All joking aside... was that you?

Check Out SharkFinHat

2009-02-21T17:53:00.001-08:00

Seriously, it's obvious to everyone by now that this blog will be updated infrequently at best. The chances of you being actually entertained while reading it even if it were updated regularly were slim at best.

That's why you should check out Will's blog over at SharkFinHat. His poem "Ode To My Headache" had me literally laughing out loud.

Not that bullshit "LOL" comment that really means someone smiled at their computer at someone else's cleverness. No. I really did laugh audibly while reading it.

Check it out and have a laugh yourself.

Cary

So I finished writing the first draft of my horror novel this weekend...

2009-01-25T18:52:00.001-08:00

That's pretty much it. I don't have anything else to say.

What did you do?

An EXPLICIT Reverie Concerning Schoolyard Songs From My Past

2009-01-15T03:29:00.000-08:00

***OKAY, HERE'S YOUR WARNING. THERE'S GRAPHIC LANGUAGE IN THE FOLLOWING POST. BY GRAPHIC LANGUAGE, I MEAN REALLY, REALLY BAD WORDS. THEY ARE WORDS NONETHELESS AND I FIND THEM TO BE GENERALLY HARMLESS, HOWEVER I'M SURE SOME OF YOU WHO READ THIS WILL NOT APPROVE. DEAL WITH IT OR SKIP IT. IT'S YOUR CALL. ***

I've written before about my brain's amazing ability to remember absolutely useless things and then bring them up at inopportune times. None may be more useless than this.

If you went to a public school, then beginning at around 4th or 5th grade, you started hearing some pretty dirty songs on the school grounds. Perhaps you even made some up, like my friends and I did. Anyway, the idea was that you took an existing song and changed the lyrics up to be a little more racy... or in some cases downright pornographic.

When I was in junior high school, my friends Richard Jerrell, Kevin Williams and I took this from a fun way to pass time before class to an art form. I blame learning the lyrics to Sugar Hill Gang's "Rapper's Delight". Once we heard the line "He may satisfy you with his little worm, but I can bust you out with my Super Sperm" it was like the muse descended upon us.

We began changing lyrics to songs on the radio almost immediately.

Kevin's lasting contribution to the genre was to change the lyrics of The Steve Miller Band's "Abracadabra". His version took Miller's craptacularly mediocre song and made us laugh every time we heard it.

I see the magic in your eyes
I feel the magic in between your thighs
Silk and satin, leather and lace
Black panties with your mama's face

Richard Jerrell took Joe Walsh's "Life's Been Good" and penned this gem (which still pops in my head every time I hear the song).

My Masaradi does 184
Stopped at a red light to pick up a whore
We went to my place and got into bed
I popped my rubber and came on her head

Ah... and they say american schools don't teach enough appreciation of the arts.

The king of all of them, though, is one I'm not sure who to give credit to. It may be that this was so old that it had been handed down on the school grounds for years and years. I'm not sure. What I am sure of is that it crawled into my skull and took up valuable space that could have been used for something else much more useful.

Here's an example, drawn from real life.

Say you are in the military and have taken leave from your station in Japan to visit a friend. Your friend is stationed in the Phillipines. You're only going to be there for three days and for one of those days, your friend has lined up an opportunity for you to go boogie boarding. You haven't been boogie boarding since you left Florida three years before. This sounds sweet. What makes it sweeter is that while he's never been there before, he's heard that the place he's going to take you is isolated. No lineup to contend with, no crowds, just you, a few others and some waves and a small ice chest full of beer.

Now, let's say that you and your friend decide to take a shortcut to said beach and that you unknowingly trespass on someone's land who does not like trespassers. It would probably have been infinitely more useful to know enough Tagalog to say, "Please put down the gun. We don't want to steal anything. We want to surf."

Instead, as I looked down the barrel of a shotgun held by a ragingly paranoid Filipino woman, my brain offered up the following in an effort to deal with the situation.

(sung to the tune of The Beverly Hillbillies Theme Song)

A long time ago there was a man named Jed
Crazy motherfucker wore a rubber on his head
Then one day when he was screwing Mary Lou
Up from the bed came a bubblin' spew

Jizz that is.

White Gold.

Baby Juice.

You know, it's amazing I lived past the age of 23.

Why I Love Digital Music!

2009-01-09T08:48:00.000-08:00

I'm a music nut as many of you know. For the longest time I was always on the lookout for the coolest new artists and trying to be ahead of the pop culture curve. About a year ago, I became disenchanted with that and stopped looking for new music altogether. My focus became going back and listening to old favorites and things I hadn't appreciated before.

Thus I began giving second chances to artists like Warren Zevon, Bruce Springsteen and Screamin' Jay Hawkins. These were all artists that other people had recommended to me but who I just never ‘clicked’ with.

Dropping out of the "new music" discovery scene was a good thing. However, it was a big step for me because once you do it, there’s no going back. The fact is, when you go from being neck deep in music blogs, trading networks and band e-mail lists to nothing at all, you lose your instinct to recognize emerging trends. Your "cool meter" gets severely out of whack and recallibrating it is almost impossible.

For someone like me, that was a huge step to take, but honestly I'm glad I did. The reason being I have spent the last eight months digging deeper and deeper into the past and in doing so, I've discovered the real reason digital music is the best thing for music lovers since the invention of the phonograph.

