Surgeon's Journal 2009

[Mission]

Well, I arrived. Nobody said anything about my Patrick Hand original hat on the way except for every single person in security in Detroit. "Wow! What a cool hat?" "Where did you get that?" "I'll bet it would be good for keeping out the sun off you." "Where can I buy one." I think they imported security people from other posts to discuss my hat. I expect my next trip through Detroit Airport security to be very interesting with a gaggle of planter's hatted security folks. (Patrick, there's a whole market in Detroit calling your name.)

Other than that, the trip to Miasmi was uneventful. On the trip from MIA to EYW I sat next to a young (young to me - mid twenties) girl who was going to be a bridesmaid in her friend's wedding. She told me she was born in Orlando but she moved to Minnesota to take a financial position with a company that makes plastic bottles for drug companies. Since anyone who would do that must be insane, we got along fine. I was hoping she was in Morgan Drake's wedding, but she was with someone else's wedding - a friend from Orlando - and she was one of 12 bridesmaids. I asked her if her friends were picking her up from the airport, but she informed me that they were all too hung over. She was afraid of the plane, because it had propellers, which I thought was odd. "What's so much better about jet engines?" "It seems like most of the airplane wrecks are small planes, so they must have propellers." Not being able to argue in the face of such logic, I replied, "Yeah, but it's cool...like flying in the 40s."

On the plus side, the voodoo gods got involved and proved my old maxim, "When I arrive in in Miasmi to find crappy weather, the sun is usually shining in Key West." I'm certain my next door plane passenger was suitably impressed when we arrived to find my predication had come true.

Kate Bagley was supposed to pick me up at the airport, but she welshed to play cannon with Red Jessi. So Michael was charged with the duty. He is apparently psychic (or maybe just psychotic) because he was actually pulling into the airport driveway when I called him from the tarmac. He arrived with no less than 50 pirates in his van among which were Matty Bottles, Callenish Gunner and Israel Cross. I was touched by this boatload (or vanload) of well-wishers, but it turns out that they just tagged along so that they could make (by my count) 300 stops on the way back to the hotel. (I have this vision of the scene in Animal House where Flounder gets his brother's car and the rest of the group starts chanting "Food King! Food King! Food King!)

Among the desired stops was Ben Franklin local craft store. Israel wanted some fabric. (PC fabric? From a craft store? Really?) It turns out no one had a clue where it was located, so we spent the better part of the trip driving through every strip mall in New Town (which is something that is definitely to be missed by one and all) looking for the place. We'd go in one strip mall all excited and then, aww... Callenish would then say, "It's in the next one!", so we'd go in the next one and then, aww... Rinse and repeat. I finally spotted it and, lo and behold, they had nothing like period fabrics. I mean nada, zip, zilch. However, I found a really neat tropic print with pink flamingos which I plan to have Michael turn into a pair of slops for me. The surgeon dude abides.

Then it was my turn to divert the trip on a long lost hunt - for my hotel. Of course, I printed out the info for the hotel and wisely decided to keep it safe by leaving it at home. So I couldn't remember the name of the place. "I know it's on Duvall" I announced confidently. So we went down Duvall and someone would see a hotel and then, aww.... that's not it. I broke out my laptop with the forlorn hope that the data was saved in the computer's internet memory when someone jokingly said, "Hey it's the Pegasus Hotel!" which is sort of pinkish and yellowish and they all though was funny. "That's the place!" So here I am.

Now I have to go get some food (Corn and seafood charter is on the menu for Mission) and toddle over to the fort. I plan to miss the Friday battle, as is my custom. I apparently decided my socks would be safest with the hotel information, so I can't even get dressed, unless I want to look (more) like a dork. Fortunately I have my cool Indiana Jones brown leather document pouch to stuff all my clothing in. It's very 40ish. I am in 40ish mode.

Further bulletins and conditions warrant. I have guard duty with Red Jessi tonight from 1am - 3am, which I think I am seriously going to regret because I had to get up at 4am this morning. Oh, well.

Oh, I saw a baby jumper in one of the lurid Key West T-shirt shops that read, "All mommy wanted was a back rub..."

[Ben Fridley]

Mission,

Sounds like all is well! How is the weather behaving? Take lots of photos!!!

