Mission

I hereby nominate Stynky's hat...damn Buzby Berkley hat-dance producin' git! Except Stynky doesn't have a hat anymore because he sold it to buy mead on Sunday night...or Monday morning...I sort of lost track of time at some point. Stynky sold his hat for $20 and then didn't even spend it on mead because he figured out that he could con his fellow drunken pirates into buying it for him with the magic phrase, "Hey, do you want some mead? Do you have $20?" (This actually worked.)

It all makes sense now.

Oh goody... Can someone you do know in a physical sense really your friend? How far, physically, do you need to know them for them to be your friend? Is sight enough? Discourse? Contact of some form? Hugging? (I'll bet pirates didn't hug all that much. We are not being PC... :angry: ) What is friendship, really, if not a form mutual attraction? Is physical presence required for such? For example, I would consider you, blackjohn, to be an on-line friend of mine. We share many common interests, intellectual meanderings and certainly philosophical views. Of course, not having met you, I might immediately be put off by something about you in person that you either misrepresent or cannot represent on-line. Suppose this was so. Would we not still have common interests, intellectual meanderings and philosophical views in common? Could we still not share a platonic mutual attraction? Having just stumbled out of a Social Psychology final last night, let me share a bit about attraction, since it is the foundation upon (at least in this long-winded argument) friendship is supposedly built. Soc.Psych research finds there are five reasons we chose friends: 1. Proximity - Physical proximity, which sort of supports the tenets of your original point. 2. Association - What do we associate people with? I associate you with the pub and philosophy. I like the pub and philosophy. Ergo, I like you. (It's not quite that simple, of course. My own equations for attraction are so arcane and complex that I don't understand them, but you get the point.) 3. Similarity - Many social psychologists give a lot of weight to similarity. We will almost certainly find people similar to us here and thus form friendships on that basis. 4. Reciprocal Liking - We like people who like us. I can remember way back in nineteen ought eighteen when you, Phil and I were discussing life, the universe and everything and you said something like, (and it's been deleted now by the geniuses at large, so I can pretend to quote it accurately when -in fact - I am not) "Mission, when, not if, we meet, I am going to buy you a shot of your favorite single malt scotch." (Glenmorangie 18yo, in case you were wondering.) and I thought to myself, "I like this fellow!" 5. Physical Attractiveness - We tend to like people who are more attractive to us than not. (Note this doesn't necessarily have to have the sexual connotation we usually assign it.) You may think this is not possible on the 'net, but, being re-enactors, we tend to have scads of photos of ourselves in our kit and thus I have a distinct impression of what you look like and judge you to be attractive as a fellow re-enactor. (But don't let that get out, it will ruin my reputation. :angry: ) Now this isn't a checklist, it's just some things that attract people to each other, which how most friendships start. So you can have some of these elements and not others and still find each other appealing. So I say we can be remote, non-contact, on-line friends. (This material will be on the exam. )

Super Colonial Boy

Failing leftovers, we can start plucking random items from absent people's campsites and launch them. TREBUCHET!

Look! I took photos. http://www.flickr.com/photos/33209408@N05/...4295448/detail/ I actually took over a hundred of them, but these are the only ones that are any good. (Well, over a hundred with my camera...probably another 150 with Mary's camera and ten or twenty with Jessi's camera.) I still haven't totally decided on whether to do a web page on this or not (believe it or not, it will take me 40 -50 hours to do one), but I am leaning like an Australian Pine in that direction. If you post, please let me know if I can use your photos on the potential Surgeon's Journal Web Page for PiP '08 or not if you don't mind. If I do it, I'll re-organize the text, correct the drunken misspellings and incorrect names (unless it's funnier not to correct them...Scarlett Rai) and probably add some bits I forgot like the explanation about why the tables are damned. I will also give photo credit this year - something that hadn't occurred to me last year. Enjoy!

Aw, gee... Patrick's the Prince...I'm just the impressed surgeon... The trip home was splendid. I did write the last chapter to the Journal I mentioned to you yesterday, but since I wrote it mostly for myself, I'm selfishly going to keep it out of print.

You should hold the last series of photos for ransom. I am very curious to see some of them... (Mary loaned me her camera carte blanche on the night Stynky tried to drown us all in mead. There's something about switching hats on there...)

Intelligence is always the sexiest speech accent.

The ordinary was as terrific as I tried to portray it, but it was missing something. Next year you should really add a trebuchet to the ordinary. You know, for leftovers.

What?! I'm not coming. No way. You and your freaking borrowed mead are evil. Put you in the previously safe confines of the encampment and... Good God! (Plus I won't have any surgical equipment left...)

Huh. I don't remember that. And the word isn't 'shy', it's 'reserved.' (Shy suggests someone who is afraid to me.) I do wish I could recall what Deadeye was talking about which happened after I left the pub when I realized Stynky was not going to stop filling my mug until you guys had to drag me out by my heels. "You shall see things, wonderful to tell. You shall see a... a cow... on the roof of a period correct tent, ha. And, oh, so many startlements."

You should celebrate with some mead that someone else buys to share with you.

Ah, parting at events is so melancholy. Everyone hugging and wishing safe travel and so forth. When I finally got to the fort, many of the encampments were broken down or in the process of being so. Some statistics for the record. I counted 28 or 29 period tents in the site, which does not include flies. Stynky called me to let me know that we consumed 6 bottles of mead last night. Then he called me back to let me know he had miscounted and we had consumed 7 bottles. (Ya' havta' get these things right.) Seeing people in the fort always reminds me of stories I wanted to tell but forget. For example, at some point during the week I got chatting with Greg and learned that most vendors have a superstitious side when it comes to events. Greg told me he refused to count the take until he has officially left the event lest he jinx it. (He cheats, though. He keeps a journal of each sale and can get a feel for an event based on how many pages are filled in the journal. He told me of another vendor who had a garment with a pocket where she put all the money. Eventually the pocket disintegrated causing her to worry that she would go out of business. I understand that it can be a fine line between a profitable and unprofitable event. I noticed my bonesaw was missing, so I went right to Stynky and asked him where it was. He tried to play innocent again, but he can't quite pull it off. Apparently he snuck into Deadeye's makeshift ashram when we discussing life, the universe, and everything and took it. (He also told me that I said something like "This is really good stuff...I hope I remember it for the Surgeon's Journal. Which I didn't. (Heck, I didn't remember saying that.)) So Stynky finally fessed up and gave it back. I should have let him transport that monster home. Then he could have mailed it to me and I wouldn't have had to deal with it. Stynky convinced Josh Merriwether to sell someone else's bottle of lotion for $5. Josh went around the camp asking everyone if they wanted to buy a bottle of SPF 50 for $5. Stynky said Josh needed to work on his approach from what he could tell, but Josh ended up selling it for $6. Jessie kindly agreed to drive me to Miami airport tomorrow since it was on her way home. She is currently camped out on the couch reading a book. Jessie has a black Toyota FJ Cruiser with black rims, luggage rack and whatnot that looks like it would be used in paramilitary operations. It is bad ass. She named it Sarge after a friend of hers who has served two stints in Iraq. She says she can clean it out with hose. She bought it after a Hurricane overturned several Banyan trees in her neighborhood and assures me she has tried its off-road capabilities out. Animal told me that he and Patrick are thinking about getting together with William and Doug and anyone interested to do a Buccaneer encampment. Since it is an earlier encampment, they will wear period appropriate garb and have meat cooking all day long. William talked about bringing in a live cow to slaughter for the fire. Harry apparently has given the nod to this project. I wonder if he knows about the cow? As always, PiP was fantastic - it's the most enjoyable event I attend and I always wonder if I should come back here next year and by the end of it, I always want to. The Bone Island crew did a fantastic job organizing things and the event is bigger than better than last year. It's hard to finish one of these. The stories and interest points pop up at the most curious times and I wish I had my laptop and crappy internet connection handy so I could capture the moment. But, like the event, end it must. Hope everyone enjoyed my scribbling. If you really enjoyed it, think seriously about attending next year. You'll never meet a more accepting, interesting group than here. Plus, as Silas explained as he planned to hang out for one last night, you just can't beat the view.