For most of you, this is going to start out as a boring history lesson that you already know but stick with me for the next few paragraphs.

If you’re old enough to remember when CDs first hit the market, you’ll remember that everyone was anxious for the record companies to begin releasing "classic" albums. Those first few years were filled with anticipation for albums by The Beatles, The Rolling Stones, Jimi Hendrix, Miles Davis, etc. These were albums many people already owned but the record companies knew that people would buy them again because finally CD’s offered audio clarity. While I read a number of articles in the late 1980’s about how the digital music “revolution” had begun, in retrospect nothing could have been further from the truth.

It was when the power shifted from the record companies to the listeners themselves that the true revolution began. When MP3's began taking off and (more importantly) the technology to convert CD, cassette and vinyl music to MP3 became more easily accessible… that’s when the real digital revolution began.

Now, it doesn’t matter if an artist won’t sell 100,000 copies of an album. Anyone can release anything at all through a number of different online channels and people will be able to hear it and appreciate it all over the world.

“Yeah, I know that Cary. That’s why all those upstart bands in garages in my neighborhood all think they’re the next big thing.”

A-HA! But you’re missing my point. I don’t give two shits about that band. I give two shits about the people who are now taking old 45’s and 78’s from decades ago and are converting them to MP3 for mass consumption. THAT’S where the digital revolution is playing a more important historical part than I believe anyone ever imagined.

Everyone was looking to “the future” but in fact the digital revolution has opened up a window to our musical past. Where before, you would have to hope that a record company might see fit to pull together a collection of popular music from the 30’s and 40’s, now, a private collector somewhere can make his own compilation and share it online for free.

Sure, the audio quality may suffer but in many cases, that doesn't really matter. What matters is that music previously available only to a handful of collectors is now available to the masses. Suddenly, I’m listening to a scratchy recording of a barbershop quartet singing "Cocksucker's Ball" from the 1940s. A song, I might add, that would never, ever have seen the light of day if left up to a record company to press to CD.

Which is where my current musical obsession comes in. I've found myself reaching further and further into the past for music instead of searching for the next big thing. My quest has brought me some fantastic finds via MP3 compilations of hard to find music.
In the last eight months, I've been neck deep in releases by Arthur Lyman (world exotica from the 1950s), garage band finds from the Lux and Ivy's Favorites compilations and now, my new favorite, Music from the 30's and 40's volumes 1 - 5.

This latest is music that many of you may have even heard behind classic films from the same era. For instance, when I heard "Oh Mama!" for the first time, I immediately thought of watching a Three Stooges Episode where a nice dinner/dance turns into a pie throwing fiasco. Hearing "Ziguener, You Have Stolen My Heart" by Sidney Lipton and his Orchestra made me think back to adventure/horror films like "Son of Kong" where it seemed like throwing a gratuitous musical number into the mix was a filmmaking law at the time.

More importantly though, this music is all still pretty cool in its own way. These are not the Lawrence Welk crowd's songs, all schmaltz and polyester. These are artists in their prime who are experimenting with "state of the art" recording technology and playing new compositions (not old standards). The performances are lively and fun and there's an innocence and exhuberance here that I haven’t heard anywhere else.

So, while it's sad in some ways to see the music industry go down in flames thanks to digital downloading, I have to say I'm not actually that heartbroken over it. After all, instead of only having approximately 30 - 40 years of music available via CD stores or online ordering, now there is almost 80 years worth of tunes available to explore with only the price of a quick internet connection, a laptop and an iPod.

That seems like a decent tradeoff to me.

You all suck...

2009-01-08T11:20:00.000-08:00

.

No one wants to go Bigfoot hunting? Fine.

.

Bigfoot: A dissertation on why I'm a 9-year-old in my head

2009-01-07T02:00:00.000-08:00

Let's get a few things straight up front.

I don't believe in UFO Conspiracies. Roswell has a logical explanation (Project Mogul if you're interested). Besides, the government can't even run a war without screwing things up and leaking information everywhere. There's no way they could consistently cover up something as big as having UFOs in a hangar somewhere.

I don't believe in the Loch Ness Monster. That lake has been sonar scanned to death and it's just not possible for a dinosaur to live off the amount of food living in it. That Scots are seeing monsters in lakes does not surprise me one bit given the potency of their fine, fine whiskeys.

Fairies, elves, 50-foot snakes, honest politicians, the right of pre-emptive war, giant spiders, trolls, etc. are all completely ridiculous and there's no way in hell they exist.

However... I think Bigfoot is real. So is Mokele Mbembe if you're wondering.

Why do I think this?

Well because scientifically, they haven't been completely ruled out yet. That means that technically it's still possible that they exist and honestly, that's enough for me.

Now, that may not seem important to you, but to me it's more important than almost anything else! You see, one of the things that I'm personally conflicted over is reconciling my need to absorb as much information as possible with my desire to still live in a world where there is at least some sense of mystery.

So I believe Bigfoot is real because I want to believe it's real.