Ben

[Mission]

Ok, you guys are going to have to bear with me. Michael Bagley dropped me at the hotel after dinner and I left my reading glasses at the Fort. So pardon the misspellings and whatnot...this damned laptop screen is a little fuzzy. (Just had diabetic retinaopathy laser surgery two days ago which doesn't help at all.)

First I toddled off to the Rum Barrel for a bowl of the corn and seafood chowder as mentioned last post. (Yum.) Then I walked through the Truman Annex to the fort where I got charged a gate fee because the lady said she didn't have a list. I searched out Fayma, who gave me a wooden pog so that would never happen again along with a loaner mug which she made me promise not to let Stynky see. In fact, Stynky was there, so I wished him HB and he pretended to be delighted to see me, probably because he figured my wallet was full of $20s that could be used to buy mead since it was so early in the trip. Leaving them, I bought some socks from Greg of the Weeping Heart Trading Company. So far, this sounds like you're reading my to do list, doesn't it? Sorry about that.

Upon arriving in the Mercury camp, I found Michael dressing Red Jessi. (Mostly because I think it's difficult to lace up those bodices or mantuas or whatever the heck you call thems. That and she is his second-wife.) Thinking three o'clockish was pretty late to be getting dressed, I made what was no doubt some amazingly acerbic comment on this and was informed that it was because female cannon crewmembers had to be disguised as men to fire the cannon. I'd probably skip the firing if I had to go to all that trouble. Besides, the All Girl Cannon Crew was one of the mostest awesomelyest cool things last year. The All Girls Dressed Like Boys Cannon Crew just doesn't have the same ring.

However, having accomplished all that nonsense, I was able to dress in garb and leave all my worldly possessions in the =encampment (including the hotel key) so that the girl at the front desk had to let me in. This is a very European-style hotel (translation: rooms with small bathrooms) although they do have a fridge in case you happen to be bringing insulin with you. (And who isn't?) At the camp, I was greeted by none other than our Quartermaster William Brand. Yes, it turns out that William arranged to hitch a ride on a black op helicopter to Key West thanks to his previous involvement with several clandestine operations he was involved with in the Philippines. If I told you any more than that, he'd have to kill me. Then you could never read these Surgeon's Journals again, which might actually make some of you happy. (Don't tell me about it, I can't bear to know.) We spent some time catching up and I must say that it was grand to see him here in his new coat. Hopefully there will be pics. (Some day.)

I was also delighted to find that Boogater was here (he has posted on the pub about three times), who some of you will remember from the 2007 Surgeon's Journal. (Which I am slightly depressed to discover comes up as search #10 in the Google for "Surgeon's Journal.) Boo and I chatted for awhile. It seems he is building a Model A car from parts he discovered on a piece of land he owns in Florida, which he plans to send out West and tour in this summer. Boo is totally a McGuyver kind of guy, you see. He also explained that he has recently finished building a house boat which he and his friend "the Captain" plan to sail around southern Florida on a fishing expedition. He can do this because he retired in 1987 (or something) despite the fact that he is only 30. Ok, he's a little older than that, which you may (again) see in the pics if they are ever posted. I forced him to allow a pic to be taken of the two of us since I never got one in '07. We agreed to miss the Saturday battle for a trip to JCs or BCs or LMNOPs (I forget) to enjoy conch fritters while admiring the ambiance of "restaurant assembled from remnant of the last hurricane."

While we were chatting, who come up but Mooseworth's bride, whose name I did not get. Well, in all the excitement, who's name I do not remember. Sorry, Mooseworth's bride! I will remedy this! I hope! She took pics of Boo, Mooseworth and me in front of Boo's cool bamboo tent set up. The three of them were planning an excursion to the pub crawl which may have begun at 6pm or 7pm or who knows what. (As I told her, when it comes to Duvall pub crawls, you pick a bar on Duvall and then sit there and drink until you see a bunch of pirates coming into the bar. Then you join them and you're in a pub crawl.) She gave me some good backstory on MW, so I have to share that.

I guess they met in Key West (I think) and hit it off so well that he decided to quit his job as a the president of General Motors and move down here to pack hand-rolled Cuban cigars. Or maybe I'm just confusing my stories. I've had a lot of wine. Anyhow, he moved down to Florida to be with her which strikes me as pretty romantical and stuff. Nice folks, well met.