What a night. But let me start from the beginning. When I got back to the campsite, almost everyone had gone down to the fort to take photos or fire their pieces to salute the sunset. So I got down there as quick as I could. IT was an terrific sunset of reds, purples, oranges and all the colors in between. Several musket and cannon shot were fired and they ended by firing a new cannon that hadn’t been used in a long time. We were all warned that it was an old piece and might explode, as these guns had a tendency to do. The slow fuse was lit and everyone backed away. But the little cannon performed admirably and shot its black powder load toward the disappearing orb. We all kind of milled around after that. We were to meet before 7pm to take the pub photo, but several people had gone back to the encampment to change for the hanging the Archangels planned by way of entertainment. By the time everyone got back, it was after 7. Tony Callahan – whose pirate name is “Papa” Ratzi - got a shot of the pub members in front of the huge brown banner William Red Wake made last year. (And which I posed in front of during the making, even though that was the extent of my assistance.) Then someone yelled for everyone to pose and we got a huge group shot. I know many people had to leave, but there must have been 60 or 70 people in that photo. When those photos were finished, Tony said, :”Is that it? Or do we have to do some crew crap?” Everyone started laughing and broke pose and wandered off the stage. Captain Jim then started the seamen’s chest auction with Spike acting as auctioneer. It’s a good thing because Jim’s voice sounded pretty well blown from all the yelling. We would have had to have gotten everyone real close to the stage had Jim run the thing. Spike was a natural and several items went for a surprising amount of money. However the food crew began making noises about the food getting cold, which became more strident as the auction went on. So Spike finally said the rest of the auction would take place after dinner and the huge snake-like line formed. Captain Jim, Patrick and I were recruited to lower the sheets for the slide show to occur later and since the line seemed to extend out the fort entrance anyhow, we agreed. Climbing those winding fort stairs at any time is interesting, but it is doubly so in the dark! Feeling suitably chivalrous for our pitching in, Patrick and I joined the line. The food was good, although it probably would have been even better had it been warm. (But at least we were chivalrous.) After dinner the seamen’s chest auction continued with the Viceroy acting the part of auctioneer. Eventually someone managed to dig Spike out of the pub (which was the warmest place in the fort – it got nippy last night) and he finished the auction. I bought a mahogany box that was donated while we were all standing there from a local island artisan for $25. Willie Wobble provided one of his rope-wrapped onion skin bottles which fetched $45 I believe. So, despite my best efforts to photograph the contents of the chest, so many items were added during the auction that I didn’t get it all. All the proceeds of the auction were to go to the Friends of Fort Taylor, which helps sponsor PiP. Somewhere during the auction, Stynky slunk in. I found out from someone who shall remain nameless because I sure don’t recall their name that Stynky had stolen my Patrick Hand original hat. Stynky is many things, one of them being a terrible liar, so he finally gave up and admitted my hat was in his car. He sheepishly explained that he had planned to call my cell phone with a ransom demand and then slunk off to retrieve it. (I needed it for the skit that the Archangels had planned.). We then proceeded to the pub and purchased a bottle of mead to sit in the warmth and contemplate life, the pub and the fact that we were missing the end of the auction. Halfway through the bottle of mead, someone came in to announce that the Locks for Love hair cutting was taking place. Had Stynky’s phone not bleated, we probably would have missed that too. (Mead is yummy.) Stynky hit upon the idea of taking the bottle with, so I duly took it and he headed outside to call the person who had called him back. (It turned out to be Braze, who was standing somewhere in the fort outside the pub. They probably were on opposite sides of the same tank phoning each other.) I ran into Red Jessi in the auction crowd and gave her a healthy slug of the mead. (Much to Stynky’s later chagrin. If I recall it correctly, the conversation went something like this: “Where’s the rest of the bottle?” “I gave it to Jessi!” “What?!” (Well, I took a healthy measure of it for myself, but I thought it prudent not to measure this fact.). “Sorry, Stynky, if there’s a choice between Jessi and you, she’s probably going to get the bottle every time.” I had Mary’s camera, so I took several pictures of the shearing of the locks. I’m told Patrick washed his hair yesterday morning in preparation for the cutting, a PiP first. (Well, that’s what someone said.) Patrick looked even more steampunk afterwards. They had apparently auctioned the right to cut the hair off as well. Mae and Brig cut Patrick’s hair, Edward O’Keefe cut Lily’s hair and Spike cut MAD Dogge’s hair. Someone said that Spike paid $100 for that right! The hanging skit then began, which made your poor ship’s surgeon instantly realize his bit in this skit involved the bone saw, which was sitting at the other end of the fort in the Callahan’s tent. So I made a made, mead-filled dash to the fort entrance and back. Kids, do not run with large bone saws no matter how much mead you drink. The ship’s surgeon is a professional. The skit came off quite well. I thought sure that it wouldn’t because it was nippy and it was so long after dinner, but they somehow managed to clear the pub (Free rum, outside!) and a large crowd gathered to watch. It started with MAD Dogge getting up and announcing that the Bone Island Buccaneers had agreed to take the crew of the Archangel into their group if they turned pirate and hung Captain Sterling. Mark and Edward grabbed the captain and put him up on a table where a noose was hanging. I missed the next bit because it was about then I realized I was part of this, mead or no, and began my mad dash through the fort. When I got back. Lily was just being introduced as the secondary distraction story about the captain's pregnant mistress. She called for a midwife and a surgeon which is where I stagged on set drunkenly, one sock up and the other down and said something like, "Here's the ship's surgeon! What needs to be cut off?" at which Lily squealed to send me away. Meanwhile, back at the table, the Captain was being put into the harness while everyone watched all this. I believe Hammish was supposed to play the part of the infant, but the skit started too late. Attention was then turned back to the Captain and the hanging performed. Dutch, playing someone named Robbie (of whom I am not clear about the back story for. He's supposed to be someone always caught in the middle of the battles running back and forth while the firing goes on.) tried to save the Captain while someone else stole his shoes. It was a very effective skit and had a lot more comedy than I'm explaining because I couldn't hear a lot of it. The hanging was downright spooking looking and I've no doubt that the Captain's ghost will haunt the place for ever more. (Yellow fever! Yellow fever!) At least he will haunt it until next year when he returns for PiP '09. To be honest I missed a lot of the end of this because I didn't want to carry the bone saw back into the pub, so I trotted back to the other end of the fort and stowed it in the Callahan's tent again. On the way back, Stynky found me and the aforementioned mead conversation took place. We went back to the pub, only to find everyone was still outside watching the skit or something. (Actually, they were applauding the actors, so I missed my 5 seconds of fame.) Stynky procured a bottle of mead and we resumed our discussion. Everyone was pouring into the pub for the closing bit with short congratulatory announcements and singing. We could hear it, but were outside the main area and...we had mead! So we continued our discussion and missed the bulk of the closing. I'm sure it was very heartwarming. I think it was so heartwarming that our discussion was interrupting it because Spike came out and yelled at everyone in the bar area to quiet down. Several Mercury crew members and Diosa found us at the table drinking mead and decided to join us. Stynky continually attempted to con people to share mead with us by buying another bottle and giving us some. I don't know quite how many bottles he got that way, but it was more than one. He then initiated a game wherein everyone switched hats, probably in another attempt to steal mine. There should be several suitably drunk and foolish pictures of people wearing each other's hats in the pub showing up here eventually. By this point, I had had quite a bit of mead. Stynky seemed hell bent on keeping my tankard fill to the top, so I should probably come off looking the silliest in the pics. After that things get a bit fuzzy... I eventually staggered back to the campsite and plopped down in Deadeye's tent. We talked deeply about life philosophies, something I seem to indulge in particularly when I am plaster-assed drunk. Deadeye gave me several bottles of water during the course of our conversation, for which I will love him forever. (You know how the world starts to spin and then you feel your stomach churning...yeah.) He came from San Diego to Key West several years ago. (For some reason, I forget the number.) He said a lot of things I kept reminding myself to remember for when I posted on the pub, even though I knew I would forget them. Just as I have. I do know that he has a very karmic view of things. Sometime into our long, rambling discussion, Edward O'Keefe found me in Deadeye's tent (I guess people had wondered what happened to me. Sniff. It touches the heart, it does.) He asked if he could come in and then disappeared, which made Deadeye think our conversation had somehow offended him. I'm not quite sure where Edward went, but he came back, possibly with rum in hand and offered it around. I think. It's hazy. I refused as I knew where that would get me. The karmic spell was broken, however and we all decided to head for the Sealkie's Hide where not only was everyone sitting, but it appears they imported some hitherto unknown people to pack the place. I sat down next to Jessi. Still being pretty loopy, I noticed the moon setting on the water. It was a huge, deep yellow and the reflection was fascinating, so we went over and sat on a conveniently located bench to watch it. We talked at length about geisha's, one of her former interests. She sees them as being a fascinating example of independence in the very communal Japanese society. I had to go to the restroom in an alarming way which I knew would break the mood. We agreed not to let it, but of course it did and we went back to the Hide to join the carousing. Jessi's knee and back started to bother her and I sobered up enough to wonder what time it was. Discovering it was 4am, I was jolted back to reality by the fact that I still had to study this morning, so I clambered onto my bike, leaving a rowdy group in the Hide. Several people told me they planned to leave early, something I seriously doubt will prove to be true in fact, even if it sounded good in theory. Thus endeth another fine PiP. But I must go. Sitting here typing has given me a seriously intense need for some coffee and scrambled eggs.