When I was a kid (in the 1970s for those keeping score) Bigfoot went nationwide as a phenomenon. Sightings were in the papers, books were written and were best sellers, people I knew in Florida swore to me that they'd seen similar things in the swamps when hunting. All of this sparked my imagination like nothing else. It didn't matter if everyone was lying or not. The fact was, I thought there was something out there that was new and undiscovered and it consumed me.

There's a lot of unspoiled wilderness still left out there. There are plenty
of places where people still say they've encountered something they can't explain and there are plenty of scientists who, while stating they don't actually believe Bigfoot exists, do concede that if it did exist, it would be able to survive in these areas.

The thought that something that big could remain undiscovered in the age of satellite imagery, laser beams and internet pornography really sparks my inner 9-year-old.

Which is exactly why I think it's imperative that a small group of us go looking for it.

Let me explain myself. There are all kinds of people out there who are looking to find this thing for all the wrong reasons. My favorite to read about can be found at www.bfro.net . Here's a link to a sighting just this past November that takes place mere miles from where I grew up. It's all very matter of fact, claims are properly investigated and the research is scientifically founded, but they rarely come up with anything beyond footprints and they only occasionally get those.

While I admire their dedication, there's no way I'd go out with them to look for one of these things. Mainly because they're way too serious and honestly, a little on the douchey side.

I want to reiterate that I'm not in this to bring back physical proof of bigfoot and make a name for myself. I just want to see one, hopefully while sober and then walk away. That's why I'm proposing a full on expedition by complete amateurs who only want to hike, camp and have fun... but just do it in an area where people have seen Bigfoot.

You see, I have a theory. After reading multiple accounts of sightings, I've come to the conclusion that if we act like we don't want to see one, apparently we'll be partying with them in no time. Once that happens, we can offer them a couple of drinks, maybe trade funny stories about scaring the shit out of campers and then they go their way and we can head back to civilization.

It's essentially a foolproof plan and as you can see, I've put a ton of thought into it.

There are a number of places we can go if we want to find some of these things, including northern California, Washington, Texas and Arkansas. There's even that kickass fish camp up in Canada that Monsterquest spent time at. That place is practically crawling with them but it's hard to get to.

I'm inclined to want to go somewhere here on the West Coast but that's because it's easier for me, but I'm open to suggestions.

What's important is that we go, we bring along what we need for a three or four day trip and we bring along whatever substances may be needed to help us find bigfoot.

If you're concerned about undertaking such an endeavour in these uncertain times, consider it a health trip. You will feel invigorated, refreshed and have a renewed sense of purpose once you've gone on such a quest. I speak from firsthand knowledge. Just read the post on the great white shark trip . I'm still getting occasional tingles thinking about that one... at least I hope that's what's making me tingle.

Either way, who's with me? Let's do this thing in 2009!

Alive and sort of well in 2009

2009-01-02T06:39:00.000-08:00

Being sick sucks. Especially when it coincides with a two week vacation from work. I've been healthy the entire year and the day after my company closed for Xmas break, I ended up with a chest cold that prevented me from diving or doing anything but sleep, eat and watch football.

Okay, it could have been worse I suppose.

One thing the combination of cold medicines and boredom made me do was consider what to me is a rock and roll enigma.

What's so fucking great about Queen?

Okay, yeah, I get it. There are some songs with big hooks ("Fat Bottom Girls", "Another One Bites The Dust", "We Will Rock You", etc.) and yeah, the singer had a great voice and was openly gay which I admire, etc.

But who, in their right mind, can sit and listen to the entire Jazz album or Night At The Opera and not get bored out of their friggin' skulls before the end of them? Sure there are a few gems in there but the rest of it is pure torture to listen to, at least in my mind.

So if you're a Queen fan, please lay it out to me. What's the big friggin' deal?

While you're at it, a dissertation on why Led Zeppelin's "Whole Lotta Love" should be considered a classic instead of just another seven minute guitar jackoff would be appreciated also.

Happy New Year!

Night Diving

2008-12-08T09:40:00.000-08:00

Look, I tried to think of something witty to say about night diving but I can't. It's just really cool.

I took my new camera along last Friday but couldn't get the damn white balance to work. Everything comes out with this creepy green look to it but still, it's kind of cool. Here are the two best videos from the lot. I'm still figuring this camera out so hopefully better shots will show up here in the future.

Here is the cool Thornback Ray we saw while approaching the reef in Crescent Bay.

Here is just a shot of the reef and my dive buddy looking in holes for lobster.

You get a real sense of the darkness in that second one. It's fun to think of what all could be out there, checking you out... just beyond the beam of your light...

Well, at least I think it's fun.

My 6-year-old Daughter's Mix CD

2008-12-04T21:01:00.001-08:00

So my daughter loves music. Yeah, no big surprise there. I am a very music oriented person. However, my daughter's love of music has led to some interesting experiences for me.

Last Christmas... when she'd just turned five mind you... the one thing she wanted was a "pink" CD player for her room.

She was five. She didn't want toys (even though she got some and loved them). She wanted a CD player and CDs by Hillary Duff, Hannah Montanna and the High School Musical Soundtrack. My first "weird" experience as a parent was watching her lay on her stomach in front of the CD player, the liner notes from High School Musical open in front of her, reading through every word and listening closely to each song. It was like looking at myself 33 years ago.

