Captain Jim

I'm sorry, I don't understand the meaning of that word... It only means that Harry will have more time to drink, if that is indeed possible. See, I miss a couple of weeks posting and this happens. Harry, so sorry to see you go. Thanks for getting us "in the door" at Ft. Taylor. It has been a great privilege, honor and an outright blast to work with you. Now I have two words for you...Press Gang! Your presence at PiP '09 is required if you can at all pull it off. We'll find tent space for ye, mate, perhaps even erect another Oar House (the Harry Oar House...? ) Perhaps I'll see you at John's Pass.

Welcome aboard, Swab. I've seen your posts herabouts. I'm sure that we have met but I can't seem to put a face to the name.

Ditto for Blackbeard's. Seriously jealous. Next year...*sigh*

Aye, a very merry natal day to ye indeed.

The moral of the story, mate, is that you need more scantily clad wenches aboard.

Happy birthday, ye olde Dogge, and many more trips about the sun to ye.

Well, well. Just run off and don't tell anyone, why don't ya? Welcome back, mate.

Having seen the inside of that tankard I shudder to think what is encrusted in there...

No, no, no, you silly Pyrate: the Ghostbuster is making Spirits!

I'm with Silkie on this; Thank you for sharing. Eagle Scout stuff is important, and I'm so happy you found that for your father. As for your grandfather, you remember him and that is all that is really important. A memento would have been nice, though.

Happy Natal Day to ye, m'lass. May ye 'ave many more.

Welcome aboard, mate.

Sjöröveren, you might also want to try a file, a regular old metal file, either single or double cut, to remove most of the metal before moving to a finer polish to finish up. Don't hesitate to move the file sideways (called draw filing) to create a fairly smooth finish before final polishing.

Michael, glad to hear you're unhurt. And that shock thing...give it a couple of days to wear off. Its nature's way of coping with sensory overload. If you are physically OK, the brain will catch up soon and you'll find yourself thinking, " Oh, sh#t!"

Not totally wreck my voice before the first singing starts. Bets are off after that. Visit Mel Fisher Museum. It and I have unresolved history. I may never put that particular ghost to bed.

Thank'e Rumba. Living color is good.

Happy Natal Jon. Many more trips about the sun to ye, Mate.

Congratulations, mate.

Patrick, I am sooo sorry to disappoint Mission (not!). He'd have had that mercury syringe out in a heartbeat. Thanks all again for your concern. It makes me feel all warm and fuzzy (decidedly un-pyrate-like feelings, I'm sure.) William, I knew it! But only 3%? Time for you to start taking your pyrate pills again...3% seems a little low to me.

Jamie, you may nil be the man of my dreams (he would be unmarried) but you sure do have his eyes! You sweet talker, you...

I thank ye, all. No Animal, I think I was still in the same hospital. Just some odd colors, slow motion in real time, couldn't understand a single word anyone said and every time I moved my eyes and had to refocus I kept thinking, "Well, this is a new room..." over and over and over. I asked my nurse the next day why they had kept moving me all night while I was trying to sleep. She told me I hadn't slept at all and that I was in the same room all night. Rough first night. I got Tylenol after that. Mary, so much to do at PiP. I'll be hanging around the Ordinary at night next year, especially if we can get the musicians to go there instead of the fort. The acoustics there are absolutely horrible. Now about those boots...

I'll be 'avin' a wee dram o' that rhum, thank'e. And welcome aboard.

I believe the excuse "Pyrate!" is best used while pointing a large caliber pistol at the offended party: see the movie for the best example. Usually I use the "unarmed" version after having been rebuffed by a member of the fairer sex while I am in pyrate garb. It seems to smooth over any offense or liberty taken while under the influence of rhum. Further, it usually leads to the "offended" party buying me a round! An example: Scene: A bar in Key West (any bar, actually.) A comely and buxom wench. A pyrate. Pyrate (OK, me), eying a pair of well-presented breasts: "Oh, look! A treasure chest!" Treasure Chest: "Excuse me!?" or "F**k off!" or silence accompanied by a evil look. Pyrate: "Oh, sorry. Can't help meself: Pyrate. Always looking for treasure chests and booty." TC: "Is that a real sword?" Pyrate: "Aye, lass, that it is..." TC: "You're cute (cool; look really good in that; are the man of my dreams...OK, not the last one.) Can I buy you a drink?" Mind you, its sometimes her boyfriend that buys the drink...harbors a desire to be a pyrate I think.

Thank you all. Patti had instructions to tell all of you in case of the worst...and, yes, it got to that point. And as Lady Barbossa said, people die within a couple of days of a ruptured appendix and I had one for at least four weeks. In review my GP told me flat out that I was lucky to be alive. I'm inclined to agree but then I've always felt lucky to be alive. I also have a kick-ass immune system that held up under the pressure and protected the major organs. One of the infectious disease doctors who was on the case called and asked if I wouldn't mind being written up for a medical journal, so that maybe the next victim's doctor will take a look at the appendix early on, instead of finding it by accident. So perhaps some good will come of this.

Forgive me, William, for jumping to such a conclusion. I know that you will always have my best interest at heart. Chrispy, Nell, Johnny Tar and sweet Silkie, thanks. Silkie, could you watch the kids and the pups next weekend so me and the Missus can go to the beach? Or is that offer only good if I'm getting my butt kicked?