Wow! I got have mistakenly identified your site as Willy's? I'm so sorry. My insulin pump ran out, so I had to head back here (much against my will) to fix that. Since I'm here, I thought I'd take a moment to download all the data gathered this morning... I went to the fort with Michael Bagley and Red Jessi soon after I arrived at the encampment. I wanted to bring my camera, so Michael loaned me a leather pouch that I now desperately need to get one of. (Re-enacting. It's all about acquiring stuff so you look cool in photos.) I decided to go ahead and plunk down the cash for a journal before the vendor packs up his stuff. I got a very nice one with things pressed into the pages - leaves and whatnot - bound in leather. It looked about the right size for a surgeon to keep his notes in. I tucked it into a tent next to the Seaman's Chest. It occurred to me that no one may have gotten a photo of it, so I took everything out and laid it out on the floor of the tent I was in and took some shots of it. One of the Bone Island Buccaneers approached me and told me that my poster was somewhere in the fort. I believe I mentioned that Tony Callahan had made 60 posters of various people from last year and mine was one of them. He wouldn't tell me where my poster was, he just said it was hanging on a tent. So I wandered around the fort like a lost sheep bleating at people to help me find my poster. Naturally I kept running into people I knew or who knew me, so I kept getting sidetracked. (This happens a lot at PiP.) Finally I spotted various members of the Mercury crew sitting atop the roof of the fort waiting for the cannon firing to begin. I yelled at them to come down and help search fo my poster and they basically razzed me and didn't move. See what I do next time they need a shot from the old clyster syringe. Fortunately, Silver Hawk, now of Bone Island was standing down below and heard me and went to help me search. We spent a fruitless 10 minutes getting sidetracked by people we knew and not searching before we gave up. Josh later pointed it out to me from the upper level and it was 5 freaking feet from where Silver Hawk and I were talking about searching for it! If he'd have nudged me backwards, I would have run into it. I ran into Animal whom I had never met on the way to the loo. He was a friendly, capable guy, which surprised me after seeing his avatar. I told him I thought he would be more of a bezerker type. He said it just took the right stuff to get him there - by which he meant rum. He had headed down with the better part of a bottle of Pyrat rum which got him into trouble at the bad ass pirate competition. I guess he got so into his act that he damaged one of the stage lights while brandishing his sword and fists and romping about. So now he owes Schooners Warf $150 for a new light. He said he was so drunk that when he called his wife the next morning to see what was going on, she explained to him that he had already called last night - something he didn't recall at all[/]. I was going to take pics of the cannon crew, but a somewhat shaky looking barefooted woman with an unlit cigarette was wondering around the cannons asking the Viceroy to put her on a cannon team. He was eying MAD Dogge, who begged me to be on his team before the Viceroy cornered him. (Cigarettes and black powder...bad combination.) So we had the same gun crew today. The scenario was that the pirates had taken over the fort and were to be attacked from the field by the British. We were all to lollygag around the cannon area, carousing and be obnoxious. We set the guns up so that they pointed at each other, into the floor and straight in the air. Spike tried to get the pirates to behave. When they wouldn't, he conned the Viceroy, who had been down in the pub drinking, to take charge again. He demanded his wig and authority be returned to him first, which was done and then we set up to fire in earnest. (Poor earnest...) We had a misfire today and MAD Dogge, who had either 8 or 14 years on a Civil War cannon crew got us to behave in such a way that the man playing the Viceroy was duly impressed and spent quite a bit of time talking with Dogge after the event. Brig served as crowd control, which should be pretty comical to those of you who know her. (She's about 5' tall and as slight as a willow branch - with curves.) Before the firing began, I asked her where Mae was and she informed me she was still in bed. Sensing a story, I asked about this and she said they had gone to bed at 9:30 last night. Odd. When I saw her again afterward, Mae was there and I asked again why Mae would still be asleep at 2:00. It seems that MAD Dogge had walked in the parade and stayed in town to get himself nice and happy. He returned sometime in the wee hours. Apparently Mr. Dogge had asked for the gate combination no less than a dozen times during the weekend. The last time he asked at the Hide everyone screamed out the answer...except Captain Sterling who said something different. Of course, that's the number MD remembered, so he just climbed the fence when arrived suitably lit. Captain Sterling had been over at the pub and was also well oiled about this time. I understand he was quite belligerent as his crew guided him back to the encampment. Between he and MAD Dogge, the whole encampment was roused at about 1 am. Captain Sterling was poured into the coffin he was sleeping in (No, I don't know why he is sleeping in a coffin. They have a whole story going on this weekend and it may be a part of that.) Since everyone was up anyhow, they all decided to go on a ghost hunt, possibly fueled by rum, that lasted until 4 am. So that's why Mae said she was in bed at 2am. Sometimes I am glad I sleep in a condo and sometimes I feel I miss a lot. Guess which is the case this time? The Closing Festivities and Pig Roast is coming up fast. I have to finish changing the insulin and scamper back.

The chest will be auctioned tonight at the closing dinner. I got off topic up there thinking about Scarlett Jai in the stockade for some reason. The Thatchers were hooked before they arrived from what I can tell. They are already talking about ways to make their gear (which is really pretty good) even better. (Anyone who thinks the only way to get the non-PC folks to change is by picking at and insulting them really needs to come to Key West. Several of the new people have been quite solicitous and interested in ways they can improve their kit. There are still a lot of movie Pirates who like that better, but even they add little flourishes of PC to their gear. Laid back old Key West is just right for this.) The Thatchers seem to be having a splendid time. There are quite charming. Your tents have stood the test of Key West admirably.