For the past year, as we've gone on long road trips to Brian Head, Utah and then Clear Lake, CA, we've brought along my iPod. I would create "super mixes" with days worth of music and we would hit shuffle at the beginning of the trip and by the time we return we'd have barely made it through all the songs. On this last trip, Lily asked us to keep track of the songs she told us she liked, so we wrote them down.

As I was making the mix for the last trip, I threw on a song from my wife's old CDs. She rarely buys any music anymore but we still have CDs she had when she was in high school and skating competitively. One of the songs she has is funny in an embarrassing way and I included that as a joke. After we got back, Lily would occasionally ask me to play certain songs again and finally, I told her, "Make a list of your favorites and we'll make a CD." She got super excited about this and took a couple of weeks to narrow it down to just her absolute favorites. I let her dictate the order and burned it on Thanksgiving Day.

When I step back and look at the tracklisting, I'm kind of impressed. I wish I'd had taste this good at 6 years old. Well except for one song... I'll let you figure out which one came from Karen's CDs.

Question - Old 97s
Whisper To A Scream (Birds Fly) - Icicle Works
La Femme D' Argent - Air
Lonely Holiday - Old 97s
Everything Counts - Depeche Mode
Bring On The Dancing Horses - Echo and The Bunnymen
I Melt With You - Modern English
But Not Tonight - Depeche Mode
Whispers and Moans - Crowded House

and then:

Boom Boom Boom Boom (I Want You In My Room) - Vengaboys

Uh-huh...

.

Writing a Book is a Weird Experience

2008-12-01T20:11:00.001-08:00

I know, you are probably thinking it's boring and I'm sure that if someone put a camera on me and filmed the actual action of me writing a book, it would only barely rival Warhol's epic movie about a man sleeping.

But hey, it's what goes on inside that's weird. I've written stories before and I've worked on this book for over a year but up until recently, it's only been one day a week. In a massive gesture of faith and love for me, my wife suggested that I make a sprint to the finish of sorts and try to wrap this thing up by the New Year.

At least I think it was a massive gesture of faith and love... it could be that she just wanted the TV to herself to watch that John and Kate show. Either way though, I find myself well over 200 pages and 65,000 words into something that originally started out being nothing more than a five to ten page short story about a graveyard. I'm probably at the halfway point now and what's weird about this can be summed up in two sentences.

1. I'm living other people's lives in my head.

2. I've kind of enjoyed killing some of them.

Seriously. On both counts this is supremely weird for me, but it's true. I find myself creating backstories in my head that never make it to paper. They don't need to. They just need to help me better define the characters I'm writing about. I also find myself trying to relate to people I'm inherently not like. For instance an 80 year old single woman or a 28-year-old hispanic drug dealer. In ways, it's opened up a part of me that was formerly adverse to empathy.

But then, there's that second statement which is also very true. Killing some of these folks... even some of the innocent ones, has been incredibly fun. The more weird and wicked the better in most cases. The real carnage in the story is still to come and I'm wondering if I'll get to a point when I look in the mirror and ask myself, "Is it normal to think these things?"

I suspect I won't. There's a big part of me that is able to separate the real world from the world in my head where anything is possible. I just have a feeling that it's just going to be hard to convince folks who read this later that the grey matter in my skull is just like theirs.

In the end though, I don't guess it will matter much. They'll either like it or they won't but I'll have still written the book I wanted to write and that's all I care about.

Time to go write some more now. You enjoy avoiding work or whatever it is you're doing while you waste time reading this. I'm going to go knock off a convenience store clerk... in my head.

A few questions for the audience

2008-11-14T04:00:00.000-08:00

In the last 40 years, I’ve had the good fortune to be put in a number of situations where I was definitively out of my element. I say good fortune because I believe it’s how you react when you are at your most vulnerable that helps determine who you really are and helps you shape the person you want to become.

Having had that good fortune, I’ve compiled a short list of questions that you should ask in just such situations if the answers are not presented to you initially. They’re things that could make a big difference as to whether you continue being a functioning part of society or not. They also can lead to your getting more out of a situation than you expected to get (for both good or ill).
For reference, these are things either I have asked, should have asked or were asked for me by another participant.

Here they are. A short list of important things you should ask in your lifetime:

1. Are you sure that goes there?

2. Does my life insurance cover this?

3. Do you think we’ll get caught?

4. How do you know so much about it if you’ve never tried it?

5. What happens if a shark gets in the cage?

6. What happens if that doesn’t work?

7. Where does that road go?

8. Are you sure there are no alligators here?

9. Is the plane supposed to do that?

10. Do you mind if I watch you eat it first?

11. Is that your hand?

And finally, my favorite. I've used it often and it is guaranteed to elicit the most enlightening/frightening responses:

Why?

Use them well.

Balls: The Epic Comic Part II

2008-11-12T04:00:00.000-08:00

Once again, thanks to Will at Sharkfinhat for turning me on to Stripcreator.com. It's allowed me to fulfill my dream of bringing the ultimate comic strip from just a random collection of thoughts about the world to a cohesive reality that I can share with you, the reader.

