot of words.

Old man driving + talking on cell phone = bye bye mail boxes.

All I can add is...good thing he was in a parking lot.

Tribute to Mags

Below is my tribute to a dear friend, Maggie. I graduated college with her daughter and shared a few colorful moments with her in my b.c. days.


R.I.P. 02/18/32 - 03/29/10

Maggie was a wonderful woman, devoted mother, dedicated teacher, patriotic American, diehard Michigan fan and a faithful friend. She had a heart of gold and was quick to help someone in need. She volunteered her time freely, whether it was campaigning for the rights of the handicapped or serving the veterans or homeless. She loved her children deeply and cherished her friendships.

She always enjoyed a good laugh, even if it was at her own expense. I had the great fortune of experiencing quite a few laughs with her. One such occasion sticks out in my mind the most.

Mimi and I graduated in the morning and were going to meet early that evening at the Dash Inn for a few celebratory margaritas and some dinner. The Dash was a dumpy, little, student hangout that was more famous for its margaritas than the food. Hence the place was always packed with students and the atmosphere quite boisterous.

Maggie and my mom had gone off shopping that afternoon and arranged to meet us at the Dash. Well, Mimi and I arrived on time, but our moms were nowhere to be found. After a half hour or so, we began to get concerned. Now mind you this was in the day before cell phones, so after using the pay phone to call our respective homes and getting no answer, all we could do was wait.

After about 45 minutes or so we heard Maggie yelling “Whoopee”. We turned to look and saw her and my mom stumbling towards us, followed in tow by some greasy looking dude who looked like he hadn’t showered for several days. Mimi and I looked at each other and started laughing. Our moms were not just a little buzzed; they were highly intoxicated. They pulled up chairs and to our surprise, the greasy looking dude did too.

“So, who’s your friend?” I asked my mom.

“This is Dave. Dave lives in his van,” she laughed.

“That’s nice,” I replied. “How did you meet him?”

“He works at Safeway,” was her answer.

“Where have you guys been all day?” Mimi wanted to know.

Maggie defiantly replied, “We don’t need to tell you. We can have fun too. Whoopee, Whoopee!”

Well, shortly after their arrival, Maggie decided she had to go to the bathroom. The bathroom was only large enough to fit two stalls and one small sink and there was generally a line outside the door waiting to get in. The bathroom was thoroughly disgusting, to say the least. The white linoleum floors were black from dirty footprints and spilled beer, the toilets were stained yellow from cigarette smoke, the bright pink walls were graffitied, and the room smelled like stale cigarettes and beer.

As Maggie was in the bathroom, our conversation at the table turned to Dave as Mimi and I were curious who this guy was and my mom was no help at all because she couldn’t stop laughing. What she was laughing at, I’ll never know. After a while, we became concerned for Maggie since she hadn’t returned from the bathroom and she’d been gone for an abnormally long period of time.

I decided to go check on her. I cut past the people in line, opened the door and yelled “Maggie, are you in there?”

“Whoopee,” I heard.

“Are you alright?”

“Whoopee”, I got again. I chuckled and returned to the table.

Several minutes later Maggie finally reappeared at the table.

“What happened in there?” Mimi asked.

Maggie proudly said, “I had a hard time getting these off the toilet” as she reached into her purse and produced four disgustingly yellow bolt caps from the base of the toilet.

You see, Maggie had just purchased her house at the Lakes and was in the process of renovating her home. Apparently her toilet was missing some bolt caps.

“MOTHER, THAT’S GROSS!” Mimi exclaimed in horror.

“I’ll boil them! I’ll boil them!” Maggie laughed.

The whole table bursted out laughing. We tried to convince Maggie to put them back and even offered to buy her some at the local hardware store.

“I’ll boil them, I’ll boil them. Whoopee!” she joyfully proclaimed.

Needless to say, we had quite a lot of fun laughing and trying to figure out what happened to our moms between graduation time and dinner. We never really did find out.

I’m sorry to say that Maggie did take toilet bolts home with her that evening. I don’t know if she ever ended up using them, and I honestly forgot to look the next time I visited her home.

Maggie was always good for a laugh, whether it was watching her smoke horse sh*t cigarettes in Mexico, tubing down the Salt River or just hanging out, drinking a Budweiser with her.

Thanks for your friendship and the wonderful memories, Mags. You’ll be missed and I’m glad to have known you.

With love,

Di

Spinning Thoughts

Recently, I’ve started attending a spin class at the local gym. I consider myself a novice in this sport and am still trying to decide whether or not it’s a sport for me. For those of you not familiar with spinning, it’s an aerobic exercise class where a group of people sit on specially designed stationary bikes, while listening to motivating music as an instructor yells out directions to the riders to simulate outdoor riding. The goal of the class is to burn calories and tone muscles, which seems like something I ought to be doing.

I thought I’d share what I actually think about while I’m on the bike.

While adjusting the bike:

“Okay, I can do this. This will be fun. I’m going to get in great shape.”

“Lord, help me to stay on the bike for the full hour.”

“Did I adjust this thing right? The people next to me seem to be peddling easier than me.”

“Geez, this classroom is cold, maybe I should have brought a sweatshirt.”

While warming up:

“I hope the instructor isn’t a masochist.”

“Come on legs, loosen up, you’ll feel better in a couple of minutes. Just keep peddling.”

“So far, so good. This isn’t so bad.”

5 minutes into the class:

“Phew, I’m starting to get hot already. Did someone turn off the air conditioning?”

“Is the clock on the wall broken? Surely, I’ve been riding for more than 5 minutes.”

“How come the people sitting next to me look so happy? Is there something going on that I’m not aware of?”

10 minutes into class:

Instructor: “Okay class, now that we’ve warmed up, are you ready to get started and have some fun?!”

Class: “Whahoo, yeah!”

“That was just the warm up? How can they think this is fun? This is work and I’m hot, sweaty and ready to get off already. Uh oh, I still have 50 minutes left.”

Random thoughts during class:

“I wonder if anyone has ever passed out in class? Will I be the first? Has anyone ever died while spinning?”

“I think my instructor may actually be insane.”

“I’ve been peddling for a ½ hour now and I’m still in the same spot!”

“Oh wow, I can’t remember the last 15 minutes. Did I have an out of body experience that I don’t remember?

“Who’s that 80 year old lady, smiling and singing to the music and having a great time on the bike? Hey, she’s peddling faster than me and doesn’t even look tired. Clearly she has dementia and doesn’t know where she is right now.”

“How fast can the human heart beat before it has a heart attack? Is my instructor CPR certified?”

“If you ask me to increase the resistance again, I’m gonna come over there and push you off your bike. You’re not human!”

“My legs are heavy and feel like jello and my lungs are going to explode! I wonder what exploding lungs look like?”

“Does anyone else in this class feel as bad as I do right now? I’m really not having any fun.”

“What is wrong with that stinking clock?! This class has been going on for two hours already. The instructor better cut it off at 60 minutes because I’m not spinning one more minute than I have to.”

“It’s really freaking hot in here. You people are sucking up all my air. Stop breathing so hard.”

During the cool down period:

“You can do this, just 5 more minutes.”

“I hope my legs don’t give out when I get off the bike. That would be really embarrassing.”

“Are my endorphins broken? I really don’t feel energized right now.”

Class over:

“I’m still alive. Yeah!”

“Why am I doing this?”