Hi downstairs, lucky plug-in-the-wall internet connection neighbor. (The connection is particularly fiesty this morning, so bear with me.) The recipe? (For those of you not interested in what little I can remember about this project and its list of greenstuffs, feel free to skip to the next paragraph.) It's really like a huge, layered Cobb salad. Since I didn't actually have a recipe at hand, I sort of winged it based my recollection of Hannah Glasse's recipe. (You can find this on the net by looking up Salmagundi on Google.) Since Sophia was helping me pick some of the things, I don't even know if I can recall it all exactly, but... There was romaine and iceberg lettuce, mixed greens with some sort of red leaf in it. We chopped this all up and put it in the bottom. (The best salads are well chopped, I find. Anyone who has ever received a solid quarter of lettuce in a restaurant will know that it looks striking, but makes for a damned bad salatting (I'm being all fancy-like and using one of the randomly-spelled period terms, not just misspelling. I note this so you can separate genuine misspelling from intended misspelling. ) Uh...then...Constance was really advising on the way to layer it, so let me just tell you what else MAD Dogge and I chopped up. There were hard-boiled eggs, two cheese bricks (cheddar and Swiss) celery, cucumbers, pre-chopped carrots to save time, pre-chopped tomatoes, likewise, Um...there was more...um...oh, yes, there were a lot of radishes (the small bag...too small, the large bag...too large but it would have gone to waste so we threw the lot in), for those non-vegetarians there was beef and chicken (Sophia picked the cuts, so I don't know what kind) and, best of all, there was a can of black olives - half of which went on my individual salad. Seems there was more, too... It was a monstrous colorful salad. Pics were taken so when everyone gets back and can start posting, you'll see it. The dressing was an Italian sort that Lady Constance had the recipe for. She regularly makes her own dressing, so I don't know the details. I did buy her a bottle of red-wine vinaigrette, so unless she drank it all in her tent, I suspect it went into the dressing. We also made garlic bread over the fire. Again, Constance had everything but the butter and bread for that project. I think she cooked it on both sides and it was yummy. Yesterday started with a fine misty rain. The bike ride to the fort was thus one more episode in the saga of weathering my garb. I was soaked by the time I got there, even though the rain didn't seem that bad when I started. (I don't even want to know if there was a streak of mud from the rear bike tire up my back-side.) I want to stop and thank Captain Sterling for retrieving all my raw steel surgical gear from the picnic table near their site yesterday morning. I was so happy I even kissed him. (On the cheek! Who do you think I am?) There were some minor rust spots - steel will rust if it even thinks about getting damp - but for the most part it survived well, thanks to the Archangels. It could just be that they wanted to make sure they could cut to the head of the line when the Mercury paste was being daubed on for all that rampant venereal disease that pirates get when they make landfall ("When did you get the clapper?" "Shore leave. 1969.") but I was thrilled nonetheless. I got to the fort late as I had to spend some time here preparing for a test I have on Wednesday when I get back in my Social Psych class. Amazingly, when I arrived at around 10:30am, the camp was moving sluggishly and seemed only recently to have started stirring. I asked someone when they had got up and they explained that people had gotten up around 7 or 8 with the sun, looked the whole soupy world over and decided to turn over and give sunrise a miss. The party had been going hale and hearty when I left around 1 am the night before, so that may have had something to do with it. I spent a large chunk of the afternoon in the fort. Captain Sophia expressed interest in seeing the trial of Anne Bonny and Mary Read, so we toddled over from the camp. Speaking of the camp, it continues to grow as more people show up. I believe there are between 25 and 40 period tents. It's really something to see. Those of you who saw that little area where we were to camp on the map in the forum? We exploded beyond that long ago. We will soon have our own zip code. But about the trial... The tryal was held inide the building that was at the back of the site last year that they are renovating. It is an ideal setting, really, except for the necessary steel beams inside that are currently holding up the structure. I think these were once the officers quarters...? They had a camera crew in from somewhere to film the proceedings. Unfortunately, they blocked a lot of the pictures Sophia was trying to take of the trial. The room was kind of small for the crowd, so it got hot. The acoustics were also not well designed (what were they thinking when they designed this place in 1862?) so that confused things a bit. After a short while, Sophia decided the heat, cramped conditions and camera crew were enough for her and decided to go back to camp. I wandered outside and talked to Spike from Bone Island for a bit. Spike sometimes has the amazing ability to make you feel like you're more interesting than you really are so we chatted about this and that. Then I went back in to see Cascabel's bit in the enactment. (It's quite funny and he's the perfect guy to do it.) I spotted Red Jessi and Stynky along a wall so I went over and introduced them. After the trial, everyone was eager to get out of the building post haste, so Captain Jim didn't get a chance to auction off the items in the Seamen's chest. This is good because I hadn't put my contribution into the chest yet. (Mental note: don't pack things so tightly next time.) It will be auctioned off today at the closing ceremonies. The seamen's chest is a neat little box full of all sorts of goodies. Stynky tried to palm a dagger, but your sharp-eyed old surgeon caught the miscreant and we divested him of his stolen loot. We should have put him in the stockade, but it didn't occur to us. Speaking of which I watched an oriental pirate try to wrestle Scarlett Jai or possibly Rai into the stockade yesterday. I'm quite sure he regrets that this morning as that woman can fight! I hung around the fort because Jessi had mentioned that she had been invited to be on a cannon crew and it's something I try to participate in at every event so's I can keep my membership in the cannon firing surgeon's club. (You are so jealous, I just know it.) So many of the crew spent time shopping at the vendors (I think a few more vendors showed up yesterday as I don't remember some of them. Or it might be all the rum I've been consuming.) There is a place that has leather bound journals of hand made paper that I might have to spend some coin at today. Surgeons were supposed to keep journals and I covet one. Eventually we headed up to the top of the fort for cannon crew training and what not. Someone had told me to be there at 1am which was a joke designed to see how many people could be convinced to stand on hot concrete in the now blazing sun for an hour to no purpose. I snagged a bit of shade and several Mercury and Archangel crew quickly joined me. For the first time as far back as anyone at this event can remember (which is probably yesterday...the rum...) they had an all girls cannon crew, led by Grace, the photog I mentioned from PW Magazine. Red Jessi, Kate Souris and Rusty Nell, were on the crew. My crew is the largest I've ever been a part of. Usually it's just me and someone who actually knows how to properly fire a cannon who explains everything to me. This time, MAD Dogge was our Captain (Oh Captain, my Captain!), Mad Dog (this is getting confusing) who does a nice Jack Sparrow handled the load and corkscrew thing (it has a name of some sort) and Keith/Edward O'Keefe did the sponging and tamping. Harry was the Captain-Commandant-Leftenant-Commander (or something like that) and led all four cannon crew. A group of several Bone Islanders had gun one - a mortar, we were gun two, the girls were gun 3 and a group that lives in Key West who have redcoat uniforms (including Mark who taught me to fire last year) were on the small, but extraordinarily loud gun four. Captain MAD Dogge knew the routine quite well, so we just had to practice a few times and were ready. I was the...insert appropriate military-sounding officer here- which meant that I had to cover the touchhole on the cannon while Edward and Mad Dog did all the work. I also inspected the stinky sponge for bits of the previous charge and got to order Edward to swab again. I did this several times, mostly for my own amusement. (Ok, that's not true.) I also pricked the charge (I was the prick), put in the fuse (prime) and lit the cannon. We fired five times and a good time was had by all - even if the all are now deaf. What? MAD Dogge told me that normally my position would be such that I would be in charge of the cannon if he were not there. This is just frightening and you can all be thankful to Captain Dogge that Key West is not currently afire. Interestingly, before the cannon firing, I, like everyone else, had been wondering around sort of sullen and listlessly, promising never to drink rum again. Once it was over, I was all zippy and raring to go - I could have taken on Scarlett Jai. Ok, probably not. But there's nothing like a little cannon firing to put a spring in your step. After the firing, all the cannon virgins had to be initiated into the Cannoneer Club, which is done by being rubbed with the stinky swabbing sponge. The sponge has all sorts of detritus left from the black powder water bucket and it makes a mess. Both Edward and Mad Dog (not MAD Dogge) from our crew were newbies, so they got swabbed. The girls received a special swabbing which involved a lengthy rub across the chest with the stinky sponge. So all you women out there who want to be on cannon crew, keep this in mind before you commit. (I suspect they made that bit of ancient old tradition up. Come to think of it, I doubt many women were officially on cannon crew. Someone go research that and report back.) Arriving back in camp, I found Dutch explaining navigation to people on their way to the beach. The people seemed interested, so I got out my surgical equipment and we did some living history yesterday afternoon. I am glad, because I was beginning to wonder why I had paid to send my ever-growing supply of (now rusting) surgical equipment down here. Dutch has a storehouse of information and he can explain the navigational duties in fascinating detail. He also has a sewn up bean bag sphere about the size of a grapefruit that he uses to represent the earth. This turned out to be a really good thing for playing catch. So that was fun. withoutaname (who now has decided upon a name: Agnes) and Justin (who has had a name decided upon for him which I have sadly forgotten) showed up at the tail end of one of my presentations. Since no more people were standing around, tapping their foot impatiently awaiting an explanation of sea surgery in the 18th century, we chatted after my presentation ended. They have been here since Friday last week and have been involved in sailing. If you have read any of her posts, you know she and Justin are really into sailing, which turned out to be a great advantage for me. I brought my balancing scale that (unfortunately) didn't have any thread to hold the pans to the balance. (Hopefully pics will be posted so this confusing explanation will make a little sense.) Dutch and Justin sat with me and patiently unraveled twine to get the right thickness for the little holes in my balancing scale and then proceeded to re-wind the twine so that it was the right size. Then then tied the whole thing up. (The great thing about pirate events - there's always someone willing to do things like this when you would be hopeless at doing it yourself.) The twins, Mae and Brig also arrived. MAD Dogge quickly took responsibility for dipping them into the ocean in full garb, pics of which I hope will soon be available at Key West gift shops everywhere. The dinner last night was minestrone made by Lily Alexander. Alas, it contained meat, so I had to make alternate plans. I conned Red Jessi into going to one of my favorite restaurants in these parts: Cafe Sole. We shared a bottle of wine and ordered hog snapper that has be tasted to believed. It has a sauce that contains red pepper which she said she usually doesn't like, but decided to be adventurous and try anyhow. She discovered what I already know - there's nothing like hog snapper at Cafe Sole. Even the sides (carrots, mashed potatoes and lima beans) are delicious. She noted that she didn't like lima beans normally, but these were really good. I overheard the waiter telling someone that the lima beans were marinated in something that makes them taste so good. (Probably rum.) We talked at length and I learned that she was a ballet dancer all through high school, but she hurt her knee and wasn't able to go professional. However, she was in some large ballets and is now the only person I have ever met who has had their signed shoes sold at auction. She was also an in-betweener at Disney where she worked on Moulin. Cartooning had been a goal job of hers from her youth. She found the work wasn't all it was cracked up to be and proceeded to go after her degree in Psychology, switching over to social work after finding an affinity to it. (God love ya', girl. Better you than me.) Jessi is the sort of person who reads the back of wine bottles to you. I had no idea wine bottlers had staff writers on hand for the labels. Our wine was apparently involved in intrigue in some foreign country in the 16th or possibly 18th century and that's about the extent of what I recall. Fortunately, there wasn't a test. Arriving back at the fort, we decided to head over to the pub in the fort. Per usual, it was full of drunk pirates singing old sea tunes bawdily. The acoustics there are terrible as well (someone should have fired that fort designer right off) and it became a little too loud and smoky, so we left. Jessi brought this magnificent rum that is apparently so limited in production that it is numbered and signed by the distillery owner and I enjoyed a bit of that. It's probably the best sipping rum I have ever tasted. It's only sold in South Florida and I couldn't possibly tell you the name of it. Maybe she'll post it here when she gets back to civilization. Things were dead when we got back to the Hide, so we lit a few lanterns, which attracted Michael Bagley and Mark, his friend from Columbus. Jessi proceeded to explain and examine animation in great detail. It turns out Mark is a huge animation fan as well. His daughter is interested in computer animation. She recently moved to London where she is working on getting permission to work. I guess there is computer animation work in London, something I would never have suspected. Our little group spent a great deal of time discussing animation and I was pleased to find that everyone there were fans of Freakazoid!. Feeling as if my senses were being overwhelmed by all the people, ideas and information I try to remember to include in these poor journal entries, I eventually left the Hide last night and wandered down to the beach to stare at the dim, moonlit sea with its blinking lights on the horizon. What was at the location where those lights blinked? How far would you have to travel to find the next piece of land? The gentle washing of the waves on the shore and the sun's reflection from the unhidden half of the moon lulled me and I found myself lying on the beach staring at the stars. Then I realized my blood sugar was slipping, so I decided to head back here to grab something to right it. (You thought I was going all soft and poetic, didn't ya? ) Now I've got to shower and spend some tortuous hours preparing and studying. Yes, even being in paradise with pirates on vacation can be hellish when you have a final coming up. Ah, well.