Enjoy, Balls: Part II

The Voice of the Beehive

2008-11-09T12:45:00.000-08:00

"It's weird what goes through your mind in such a foreign situation. Here I am, as far away from my everyday life as possible, literally thousands of miles away from almost everyone I know and submerged in the ocean. Speech communication with any other human being is impossible, so it's pretty much just you and your thoughts. My thoughts and I aren't always on speaking terms, so it can be kind of tough to be stuck with no one but your inner monologue to talk to. My mind drifts around from a laser focus for sharks to wondering what I could have/should have done differently in life and back about a thousand times every time I'm in the cage. It was kind of therapeutic and certainly more helpful than going to an actual therapist was. I may still be a disaster as a human being, but at least now I have an insane story to tell." - Will Mason

Personally, I haven’t been diving long, but I’ve embraced it like few other things in my life. I took to it immediately and until now, I’ve never given much thought to why that is. Reading Will's excellent take on the shark dive over at sharkfinhat made me pause and think.

Two things in particular struck me. First was that he actually seriously considered we may die and secondly, that he felt the experience of being underwater was therapeutic.

Throughout my life, I've been fortunate to have something I like to think of as good intuition. Sometimes it's a feeling, sometimes it’s an actual voice in my head but either way, it's not something I get all the time. It’s not something I can count on as always being there but when it is, I heed it. It's served me well in these first 40 years.

Unlike “Spidey-sense”, this isn’t a feeling of impending danger (although I’ve gotten that a couple of times). Many times, it's more like a reassurance. It's a feeling that says, "Yeah, this is weird, but you're going to be just fine."

You know, I don't want this to come off as some macho posturing because anyone who knows me knows, I'm not "that guy", but from the moment I stepped onto the boat on the shark dive, I knew we weren't going to be in any danger, ever.

It wasn't like I felt that way thanks to any safety lectures or anything (because God knows, James left out some pretty important shit in the 'safety lecture' we got… for instance, how to avoid sharks if they get in the cage). Still, there was never a doubt about our safety in my mind. I KNEW we were going to be just fine. Call it overconfidence. Call it stupidity. No matter what you call it, though, I want to reiterate one thing.

I didn't think we'd be fine... I KNEW that we would be fine.

I've had that feeling of, "no matter what, I'll walk away from this" more than a few times throughout my life. It's a good feeling to have and it's one that has come to me in the weirdest and most stressful of situations. A good example is back in 1990, I got lost on a day hike in the Angeles National Forest and had to free climb 300 feet in the dark while wearing Vans slip-ons to regain the trail. I never once felt uncertain about what I had to do or questioned whether I’d make it to the top. It was a certainty in my mind that I would get there and I was right.

In the last two years, that feeling has hit me underwater more often than not.

So after reading Will's post and realizing that I definitely had that "Everything's Fine" feeling all day, I started asking myself why. I mean, it's not like we weren't in some of the most dangerous waters on the West Coast. Every minute spent in that cage was spent looking for sharks. Giant, seal-eating, "the things movies are made about" sharks, no less.

After some whiskey and serious reflection, the best answer I can come up with is this.

From my earliest memories, my brain has been like a beehive full of trivial information. Song lyrics, work deadlines, movie quotes, the magna carta, the fact that Playboy’s Miss July 1977 didn't like selfish people… any and all of these things swirl through my head on a minute by minute basis. I'm the guy people call up at work and ask, "Who was it that ran against Clinton in 1996?" or "Who was the producer on Def Leppard's Pyromania album?" or "Who was the cinematographer on The Texas Chainsaw Massacre?"

(the answers are Sen. Bob Dole, Robert "Mutt" Lange and Daniel Pearl, respectively)

And personally, I don't mind it. I've never wanted to stop it. It's like my head plays a constant game of referencing and cross-referencing the world as I experience it and that's something I revel in. However, every time I’ve had that feeling of "Everything is fine", it’s been in a situation where the beehive has stopped buzzing; when my attention and focus became laser sharp.

The one place where my brain never strays is underwater. It's such an alien environment that it demands my attention. When I'm down there, I have one job to do: enjoy a safe dive. That takes up so much of my concentration, that I tend to be at peace most when I'm beneath the surface. The pressures of deadlines, mortgage payments, school costs and everything else can't follow me down below sea level, where my focus is on my breathing, my guages, the environment around me and my dive buddy. Many times, my stress can't even make it past the beach. I don't think about the meetings I have on Monday. I don't think about the negotiations I'm behind on at work. I don't think about how I'm going to find a way to surprise Karen for her birthday or how I’m going to juggle my schedule so Lily can get to piano class. It's like from the moment my feet hit the surf, I begin to achieve a zen-like state of mind that I don't get anywhere else. For the length of my dive, all that exists is that moment, that place, and instead of a beehive in my head, I get a very calm, rational series of observations, choices and lists of options, none of which involve pop culture, politics or the preferences of 1970s Playmates.

The best dive I ever had was one that was for all intents and purposes, a wash out. I accompanied a friend who was teaching a student. The two of us went out and set the dive float. Then he went back to shore for his student. While I was there, the float pulled loose from the sandy bottom and I ended up spending the rest of the afternoon on the bottom, holding it in place while the two of them went off to do their underwater examinations.

I was alone except for the four purple sand dollars half buried in front of me.