Mooseworth, wife and Boo headed out in their van to join the crawl, so I wandered over to chat with Callenish a bit. I espied Papa Ratzi shooting dusk pics at the water's edge, so I decided to go down and shoot some as well, just so everyone could compare my work to Papa's and see just how inadequate my photography skills are. There I met (and hugged) a dozen people, some of whom I don't think I actually knew, which is a weird experience for your "no touch" ship's surgeon. There was a potentially embarrassing shot of Michael and I, but I don't think it will come out, so I am a happy surgeon. I have run into several people who weren't here last year, including Master Studley, who told me outrageous lies about Patrick Hand being extraordinarily drunk last night. I guess it rained, which jumbled Patrick's compass. Another person, who shall remain nameless because I don't remember who it was told me that at one point our dear Mr. Hand was wandering around the camp at 1am looking for his pants, proclaiming loudly that they contained everything he owned. This could be a lie, so you didn't read it here.

Red Jessi and I agreed to have dinner at the splendid, magnificent and wonderful Cafe Sole in town. We invited Michael and Kate Souris along and (thanks to my keen directional skills) got lost looking for it. Fortunately, I had a vague idea where it was ("Is that the cemetary AGAIN?") and we managed to stumble across it. It's hard to find. Sincerely. Honest and for true. I then began to tell them about all the best Cafe Sole experience I had had (including last year's dinner with Jessi and they all came true. I am seriously psychotic this trip. As such, I predict I will find a Spanish Treasure ship this trip. You heard it here first.)

What, you may ask, did I talk about? Well, I mentioned that it was my favorite restaurant in the whole world. I also explained that in previous trips to the fair isle, the owner had come around and chatted with me because I went there so often when I was in town. In a few special trips, he actually invited me to share in some yummy port wine, which isn't on the menu. Kate and Michael, who had never been to CS, agreed that it was indeed some of the best food they had had. The owner did arrive and, upon chatting with our little foursome, asked if we would like some port. Psychotic...I mean, psychic. I'm telling ya. (Spanish treasure ship. Ommmmmm...)

That's enough, I want to go swim in the Pip stream some more. Plus I have that guard duty thing to do. Talk to you in the wee small hours...I hope.

[Mission]

The fort was pretty quiet when I got back. I picked up my bicycle...or rather Fayma's bicycle since mine had two flat tires. Rather than bring my flat-tired bike along (I believe the brandname of that bike is POS), she loaned me one of the coaster bikes she bought two years ago at the fort. Alas, I have no lock for it, but if it doesn't get stolen from the hotel tonight, I will have to buy one tomorrow. I chatted with Stynky, Morgan Drake and Robin (who has a small dog that she is carrying around this year. Fayma pulled out the alleged Mission Mug that Braze and Cascabel shot (No, really, it's not my mug.) which she was conned into buying...er, purchased from Josh under the direction of Stynky for $20. There is talk of auctioning it off at the Dead Man's Chest auction. You people must all be insane. It's not my mug. Don't buy any of that snake oil Stynky's peddlin'!

I guess there was also some cable Food Show down here filming an episode for a show that puts this professional cook in weird situations and gives him 9 hours to prepare a meal for a large group with the assistance of 3 or 4 untrained helpers. Mad d'Dogge and Edward O'Keefe were two of his assistants; I understand Mad d'Dogge kept correcting the cook's pirate terminology and Edward kept sneaking drinks from the cooking sherry. (Sorry, not having TV reception I didn't recognize the name of the show, so I leave it to the cognosciente to figure that out.)

I walked the bike over to the campsite where I spent some time talking with the Mercury folks who are all hanging around Callenish Gunner's tent. Then I wandered over to the Archangel group and talked at length with Mary Diamond about this and that. I recall that humorous things were said, but I cannot recall what humorous things were said in sleep-deprived state. (Sorry, that's so lame.) Since I took a bunch of pictures of the people I was talking to, I will have to try and make something good up for the Surgeon's Journal Web page. "Oh, and here we have Julius Copperskull drinking from Stynky's ginormous flask as we discuss the business climate in China." (Stynky really does have a ginormous flask. He emptied much of it into my mug which he didn't even try to steal. He must be slipping.)

Red Jessi had wisely gone to sleep while we Mercury folks loudly discussed silly things about the pub. (It isn't bad enough that we sit around here and type silly things on the pub, we now can go to events and talking about the silly things that we have typed on the pub.) William related a happening he saw yesterday - three burly bearded guys discussing the pros and cons of various stitching methods. As he said, "Only at PiP...."