Oiiiiiii... it's 1:23 when I am starting this which is a time I usually spend in slumber. Duty calls. I am glad to report that the salmagundi was a complete success. I would like to say this is my doing, but that would be an abject lie. After boiling the eggs, I went back to the fort and proceeded to chop various salad prepartions up for the salad with the able assistance of M.A.D. Dogge, Silkie, Captain Sophia and the every wise guidance of Josh Merriweather. (More on that in a minute.) Thank the powers that be that Lady Constance pitched in and advised us on the preparation of the Salmugundi, else it would have been a really lame half finished salad if left in my hands. But she organized the troops, cooked the meat (which I have no real experience doing whatsoever), made the (yummy) dressing, and advised us on the salad layering technique. A wizard of a woman, that. and I'll fight any man who says otherwise. (Except the ones who are bigger than me and would probably win.) We also made fruit salad, which M.A.D. Dogge made the bowl for from a watermelon. He even chopped the serrated sides up with his knife, which I thought was a nice touch. Josh kept suggesting that I put lime juice on the fruit salad, which I refused to do until Constance came over and told me it would preserve the fruit. Knowing I was licked, I put the lime juice on the fruit salad and it actually added a zing to the affair that was quite good. (Sorry Josh!) The salad was magnificent, thanks in large part to the garlic butter biscuits and the wonderful salate dressing. M.A.D. Dogge had won several bottle of wine which he generously placed on the table for the patrons and an enjoyable meal was had by all. I cannot finish the meal section without once again thanking my grocery store guide Captain Sophia who looked at me in that way that only someone who knows better looks at you when you make a truly bone-headed selection in the cheese department and says, with all due sarcasm, "That would be interesting." and later says to another tentative choice, "That would be interesting. In a good way." The meal was a success and I know it will be even better the next time I volunteer to do such a fun activity at PiP, say in 2035. I then guided Michael "Mickey" Souris to a liquor store in town where, upon finding he couldn't locate the exact rum he had been requested to purchase, found a helpful store clerk who guided him to products sold in the store where we were. She even called another liquor store to check and see if they had the desired rum, which, of course, they didn't. (I suspect she actually called her house and pretended to be calling some other store when asking for the rum. "The whoosit with the whatsit? When are you getting off tonight, hon?") Going back to the fort we found a jam session occuring in the Sealkie's Hide which is my new temporary favorite place on earth. It seems Captain Jim and Vendor Extraordinairre Greg from the Weeping Heart/Hudson Bay Trading company and their dueling accoustic guitars. I sat and listened awhile to Buffet, James Taylor and other seventies tunes, which they sang quite well, missing only a few verses. (Not that I would know very well.) I left to follow Patrick to the cigarette store, which, from a My Feet! perspective was probably a bad choice. Nevertheless, Patrick made up for this by explaining how the universe actually worked, particularly in regard to re-enacting. I would tell you this secret, but then someone local would have to kill you because it's not worth the airline ticket for me to do it personally. We came back to the jam session, still on-going, but now joined by Mark from Columbus with his fiddle. I sat starry-eyed (for there were lots of stars at first tonight) and listened to them play and sing. The Hide was getting quite packed until one of Willie Wobbles candles caught his table on fire calling someone in the Hide to yell "Fire!" Everyone dashed over to get in the way, but Willie had by then batted down the candle and kicked it away from the canvas. We all milled about discussing the dangers of fire and canvas for awhile then a few of us went back to the Hide to continue the song ("Leaving on a Jet Plane" by John Denver), which Greg remembered many of the lyrics to. I spoke with Greg at length, although I must confess that my rum befogged brain had obscured some of the discussion tonight. It turns out that HB are the initials of his last night (Hudson, I think) and his wife's name (something that starts with a B that I have long forgotten). Weeping Heart is a symbol he believed to be French, but later found out wasn't, but since he had committed to the symbol, he stuck by his choice. Greg has been doing the re-enactor gig for 24 years, working a great deal with Rev War re-eneacting. He leads his own company of 50 or 60 men (which is just frightening) in Kentucky. He actually met his wife at a re-enactment many years ago. They have been married for a number of years which I have also forgotten - somewhere between 15 -20 years, I think. Whatever the number, it's impressive and it makes me think Rev War leads to long-lasting relationships, a study I will be undertaking next year. She sews and he does leatherwork, so when you see the Weeping Heart symbol, you know you are getting a quality, long-term couple product. I talked with Salty for a bit and found out that this was Hammish's second event. She couldn't sleep for worry about the canvas catching fire and the baby so we chatted about this and that. Callenish has done 7 or 8 events this year which is down from his usual 12 - 15 because of the travel costs. Callenish sells magnificent guns, as I have been told by several pub members. Salty assured me that her "ass over teakettle" wound was fine. They were very glad they were able to make the trip. I then went back to the Hide where I spent a long time talking with Red Jessi about clinical psychology. I must confess (as I did to her) that clinical psychology has never interested me much, despite the fact that I have been studying undergrad psych for the last few years. However, Jess has just finished her Masters and is preparing to possibly work toward her doctorate and made it almost sound fun. Almost. She is one of those very rare women who make sense to me, which probably has a great deal to do with my arriving here at 1:30. Captain Jim later joined our conversation and we got into discussing the differences between men and women psychologically and he proved to be an apt playmate in the conversation. The night kind of ended for me when the Bone Island Bucanneers showed up in the form of Leatherback and the lovely Scarlett Jai. She complained that I had called her Scarlett Rai on the pub, which is no doubt quite true. This wouldn't have bothered her except that her crew thought this was really funny and started teasing her about it. (Sorry, Scarlett.) Then Harry and Spike showed up in the Hide and things just degenerated from there. They brought some really good rum with them as well. However, Red Jessi had a flask of something that was a little better - tasting vaguely of butterscotch and other things which I only got a sip of. Harry then attempted to go back to his trailer, taking the long way...in fact going in the opposite trailer. Since I had had more than enough fun, I followed him and helped him find the path back to his trailer. He has to work tomorrow, ya' know. I then biked back home (temporary home) and here I am typing to you. Huh. It's 2 am here. Good night. Sleep tight. (Stynky, the ads suck. They take too long to load when you're working on a crappy connection.)

Some news for you all. First, Salty appears to be only bruised, although there is still some concern about her shoulder. However, this morning found her in good spirits, so all was well on that front. Second, as has already been posted, Mad Dogge became the first two-time winner of the Walk the Plank Contest. The second place winner was Spike and the third place winner was the prat. Diosa told me today that his skit's best part involved ripping a stuffed parrot in half, which bumped him out of the rabble. (There were seven contestants.) Spike said he was being tried for being too nice, which he protested against. By way of proof, he offered up the head of his child. (A doll's head.) And our own MD had a satchel full of pardons from governors which he proceeded to read - the governor of Canaidia, the governer of Guam and whatnot. (I wasn't there, so I didn't actually hear them and apologize to the guilty for getting it wrong.) When that all failed, he pulled out a treasure map and said that he would take it to his watery grave if they didn't let him go. Then the map flew into the water and Mad Dogge jumped in after it. I wish I would have seen it. Red Jessi arrived either late last night or today. We chatted a bit - she is nervous about her finals. She told me she had already landed a job...I believe in West Palm Beach. We discussed one of her papers which contained some very expensive words (Isometrics? Recividism? Schizophrenic? Onomatopoeia? Some other random large words?) She's a charming lass and I hope to get more info for everyone on what prompted her to come down here. They held the capturing of Anne Bonny and Mary Read in front of Mel Fisher's Treasure Museum this morning and as I had not seen it last year, decided to check it out with Patrick and Captain Jim. Per usual, I look a little too clean cut and wound up on the side of the redcoats with Captain Jim. Our job was to drag the notorious females down the street from MFT Museum to Duvall and then continue to drag them down Duvall. Diosa once again wet in bare feet which I consider impressive. I don't even want to know what could be on Duvall street from the night before. I asked her about this and she said simply, "Farm girl." She assured me she had well-calloused feet and had survived horse dung in her farm days so Duvall was a walk in the park. My hat's off to ya', Diosa. She and Bee put up a ferocious fight all the way down Duvall while the red coats, Jim and I tried to hold the complaining pirates back - Jim with his gun and I with my wit (since I have no gun). Apparently this was not enough as Dutch and Patrick wound up dumping me into a Duvall street garbage can. This is another place where I really don't even want to know what the residue might contain. Fortunately, they lifted me back out. It involved lots of yelling and taunting in an attempt to call attention to our group as well as stopping traffic as we walked down the middle of the street. Poor Deadeye of the Bone Island crew got a little overzealous in his being tossed around by Jim and the redcoats and strained his ham. You would think a surgeon could fix that. You would be wrong. He seemed to be getting around later, so I think all was well. On a side note, I talked briefly with Deadeye last night. I noted his eyes were HUGE, so I asked him if I could try on his glasses. The man has terrible vision. In fact, he told me cannot even get a driver's license and commutes only by bike. Good thing he lives in Key West, eh? My voice is a little stretched now after all that yelling and taunting and I am reminded of haunted house daze. There's nothing like trying to alter your voice to bring on a nice case of laryngitis. Apparently there is a be a skit involving birthing a baby. Lilly has miraculously become pregnant overnight and I am being drafter for the delivery. This is probably a recipe for disaster, but there you are. At least I am not truly the midwife. Maybe I can stand there with a pipe in my mouth, rubbing my chin sagely and go "Hmmm...looks like we may have to amputate." I am here boiling eggs for the Salmagundi tonight as it is my turn to cook dinner. Salmagundi is a large salad with meat and eggs. Thank God in heaven Lady Constance agreed to help me out. She is amazing. She even makes her own salad dressing, which should give the meal the right spin. I also suggested baking up garlic bread for more substance which she knows how to make by hand as well! Captain Sophia kindly agreed to drive me, Lady Constance gave me a list of things and Captain Sophia took the reins on the buying for the most part. This is the hardest I have ever worked on a meal that I was in charge of...not. (When you guys get to reading this...I love you both like my favorite sisters!) I am actually waiting for eggs to boil which should just be about done. So I will sign off for the nonce.