I heard the clicking of dolphins. I heard the sound of my breathing and those breaths breaking the surface 20 feet above. I felt the push and pull of the tide and heard the waves pounding the shore 100 yards away. I heard the creaks of all manner of creatures climbing the reef nearby, and I'm pretty sure they heard me as I just lay there on the bottom and breathed.

I wasn't diving. I was 'being'… I was simply existing… and everything was going to be perfectly fine. It wasn't narcosis. I didn't feel euphoric. I was focused, but I was relaxed.

Being in that cage with Will, I felt the same way. It was cold as hell. The cage was rolling. The sharks were out there and my nerves were crackling, but it was okay. The beehive was quiet and there was no doubt within it that everything was fine.

I've never really thought about it before now, but for me, it's that time underwater, where my brain and I can be selfishly alone, that I cherish. I don’t get to dive as often as I'd like, but I have no doubt that when I do, it makes me a better father, husband and person. So yeah, Will’s right.

That’s way better than going to an actual therapist… sharks or no sharks.

Balls: The Epic Comic

2008-10-28T21:37:00.000-07:00

Ladies and Gentlemen, I present to you the debut of an epic comic that I've had rolling around in my brain for some time.

Thanks to Will Mason over at sharkfinhat.blogspot.com for turning me on to stripcreator.com.

Now, All Joking Aside is proud to present... Balls.

Sharks or the lack thereof...

2008-10-24T16:30:00.000-07:00

Here's the question. Your wife asks you, "So what do you want for your 40th birthday? You can do whatever you want. Just name it."

Do you tell her about your fantasy involving a midget, one pound of powdered rhino horn and her dressed as Wonder Woman singing Oingo Boingo's "It's Just Another Day"?

The answer is no. Thirteen years of marraige have not prepared her for that revelation and another thirteen probably won't either. Instead, you tell her about the second thing that pops into your head... as long as it doesn't involve midgets, powdered rhino horn or Wonder Woman.

For me, it was, "I want to dive with Great White sharks!"

The look of subtle worry was instantly more gratifying than the look of disgust the other option would have elicited and after a quick look to see if death by stupidity was covered on our life insurance policies, arrangements were made.

That was back in April which left six and a half months between laying down the deposit and actually climbing aboard the boat. Six and a half months of anticipation. I almost didn't make it. The thought of climbing into that cage was so exhilarating that it lit me up like a firecracker. It was six and a half months of wanting to go "NOW".

So, a little over a week ago, I finally climbed into that cage. Did I see sharks?

Yes, I saw a shark.

Did I get a picture of the shark?

No. However I regret nothing... except maybe not buying my wife a Wonder Woman costume while in San Francisco. That would have been the coolest.

Though you may think from the first part of this post that I'm all about drunkeness and insanity, I'm not. In fact, I'm a mild mannered family man. That's why the first part of the trip was spent with up in Clearlake (about 3 hours north of San Francisco) with my wife, daughter, sister and parents. Here's Karen and I at the Coast Guard station in Sausalito.

I actually succeeded in not thinking about the dive at all during this part of the vacation even though my sister, Kelly, constantly talked about it (she was going also). I think the copious amounts of wine and beer helped my cause and believe me, you can't be in the middle of the Napa and Sonoma valleys without partaking in some wine and beer.

Either way, the laid back part of the trip was officially over on October 15th, when we headed back down to San Francisco to pick up Will Mason. We found him standing outside the Hotel Boheme looking suspiciously like a tourist. Sure, he was all suave and casual in his trendy japanese jersey, but holding onto a gigantic friggin' suitcase in the middle of the sidewalk sends out an "I'm not a local" vibe like you wouldn't believe. He threw it in the Prius and we were off to find my sister who had disappeared in the direction of Pier 39.

Feel free to insert any jokes you'd like about my sister, Piers, sailors, etc. at this point. She would expect it and likely appreciate the opportunity to one-up you. I'll be glad to forward all comments her way.

We found her down by the harbor seals and grabbed a bite to eat before doing some sight-seeing. If you haven't seen the Penny Arcade down by the S.S. Jeremiah O'Brien, you really should. Lots of cool machines from the 1920s can still be found there. My favorite was The Opium Den which featured skeletons, demons and a dragon that slowly popped out from doors surrounding puppets smoking hookahs. There's just nothing like getting your daily dose of morality via an animated puppet show. Sure beats the sock puppet sex-ed class I got when I was in 3rd grade. I've never looked at knee-high basketball socks the same way since.

Here's a shot of Will corrupting my daughter by letting her look at an Adults Only peepshow.

It was showing women of the 1920s exposing their bloomers.

GASP!

Eventually, I kissed my wife and daughter goodbye and they headed back to the safety of Clearlake while Will, Kelly and I started thinking about sharks. Actually, that's a lie. Kelly went to the hotel and went to sleep. Will and I hit a bar called Vesuvio's (next to City Lights bookstore) and met up with a friend of mine from Boston named Mike. By complete coincidence, he also happened to be visiting the area so we had to share a few beers and discuss important matters, like movies and Tom Waits albums. After a few, we decided it would be a great idea to get our pictures taken in front of Larry Flynt's Hustler Club. Our train of thought was a tad clouded no doubt.

The conversation went something like this:

Will: You know, Larry Flynt's Hustler Club is right around the corner from here.

Cary: Holy shit! We should get a picture taken there.