Guard duty turned out to mostly about sitting around, talking to each other and counting millipedes. Jessi regaled me with tales of her recent trip to Ireland. I guess they had the worst weather they had had there in recent memory, featuring lots of flooding, people being rescued by helicopters and bridges being washed away. Our intrepid RJ stuck it out, however, and visited most of the places she wanted to see despite all this. She got another tattoo to add to her collection. She told me that she planned to add one upon visiting each new foreign country. We also talked of James Joyce, Dorothy Parker, Mark Twain and Hemingway making it a most diverting conversation.

Our replacement watch (Vintage Sailor and his wife) showed up just in time for the second car we had seen to pull up. It turned out to be Mae, Brig and their friend, so of course I asked for 17 pieces of ID and forms signed in triplicate along with a license to sell hair tonic...to bald eagles...in Omaha, Nebraska. Brig said, "We knew this was going to be problematic when we saw you guarding the gate."

Oh, and we counted 6 millipedes. It was a regular parade, it was. They all seemed to be going along the same path, causing me to ask Jessi all sorts of weird questions about millipede motivation, intent and motive. She said they probably just think about finding food. Did I mention I was sleep-deprived?

[Duchess]

[Animal]

Well done again, Mission!!! William Brand made it to PIP???? I'll throttle the bastid!!! Tell him he has lost his standing in the "I couldn't make it to PIP in 2009 Club" (or something like that). Now also tell Mister Brand that it is his duty to take and post photos, no excuses!!!!

Animal

[Mission]

*Groan* I am not used to sleeping when the sun is leaking through the shades, so I guess I am awake for the nonce. Even though last night was pretty tame, I feel somewhat hung over. (Which is code for "I want some scrambled eggs." Hung over for me is just moderate ennui, accompanied by periods of light logyness and occasional listless.) It may just be a form of jet lag or an extension of the whole sleep-deprivation thing because I only had half of the mug of whatever the heck it was Stynky gave me. (Seemed like a rum thing with hints of cinnamon.)

Thinking about it, the encampment has a nice communal feel to it this year that I didn't really get last year. People hang out in their sites at night telling loud and often bawdy stories in the moon- and candle-light. I haven't had a chance to really see the boucaineer camp yet except in passing, so I will have to give that a better look and report back. Lots of new faces and people to meet, which is always fun. I shall have to make it a point to wander around a bit more tonight. One interesting facet of arriving on Friday is that there is no warm-up time - you are immersed in the whole PiP experience right from the start. (I usually prefer a few days of getting used to things to the shock of jumping right into the pool, but that was a choice I had to make. )

The fort is pretty barren inside - they seem to be doing a lot of work. There are several folks encamped there and I don't envy them. It was quite hot yesterday (bringing the sun was apparently a mixed blessing) and the fort gets no breeze. Sitting in the encampment, you get the most wonderful fresh light gusts of wind coming off the ocean. The vendors are all lined up in the middle of the fort this year. Again, I didn't take time to really examine them in depth, so there's another opportunity for me.

Unfortunately they do not have a tavern this year. This is sad in that I thought the tavern was one of the charming aspects of this event - regular readers may recall tales of stolen mead from last year. I guess the fort folks are following the rule about no alcohol in the park more strictly. (Which I can understand, but it's still a little sad. One of my first "This is wonderful!" moments in 2007 was experiencing the pub. I believe I blathered on for more than a paragraph about it.) However, this is Key West and in my 20 or so trips here, one thing I have learned is that change is accelerated here. If you want to experience Key West the way I describe it in these journals, you have to be here. (Hint, hint.)

This morning I recall Boo's conch fritter restaurant name - BOs. You would think I could link those things together easily in my mind, wouldn't you? You would apparently be wrong. I also notice that cap'n rob is posting photos to the Gallery from last night's sunset photo shoots, so those of you who couldn't be here can see some of it. (I still retain the full rights to the title of dyck, however. (I should be careful of what I say...Freaky Fishmonger is probably a preferable title...)) I guess I'll shower and go in quest of scrambled eggs. (Although if it's as hot and humid today as it was yesterday, showering is more of a symbolic act than a productive one. OTOH, they were predicting snow in Michigan when I left, so the trade off is not so difficult.) Mission out.