I haven't been to the fort yet, but I wanted to record some things before I forget them. (I read last year's account before I left and was quite amazed at the stuff that the guy that wrote it did and learned. They say your memory is the first thing to go. I think.) So here are a bunch of jumbled up accounts... When I was (apparently re-)introduced to Dutch's girlfriend Grace, she assured me that we had met at The '08 Blackbeard Festival in Hampton but, in keeping with this entry's theme, I did not remember her. Dutch I remembered because of his sloppiest of slops , which have acquired further slop to add to the sloppiness. (Is that enough slop? Ok, no more.) Anyhow, Grace is a free lance photographer who does work for The Pyrate's Way magazine. I have really been looking for an opportunity to say "Run along, freelance," which would amuse me to no end. However, the opportunity hasn't arrived and since it's a bit too arcane, I may skip it. Grace has been doing piracy gigs for eight years with Black Beard's Crew in Hampton much against the odds, as I understand it. The idea of women in a pirate group still has pockets of dissidents apparently, but she overcame it and is now an esteemed member. Apparently that crew has a fairly longish hazing period. If I got the stories right, she wound up sponsoring Dutch into the group (against her wishes at first) which meant he was basically her slave for a year, stepping and fetching as required for his mistress. Along the way, they became an Item, so I suppose the situation is about the same as it was in the beginning. Grace is apparently looking for Poster Pirates either for the magazine or possibly for a calender, so she is taking lots of pics. I have seen a few of them and they are quite nice. I also forgot to mention that when I was with Patrick and Jim in the fort, releasing any spare cash I had on me, Lilly McKinny arrived. (I think it is Lilly. It could be one of her alter-egos. She was wearing a rather severe hat and I though Lilly was a...woman of the night, so I could be wrong. I'm sure I'll be corrected once everyone has to leave the sunny beach and travel back to internet access. She greeted me with a huge hug, which I am slowly becoming conditioned to receiving, thanks to a year of dedicated work and patient correction from the likes of Lilly, Lily, Scarlett Jai, Mary, Kate Souris and Spike. (Yes, Spike.) At dinner in the extra-ordinary yesterday, Silas Thatcher came in with two of his charges, a young man whose name I forget (this is the absentminded post - you were all waiting for it) who is 6 years old and his daughter Grace, who I have named Baby Lyin', which she detests. The young lad regaled us with jokes that I am sure were funny to 6 year olds everywhere. ("What did the cup say to the other cup? Brbrbrbrbrbrbrbr!") but I never got the right of them. He tried diligently to clue me into his unique humorous take using several examples. (What did the salt shaker say to the other salt shaker? What did the spoon say to the other spoon?" Etc.) Silas told me that he would eventually run out of items on the table and that should be the end of his jokes, but the young master started again ("What did the spoon say to the other spoon?") and I never quite figured out what the punch lines really meant. "(Blahhhhhhhb!") Grace is as cute as a bug and if my camera hasn't been stolen out of Captain Jim's ore house last night, I will try and get a photo of her. (I have taken at least 12 pictures so far which is almost a record.) She had this bean bag stuffed tiger that she told me was named "Claudius" or something equally regal-sounding. I noted that it looked like a little lion my sister and I had had when we were about Grace's age that was very cleverly named Baby Lion. Baby Lion was one of those stuffed animals that you love and fight over until it hasn't a scrap of its original fur or a single plastic eye left on it. He or possibly she was eventually consigned to the dump one fateful Saturday afternoon and my sister and I looked longingly out over the piles of trash every time we visited, wondering what BL was doing. Anyhow, I decided to call Grace "Baby Lion" and she said that wasn't her name. Patrick noted that it must be her name because she was small and clearly lying about her name. (Rim shot.) I got into another discussion with William from the privateers who seem to switch crews every time you ask them which crew they're with. ("Dampier...no, wait, Captain Cyril!") Apparently they also have a pledge period and they told one of their would be members that to join their crew he must climb into a pen with an emu. This was supposed to be a joke, but before they could stop him, the lad had done it and they were too busy doubling over in laughter to stop him. The guy then proceeded to drop his pants and moon the emu (Why? How should I know? I guess it would make more sense if you met William and his companion, whose name is actually Doug, not Bruce as I reported it before.) The emu took an active interest in this and I can only assume that his girlfriend (who was on hand for this event for some reason) got him out will Will and Doug were lying on the ground in paroxysms of laughter. When Hammish arrived last night, the talk turned to that of babies. Kate carried young Hamm around while Salty's wounded wing was being looked into (No, not by me. She want's to be able to actually get healed.) Kate would welcome a bundle of joy (which I suspect is a euphemism used to fool the unwary). Since I had a snoutful, I explained my admittedly self-serving philosophy ("They cost you time. They cost you energy. They cost you money.") which didn't play well to the crowd. Thank God or the human race would end with this generation, right? Somehow the discussion which was just out of my earshot must have turned to delivering babies and they shouted over to ask if I could perform this operation. I wish I would have said "I don't know nothin' about birthin' no babies!" but I was a little off form and said something less amusing. Means no. Fortunately my volunteer Surgeon's Mate and Cook, Lady Constance Thatcher said she could do it, which lets me off the hook. Like most men, when it comes to the delivery, I can now stand back and faint. Lady Constance has done an absolute bang-up job putting all her kids into fairly good gear. The Thatchers came self-contained with all the food and necessaries they need. They wisely brought an RV where the non-PC items needed to keep several (I believe there are four, possibly five) kids entertained and happy. They also set up a cool little encampment of two tents facing each other and a fly in between so that the kids can sleep out. Next to this is the smallest pup tent I have yet seen for the independent lad. It had a stuffed raccoon atop of it when I arrived which I find sort of funny. While camping long ago, we had kept food in our tents and an army of semi-friendly raccoons showed up to investigate in the middle of the night. There's nothing like being awoken to the feeling of creatures crawling all over your legs trying to get into your pack. This awoke several of my fellow campers and a game of raccoon ball ensued as we repeatedly flung the creatures out of the tent. No raccoons were harmed in the making of this memory. (Nevertheless, I'd appreciate it if you didn't tell the ASPCA.) When he saw the pup tent, Edward told me that he thought it would be a great place to put his dog. I wondered if a dog could be convinced to sleep in a tent by itself the whole night, but he assured me this was possible. Pup...tent...ah, nevermind. Captain Jim convinced me to do something yesterday I never thought I would be able to do and admit publicly - buy garters. These long socks are cool and everything...well, actually they're not cool, they're sort of warm...but mine never stay up. Someone (I think it was Greg of Weeping Heart/Hudson Bay) helpfully noted that the socks we re-enacters can buy are better than the socks that real period folks have because the gathering is better so we should be happy to have them. This did little to make me happy with slipping-down socks, so I plunked down the money for my first ever pair of garters. Darned useful little things and PC stylish, me-thinks. (And here I thought they were only useful for people making soft-core porn and as a curse at weddings.)