Mike: Sounds good to me.

Fifteen minutes later, Mike was on his way back home and Will and I were in the car headed back to the hotel:

Will: What if that's the last picture taken of us before we're eaten.

Cary: Crap. Karen will want to kill me and we didn't even go inside!

Many conversations along these lines happened over the next 12 hours. This is the kind of logic that comes about when you combine a cheap buzz with emminent shark doom. Upon seeing this photo, Karen turned to me and said, "I know you didn't go in because you still have money in your wallet."

That's what I love about my wife. Logic rules all.

In any case, after a night of restlessness, Will, Kelly and I all headed down to the pier at Emeryville (outside of Oakland) and boarded the Superfish. Here's Will and I by the cage at 5:30 a.m.

While it was early, we were pretty pumped as was everyone coming on board. At this point, we were just hours away from becoming bait. The ride out to the Farallons is about 3 hours from Emeryville. They sit 26 miles out from the Golden Gate bridge, however the currents are horrendous. This is a shot of the coast near San Francisco as we headed out to sea.

This was a relatively calm day so we were lucky, but we lost a few people (including some divers) to seasickness. More on that later. However I do want to relate a story that had Will, Kelly and I shaking our heads in disbelief on the way out to the islands. In the days when lighthouse keepers were still on the island, one keeper, his wife and two kids made the trip from the Farallons to San Francisco in the dead of winter, at night... in a rowboat. The older kid was sick and with no radio to call for help and weeks before a supply ship would arrive, they felt they had no other choice.

I can't be bothered to walk down the hill to the grocery store most days. Can you imagine rowing a boat in rough seas for 26 miles? Add to it that 26 miles only gets you to the cliffs. There was no Golden Gate Bridge at the time so it's more like close to 30 before you hit a pier. It boggles my mind that they all survived the trip (the sick kid died a few days later in the hospital).

Now that I've succeeded in brightening up this entry, let's talk about the islands themselves. They came into sight about 9:00. The island on the far left is called Saddle Rock. The big peak you see in the middle is Southeast Farallon and the round rock you see on the right hand side is actually a separate island called Sugarloaf. This is some of the most inhospitable land imaginable.

The Farallons are really part of a mountain range that broke off millions of years ago and are gradually moving toward Alaska (about 1 inch per year). In the 1800's a lighthouse was established out here to help ships avoid being caught in "The Devil's Teeth" as the islands were nicknamed. It's automated now but you can still see the original structure on top of the peak in the picture below. One of the best stories about the building of the lighthouse is that after it was initially built, they realized it was the wrong size for the lens and had to demolish it and start over.

As Will pointed out, "I'm pretty sure someone lost their job over that."

These islands are about as rough a place as you can possibly be and on top of that, they have a long history of violence and agression, not just toward the animals but between the people exploiting them also. In fact, during the Gold Rush that thrust San Francisco into being more than just a roadstop on the California coast, actual gunplay broke out on these islands between rival factions warring over the equivalent of chicken eggs. It's like being at this place automatically short circuits your common sense. I can't blame that myself, because I wanted to go diving with Great Whites long before I ever heard of the Farallons, but being there didn't cause me any reservations either.

Around the southern tip of the island you can get a peak at two killer looking caves. On the other side of the island is an amazing arch but we never got around there for a clear picture. On that side of the island, the rollers were worse and with so many people about to lose their breakfast, Captain Mick wisely decided to remain on the eastern side.

In the old days, supply ships would have to come out and bring food for the keeper and his family since you can't grow anything edible on the island. That's still the case today. There are only about 6 - 9 people on the island at any one time and all of them work for the U.S. Forestry Service. No one else is allowed on shore without express permission from the government. The islands are the main breeding grounds for a number of birds (including endangered Murres) and also sea lions and elephant seals. For the people on the island, this is no picnic, however all but one of them are unpaid volunteers. That's right, people actually volunteer to live and work here.

Here's a picture of the boat launch. As you can see, there's no sandy beach around here. The only way off the island is either by helicopter or by lowering a boat by crane. If conditions are poor (which is all too common) that's just not possible.

We anchored between Saddle Rock and the east landing on Southeast Farallon. This is an area that had been a hotspot for sea lion kills recently. Which brings me to the subject of chumming. At the Farallons, chumming doesn't work. The reason is that mature Great Whites make a switch in diet when they get to be over a certain size. That switch means that they begin eating elephant seals and sea lions 100% of the time. It's like the Atkins Diet from hell. In fact, it's because the shark has become so big that it needs to eat enough fat to get the energy it needs to continue swimming and hunting. The only things with that much fat are seals and sea lions... and Will but he's slimming down.

Anyway, they can tell the difference between mammal blood and fish blood so chumming is pointless. What you have to do is look for a fresh sea lion kill and get your boat and cage in that area to see sharks. If that's not possible, then you have to park in a good location and employ your decoys in hopes of drawing one in. That's what happened with us. With no fresh kills around we picked a promising spot, the crew put the cage in the water and it was time to suit up.

The trick to getting in the cage was simple. You sit on the lower step with your feet on that "ladder" connecting the cage to the platform. The crew drapes about 30 pounds of weight around your shoulders in a special harness (not a BC vest like in scuba, just a bunch of webbed straps with lead weights). You pop a regulator in your mouth and then you crawl feet first out to the cage opening, spin around and drop in.