Murder, folks! You would not believe where I am having to sit this eve to post. I'll leave it to your imagination. I cannot post photos, Sam I am, I will not post them with green eggs nor ham. Live with verbal pics or I'll have to give up sitting in this uncomfortable spot just to feed you folks info. (Tony Callahan has already taken more pics than I will take in my entire lifetime, so pics will definitely be forthcoming. Trust me.) So today I arrived a few minutes late for the captain's meeting only to find several members of the Mercury crew already in attendance. Tomorrow will be a sleep in day, I think. The Captain's meeting was light and flaky followed by the weapons inspection which I didn't stick around for. (No weapon.) I staggered over to the site, which appears to have grown overnight. Today was the most gorgeous yet, with a light breeze, lots of sun and a nice light cotton-fabric friendly temp. I arrived sans three top buttons on my trousers which you will have to guess at the reason being. (You guessed wrong, I can almost guarantee it...despite any contrary efforts from the outside forces.) Not wanting to be the first inadvertently pantsed pirate, I sought assistance which arrived in the form of Count du Monet's charming wife Lady Constance. (Since the wardrobe malfunction jokes are now officially out of date, I will not put one here. In fact, let us all just observe a moment of silence for that stupid joke... Thank you.) Although she agreed to sew two of the lost buttons on while I was still wearing my slops, I thought it best not to have a needle in the nethers and removed them. Thank God for those loooong shirts we get to wear and talllllll socks. The day was pretty slow - in fact it was sort of a warm up day as was explained at the Captain's meeting and we spent it hanging around the Sealkie's Hide making signs, sewing your surgeon's pants, making food and discussing philosophy. At least I discussed philosophy, primarily with Patrick Hand and Captain Jim. Jim had brought a second ore house (for one ore house is never enough) this year with the intent of putting it at some complex angle in relation to his primary abode. (He explained this angle in great detail, an exercise which must be left to the reader as I sure never got the gist of it, despite two tries.) Since Jim never put the second ore house up, he donated it to Delana whose pup tent was not adequate to meet the new requirements for a period encampment this year, even with a piece of canvas over it. She is a people person and she was pining away in the area designated for non-period tents - near the dumpster. So Delana is sleeping in the backup ore house, the gravity of which I do not think she appreciates a whit, God love her. Patrick, Jim, Edward and I rolled cartridges for the next day's engagement, while discussing politics, steampunk, guns, bikinis, global warming, the pub, Stynky's phone message from last year, central Florida, gas stations and other things which I am no doubt forgetting. (But which are nonetheless no less trivial as a result.) Patt, Jim and I headed over to the fort in the afternoon and proceeded to spend more money than is sensible with Weeping Heart. WH is flying under false colors (Hudson Bay) for this event for some reason. Come to think of it, they did that last year. I guess they don't want their name tarnished... Jim, Patt and I all talked at length with vendor extraordinaire Greg of WH of many things: of shoes and ships and sealing-wax of cabbages and kings and why the sea is boiling hot and whether pigs have wings. Since this wasn't making any sales for Greg, we left and checked out the other vendors. There are a few more PC vendors, which is nice to see. Patrick proceeded to buy the last cool pewter spoon. This was disturbing because I bought in wholesale to the Sealkies hide menu concept...because it is really that cool (especially since there are usually veggie options). So I knew I'd be on the share-a-spoon program once again tonight. Back at camp, I ate far too much lunch munchies at the Hide and chatted with the Archangels, Dutch and Grace and anyone else who happened to be near the cheese plate. A film crew from some Real Life! event the Discovery channel was putting on wherein some guy who is an ex-tennis player enters into every odd event he can find in attempt to get his pilot show off the ground came around to interview Mad Dogge since he was one of the winners of the Walk the Plank contest last year. He talked a lot of smack and sounded pretty much like those sap-headed folks you here on Real Action! shows and then I tuned the prat out. I believe they also interviewed Willie Wobble, but I had retreated to a safe distance by that point. Like hot dogs, reality TV is only good if you don't understand what goes into its preparation. (And even then...) The contest was scheduled for the late afternoon, but I missed it in deference to discussing things with Patrick and Jim and enjoying fine beer at the ore house I, which faces the ocean. As such, I can't tell you who won, but Mad Dogge hadn't showed up in camp when I left, so I hope he won. I definitely hope that the prat didn't win. Dinner was Jerk meat of some kind that didn't interest me (beef, I believe) along with beans & rice as well as cabbage and carrots. It was quite good. I ate it in my new Hudson Bay wood bowl. Captain Sophia M Eisley arrived in time for dinner and I had a nice time renewing our friendship - we had met several years ago in Orlando where she lives. In fact, she was the first Pub member I ever met. She brought gear for her role as a spice trader, which I look forward to seeing. Michael & Kate Souris, two people whose names I should remember but don't and Mark (from the Columbus Talk Like a Pirate Day Surgeon's Tale) arrived before nightfall and thus were able to set up their several tents before dark and enjoy dinner at their leisure. Callenish, Salty and Hamish arrived after dark, some the worse for the wear. Their car broke down 450 miles from home, which caused them to rent a van - believe it or not. On the way down, Salty tripped over something and hurt her arm which they handily put into a sling for the trip. She didn't want to be taken to a hospital until they reached Key West. (I have no further info on this, so, while I deeply apologize to the concerned, you'll have to wait until tomorrow to find out what happened to her.) Callenish and a crew of thousands proceeded to put up the most palatial tent I ever have seen. I hope to get a photo for posting in the DISTANT future for those of you who are nosy. I honestly cannot see how they found space for this giant assemblage of canvas. We then drank far into the night...ok, it's only 11:30, so I didn't drink that far. Thanks to Willy and Lily for allowing the ol' surgeon to partake of the rum and then to Silkie for the supply of water that made the trip back on the bike from hell tolerable. I actually spent at least an hour with Josh and Anna, Captain Sterling's kids (I don't recall their pirate names in my rum soaked state) and they proved to me that Star Wars lore had progressed to a degree that even I could not fathom. Apparently, Plo Kloon is the new red. I think Anna has read more Star Wars books than I knew existed and I wound up asking more questions about the state of the hobby than explaining. So it was a full day at the fort, most of it spent in the encampment which has vastly outstripped last year's set-up by about three times. Greg from Weeping Heart came over and, while I longed to enter into long discussions with him, all the Patrick/Jim/Star Wars info had infiltrated my rum besotted mind and I doubted it could hold much more without exploding. Talk to ya' on the morrow.

Thank you Michael. Alas, I have no good pictures to post as I am photography challenged. Even if I did, this connection is so bad I don't know if I'd be able to upload them here. Sorry about the pictures. Tonight the first dinner was scheduled at Silkie's Hide - Silkie's extraordinary ordinary. Sacred Heart was cooking beef stew which didn't really sound like the sort of dinner your ol' vegetarian surgeon was inclined towards. So I left the fort about sunset to get garbed up for the Buxom Wench and Bad Ass Pirate Contest (Note: I didn't make the name up.) Then I toddled over to Keith and Lily's pad to await the bus leaving for the 7pm start time. However, in typical Key West fashion, not only had the time changed to 8pm, the location changed from the Rum Barrel to Schooner's Wharf. So the crew was heading back to the fort for dinner. I said I thought I might wander back to Chaise Mission for a quick PBJ (which, eaten sloppily enough is a good substitute meal for the living dead - but I digress). However, the crew convinced me that they had enough crackers and fruit to fulfill my needs, so I figured I may as well tag along. Bless my soul if the Sacred Heart crew hadn't prepared something veggie for me without my even committing to the dinner! Thanks guys! So I dined in fine style on borrowed tableware and all was good. Then I wandered over to Willie Wobble's place where he, William and Bruce (I think) of the St. Augustine group had met up with...I am so going to get this wrong...Deidre? Delana? I believe it's Delana. This is the girl who showed up last year on a whim and covered her pup tent with a canvas sheet to fit it into the site at William's behest. Here I was fed rum and hummus. And when I say fed, I mean literally fed, as Delana was scooping the stuff on crackers and popping it into my mouth. They then left for the event, so I went back to the Archangel/Mercury camp to await my group. Alas, my group was not so time conscious and we didn't get going until well after the even started. I rode with Mary Diamond, Dutch and Grace. Mary and Mark had arrived whilst I was typing that last bit and set up camp in my absence. Mary brought a really cool piece of leather for me to wrap my "pointy bits" in (surgical instruments...what were you thinking?) in addition to my new bone saw which actually arrived in time for me to bring it to the event. Anyhow, we left late, parked for free (which is no mean feat in downtown Key West) and then proceeded to walk the wrong way to Schooner's Wharf. ("We don't have a wharf!") So then we walked 37 miles the right away and eventually arrived at schooner's wharf where something was really going on. Alas, I cannot say what it was, but Spike was on the stage and loads of pirates were there listening to him although I sincerely cannot see how they understand a word. Stynky found me and we rekindled our warm relationship wherein he calls me and swears at me on my cell phone. (I still have that message on my phone - I saved it. You will pay, Stynky!) We chatted for awhile and then Delana came 'round and offered us a swig of grog, the recipe for which she assured us she got off the internet. She explained the Stynky had told her how to make it last year when he offered her some. I also ran into Patrick Hand, who had showed up while we were eating and had ridden with Willie Wobble's group to the bar. He was looking a little bedraggled, no doubt due in part to 22 hours of air travel which had been right on the heels of a full work day. He said he was thinking about walking back after he finished his drink, so I volunteered to go with him as my crowd quotient was full to overflowing. (The bar was packed.) Delana wanted to go as well. So we all set out for the walk back to the park, making our way down Duvall. Friends and pirates, I must say that Patrick is not only a Prince of a Pirate, but he is a most masterful comprehender (which is not a word) of human nature as well. I learned a great deal about him on that walk back and I can only wish I could grok the world that way. If I hadn't held him in high enough esteem already, I must now elevate the man a step. We stopped at the Green Parrot for a quick one on the way back where he gave me a bit of philosophy for free in the bargain that I cannot actually use, but which I appreciate nonetheless. There are moments when I wish I was another human being entirely, but as Delana more or less explained earlier in the evening, that is not only absurd, it is impossible. I guess I'll leave it at that. Patrick also explained his latest work in the Steampunk realm while Delana danced and made friends with the patrons (She is cool - people like her always fascinate me.) Then I came back here to ponder life and my naval in one fell swoop. Night all.

Captain Sterling, his charges and Silkie arrived last night along with Dutch. They slept in Keith and Lily's tent, although the captain assured me he slept outside, being the man that he is. They had many of their tents and the ordinary fly set up by the time I arrived at the campsite this morning. The Bone Island crew showed up and set up their tents in the camping area. Someone told me that they were camped in our area last year but I do not recall this. It does explain why, on a trip down the beach one night last year I came across some folks in the approximate area where I am assured that there was a B.I. campsite who were enjoying a moonlight swim in their altogethers. Speaking of which, a crew arrived who have set up their encampment next to Willie Wobble. They apparently do several periods from about 1550 - 1700 and have gear appropriate to three distinct periods. They had met Willie at some event, I believe in St. Augustine, Florida. Willie must have had his usual magnificent set-up which included a table they much coveted. So they went over to him bearing gifts and talking an apparently convincing line that ended with a request for the use of his table. Willie being the sweet guy he is, let them have it and spent the rest of that event hanging out with them. One night, this apparently involved the consumption of something that is now called "naked juice" (which contained, among other things, Jaimeson's. I didn't get the full recipe, but based on the effects some of you may want to pm Willie for more info on that front.) What effects, you ask? Well, it apparently stirred up the blood to such an extent that several girls stripped down and started dancing around the fire. The gent telling me the story noted that he wasn't sure what Willie was going to make of all this, but figured he would either stay or leave and six of this crew proceeded to join in the tribal dance, naked as the day is long. It must be some recipe. I tried to get them to tell me their crew name, but they were distinctly cagey on that point. As near as I could tell they were either with Henry Morgan or Captain Cyrill (I hope I am spelling that right), who agreed to accept a boatload of whiskey which allowed his whole crew to become so drunk that the Spanish were able to sail right past them when they were supposed to be guarding the port. I wonder if it was due to the consumption of naked juice? This group actually had a storehouse of information and assured me that this whole thing is explained in Esquemelling's book. The encampment is already bigger than last year from what I can tell. I intend to actually take some photos this year, just like I always intend to take some photos every time I do something like this and yet utterly fail to do, so we will see. We're camped right near the water and any concerns about the site are long since obliterated from everyone's mind. Fortunately, the weather arrived with the morning and we have sun, a breeze, but not a gale and no rain visible. It's probably about the perfect temperature, although I suspect it will be a little chilly tonight. I found out that I managed to rate a poster this year. The Callahans have put together a beautiful assembly of material for the event. Like last year there are large (I'm guessing about 3' x 1.5') posters showing various people from last year with information on PiP emblazoned on them that they scattered around town at the various local friendly vendors. Among the several posters are Willie Wobble, Captain Sterling, his charges, Lily, Hurricane, Billy Bones (where are ya', lad?), Patrick, Aminjiria Jack, Spike, Brig and I believe Mae. I saw four posters showing all the posters and my memory just isn't good enough to recall everything. No doubt Captain Jim was in there too because he is a natural for these things. They have also put together several postcard sized adverts to hand out around town. When I get to my scanner, I will scan some of them in. I think my picture makes me look distinctly arrogant, which really sort of fits the character of a pressed surgeon. There is also a full schedule of events featuring a painting or drawing of Cascabel in a classic pirate pose on the front. Apparently this event has been going on since Sunday, which is apparently explained in another post which (by now you may gather) I apparently didn't read very closely. Inside the fort, the vendors are setting up. Hurricane and Diosa were putting together their booth, but they looked so intent that I didn't want to bother them. Our ginormous flag from last year is hang right near them, awaiting the Pub photo op. The Callahans and the Sacred Heart crew are also in the fort. They, among many other people, have beautiful new period tents set up, giving the place that just so look. Fayma told me that had originally set up their site last weekend but with all the rain and gusty wind had to take it down. They reset it today. My skeleton (who needs a name, I think. Bueller? Bueller?) is hung by the entrance. The Bone Island folks have created a cool gateway of logs that even includes a walkway on top for a sentry. I old Lily yesterday that you could just feel the excitement zinging up and down through your midsection. Everyone I've come across seems to have a bit of it. It's quite contagious.

Ok, I'm sicka' trying to find stuff on my own website from the web page for the surgeon's journal. Since I use the Pub as my back-up navigational tool for my own site, I'm listing all the extra (or Easter Egg) pages here. First, here is the first page of the Surgeon's Journal PiP '08. The extra pages include: "Organized" Events: The Buxom Wench and Bad Ass Pirate Contest -- The Walk the Plank Contest -- El Meson Party after Walk the Plank Contest -- Friday Flag Procession into the Fort -- Sunday's Dead Man's Chest Auction -- Sunday's Locks of Love Auction-- Sunday's Hanging of Captain Sterling Battle-Related Pages: Friday - First Battle -- Saturday - Second Battle -- Saturday - Pirates Take Fort Taylor -- Sunday - Third Battle -- All Girl's Cannon Crew -- M.A. d'Dogge's Cannon Crew Informal Events: Conquestadors Abduct Captain Spike -- Dutch (dutchman) Explains Period Navigation -- Firing to Salute the Sunset -- Key West Sunsets -- Fort Ghost-Hunting Tours -- The Process of Making Salmagundi -- Stynky's Hat Swap Game Places of Interest: Encampments -- The Sealkies Hide -- Vendors and Such Interesting Characters: Crudbeard & Oreo -- Harry -- Mae & Brig dunked by M.A. d'Dogge -- The Tryal of Stynky Tudor -- Morgan Drake -- The Thatchers and, of course, last, but certainly not least Lob And one extra special one featuring Grace Thatcher's Baby Lion Gift to Mission the Surgeon: Baby Lion Visits Mexico I wasn't going to do this because the internet connection here is absolute crap, but Leigh told me that people were not yet sick of reading this stuff, so here I am, my computer on a very tall stand by the window, writing this. (Peer pressure, you know I hate it.) This looked to be the trip from hell. I flew in on Sunday, the worst possible day of the year to fly from what I've heard at the worst possible time (midday). But before I finish that, some back story. I had originally planned to rent a car as I mentioned here somewhere, but about a week ago I realized that since my company pays for my car and thus my insurance, I actually have no car insurance, making my car rental bill exorbitant. So I decided to charter a bus. ("...you remember in F-Troop where Agarn says "There's no way I'm wearin' a dress, absolutely not! No dress!" and Forrest Tucker's like "Yeah your wearin' that dress! Your gonna wear that dress!" and then they wipe and Agarn's wearin a dress." "Oh, I love that bit. There, I'll be right back, I've got to go charter a bus. Believe it or not." End stupid aside and backstory.) So while travelling on the worst day of the year at the worst time into Delta's worst connecting airport, I missed my connecting flight in Atlanta (motto: Atlanta - The place everyone flying Delta on the east coast must fly into so they can really mess up your flight.") Thus, my chartered bus was at risk and the number was in my checked luggage due to some overzealous packing on my part. Fortunately, the bus company was as screwed up as Delta and they somehow had gotten the idea that I was to arrive on Wednesday and had called me to tell me they were at the airport and where the hell was I? (They didn't state it quite like this.) I explained that I was in Detroit, thank you very much and wouldn't arrive until Sunday if they wanted to wait. This may not sound fortunate, but since I had not remembered the name of the bus company or the phone number, I was very happy they had mistakenly called because their number was in my phone and I was able to reschedule my bus (again, apparently). While I wound up waiting around the Atlanta airport an extra four hours, they did decide that since it was their fault I missed my flight, they would not only automatically check me into the next available flight, but would also upgrade me to first class. Color me happy. I sat next to a girl who had emigrated from Cuba when she was 7 with her parents. She was now 19 and looked like she was still 12 and we had a very interesting chat. In an attempt to tie this into this bizarrely long introductory segment of the Surgeon's tale, I expounded on the wonders of PiP, focusing particularly on my gibbeted pirate skeleton and when she didn't smile glassily and nudge away from me to the other side of her seat, I continued to explain how haunted house props were made. When I mentioned all this was on my website, she actually asked for the address which I gave her, noting where the /07 Surgeon's Tale was. To end this almost totally irrelevant aside, I found I was the only person on the chartered bus (I expected there to be several people) and had a fascinating chat with the driver who had moved to Marathon two months ago from Vale, Colorado where he had spent the last four years as a ski bum in what he described as a "mid-life crises." So the four hours flew by while we chatted. We we so interested in each others bizarrely different life choices that we may exchange cards at Christmas. I did nothing on Monday except pick up my bike from the fort that Harry had generously allowed me to leave there last year and try to figure out what exact spot I should position the computer in to get the really, really crappy wireless internet connection to work. Oh, and I typed in a bunch of notes from Woodall, whose book is much better now that I can automatically substitute s's for f's thanks to my reading of Wiseman's book. I have also rapidly learned to substitute j's for i's, u's for v's and v's for u's and am now reading Woodall at the fourth grade level. Today I went to the fort in the afternoon and helped Lily and Keith/Edward set up a tent that is surely larger than most small houses. I also met Silas Thatcher and his large family and tried to help them set up their site, but mostly got in their way. Keith and Lily put the entire crew of the Sacred Heart in their rental house due to the weather, the sleeping logistics of which I tried not to fathom. We all repaired to dinner at the Rum Barrel (where they still have the most excellent corn and seafood chowder), making a party of 12 with the two people that I suspect we randomly picked up along the way. Crispy drove us in his seventies-style van with the ubiquitous bed in the back. Crispy is in the process of moving to Key West with his wife, so we should all hate him for that. He is joining the Bone Island Buccaneers (and he very much looks the part), so we should hate him doubly for that. Actually, he's a really nice guy with a mobile guitar repair shop in his van. (You meet the most interesting people in Key West.) At the Rum Barrel, Keith, Lily and I were the only ones not dressed as pirates. Fortunately, Tony Callahan explained to anyone who would listen that I was a computer pirate or a recent med-school grad waiting to be paged. Tony, who was sitting next to me, loaned me his napkin in an effort to protect Keith's light tan sweatshirt which I was wearing (it's a tad chilly down here - bring your pullover if you're packing). Of course, this meant that he couldn't signal the waitress that he was done in the international symbol of waitstaff signaling (placing your napkin on your plate), which everyone at my end of the table seemed to find funny. Still, Keith's sweatshirt does not have any stains on it, despite my best efforts. I am so happy, I may keep it. Looking forward to tomorrow when the bulk of the crews will arrive.