It sounds simple, but the boat was being hit all day by some good-sized rollers. Since the cage was connected, that meant everything shifted and rocked, even underwater. That seasickness I mentioned earlier? Yeah, it took out five of the nine divers on board including my sister. She only lasted for part of one session before popping up and hurling. She said she was so ill, she just surfaced from her position in the center back of the cage and started vomiting. She'd been at it about 45 seconds when she finally heard the divemaster yelling at her to either get back in the cage or back in the boat because she was completely exposed and throwing out an interesting profile to any whites swimming below.

Speaking of profiles, here's a picture of the decoys.

They're kind of hard to make out, but they are both seal profiles. These were tossed out and reeled in occasionally as groups of sea lions departed from shore or headed back in from the open ocean. There are probably over a thousand sea lions here so this was happening a lot.

Back to the cage. When I jumped in the water, it finally hit me that I was not in my element. I have always enjoyed that feeling (whether it be culture shock living in Japan or deciding to move to California on a whim), however this is the only time in my life that I can remember thinking, "Should I really be doing this?"

There are three big reasons for this. First, the visibility was only about five to six feet. That's about one third the size of the sharks we were looking for so by the time you were going to see one, it was going to be nibbling on your ear. Secondly, I've dove in cold water before but this was 54 degrees of smack you in the face cold. Finally, the cage was rocking hard! Big rollers were moving it all over and while I don't have any problem with motion sickness ever, it was just hard to keep all your limbs inside the cage at first.

That's something I thought may actually be important to do considering what was swimming below us. Which brings up something else I should mention. When the cage is rocking and sharks are outside, how exactly does one hold steady without wrapping your fingers around the bars and exposing them to the sharks? Well, I improvised and tried to hold my hands flat against the corners when possible. If not, I squeezed my knuckles around the inside of the bars. Others didn't seem to be so worried. My favorite was a fellow diver who stuck his entire torso out of the cage and rested his arms on the "viewing window". It took him about 15 seconds to realize what he was doing and he pulled himself in very quickly.

Anyway, back to the cage. I've jumped in and stabilized myself and I can't see a damn thing. I decided to take a picture of the back of the boat when I got my wits about me because I figured no one was going to believe how bad this visibility was. Here's what that first picture looks like:

Remember, the back of the boat is only about five feet from my camera at this point and there are two propellers under there. I dare you to find them in that picture. A couple of hours later conditions cleared up some and I took another one. Here it is for comparison.

As you can see, the chances of my getting a picture of a shark, even in comparably good visibility, was pretty slim unless it came right up and posed for me. Unfortunately, that never happened. It didn't stop Will from posing though.

All of these horrible conditions did lead to one powerfully good thing in our favor. So many people declined to go back in the water that I got to spend almost a full three of the five hours we were out there in the cage. Will was with me for most of that time and that's why we were the only two people who actually did see a shark.

So here's the story.

The decoy had been going by repeatedly with no luck at all. You can see it in the picture above. Will and I were on our very last turn in the cage when both of us saw a large shape move slowly under my side of the cage. It was about 10 - 12 feet below us, dark and had a conical snout so there was no mistake about it, but she was too far away to make out details. She swam from the direction of the boat out past us and we followed her until she disappeared from sight. Then a moment later, she came back, this time moving past Will’s side of the cage. I surfaced and yelled to the guys on the boat that we had one below us and they immediately started working the decoy hard trying to get her to come up closer.

It never worked though. She made one more pass a little deeper than before, this time moving again from the boat side of the cage to the open ocean. I stayed down another 45 minutes waiting for her but she just wasn’t interested. I keep calling it a she, but I’m not sure of the sex because we never saw the underside of her. I just figure if she wasn't interested in checking me out, she's probably a female.

(insert rimshot here)

Will and I estimated that she was between 12 – 15 feet long which is actually small for that area. Still, I can say I’ve seen my first Great White and I did it off the Farallons, something relatively few people get to do. In fact, here's a picture of me after seeing the shark.

Other than that, we saw about 50 Sea Nettle jellies. These were between 4 – 6 feet long and passed directly below our cage throughout the day.

It's hard to judge scale in these pictures but these were about 12 feet below us. We also saw humpback whales completely breaching and crashing down in the waters beyond Southeast Farallon. We saw porpoise, a ton of sea lions, some gray whales and some good beer on the ride back.

All in all, it was a great time and we’re already talking about doing another trip only this time to Guadalupe where it's all but guaranteed you'll dive with more than one Great White.

Of course, that may have to wait for two reasons.

1. money.

2. Bigfoot expedition.

More on that one some other time.

Howdy, Folks...

2008-10-24T12:58:00.000-07:00

God that's a cheesy way to start out a blog. Howdy. Who the hell says "howdy" any more?

I guess it beats, "Hey!" or "Greetings, Sirs and Madams". Not by much though. Maybe I should change that. Even "Yo!" would be better than "howdy". Actually, no it wouldn't. "Yo!" was old back when Fab Five Freddy was saying it.

Anyway, here's my blog.

God, that's a cheesy way to start out a blog. "Here's my blog." Who the hell says that anymore?