[Mission]

Man. It is way past time for a mind dump. I'm probably going to forget some things here, so I hope the photos I took will remind me when I go to put together the web page.

It was overcast when I got on the coaster bike this morning (fortunately it wasn't stolen last night) and headed for the fort. Who do I run into on the way through the gate buy our own Stynky. He asked me where I was going (since it wasn't obvious) and I explained that was hoping to find some scrambled eggs at the fort. He said he hadn't seen any (which is probably a lie) and told me he hadn't had breakfast either and was headed out to buy some oil for his gun.

So I volunteered to tag along as was indicated by the pregnant pause. He went to a place which he described as "the closest bike shop to the fort" which is actually incorrect. When I explained this, he said he'd been going there for the past few years to buy this special synthetic oil. I guess he had brought his own oil a few years back and it turned out to be defective or something and he fell in love with this synthetic stuff that he only bought from this particular bike shop back in the neighborhoods of Key West. It was actually somewhere near Cafe Sole (although where I know not since as I believe I explained in a previous post, I just sort of wander around the vicinity until I find the place).

Stynky asked for "the pyrate discount" at the bike shop. They were apparently gullible enough to believe there was such a thing and gave him a dollar off the stuff. (This is probably the real reason he likes to go there. I don't recall the name of the stuff, but I took a photo of it so I can post it.) The head bike shop genius (seriously, he seemed like a genius to me) sagely counseled Stynky to apply the oil to all moving parts on a bike regularly.

Then we got to the good part, which was breakfast at some little green and yellow granola-ey place where the only milk they offered was for the coffee. (And it may have been soy milk.) So we got really good breakfast wraps with the coveted scrambled eggs and other veggies in it and coffees. Good stuff, Maynard. Sorting and recycling the remnants of the feast, we headed back to the fort where he conned one of the fort people to let him take Braze's truck into the fort. (Actually, Braze and Cascabel wanted to load some stuff, but it sounds more fun to me to say he conned the guy.)

I wandered over to the campsite which was a hive of activity. The rumor was that 60 mph winds were headed our way and the skies looked foreboding. People were packing their valuables into their cars. I asked Mooseworth if he was taking down his tent too and he replied, "Nah, the worst that can happen is the wind will blow the thing over and it will wind up pasted to a car in the parking lot. Then I'll just peel it off and put it back up."

I ambled through the camp, taking photos of the oncoming storm. It's sort of neat to have a rainstorm in Key West because you can watch it come in over the ocean. You can actually see the wall of rain drops barreling down on you when you're standing on the beach. (I took photos, but you probably won't be able to see this. For some reason photos never pick this sort of stuff up very well. Maybe I should have shot a video and put it on YouTube. After that I could drill holes in my head to let the pressure out.) It barreled a little too much and I walked quickly back into the site hoping to find shelter.

Who would come to my aid, but Mary Diamond. She hollered for me and waved me over to her husband Mark's MiniCooper. At first I was a little puzzled at what she wanted because it was not yet raining. She had me open the little suicide door, get in the front seat and move it forward. Then she got in the back and we closed the doors. Well. What was I doing here? Then Mark got in and we settled in for a nice bluster. Shelter without even asking.

While we were in there getting pelted with rain we chatted about this and that. Mark regaled me with a tale about their trip in a ferry to Macao (I believe it was Macao), Hong Kong. I guess the trip over was pretty typical, but the trip back went through what the described as hurricane-like weather. The ship was apparently designed to do this because it happened regularly on this trip. Everything was smooth coming out of the harbor, then the waves started and it eventually became a roller coaster ride...one that lasted for an hour. Mary noted that people were actually yelling "Woooo!" and putting their arms above their heads for the first few minutes as the ship went up one wave at an angle and then tumbled down the otherside at a faster clip. She also said that many people who were conversing during the trip would pause to throw up because of the riotous ride and then would continue talking.

The small gale outside the car let up and we all got out to survey the damage. Actually, there was no damage. We found Captain Sterling (who had a 'quizzing glass' on...I think that's what he called it. It doesn't really matter because it's irrelevant and will probably never be brought up again in this account.) C. Sterling, William Red Wake (Brand), Edward O'Keefe, Mary, Mark and I stood on the beach and admired the greenish blue glow of the ocean as the storm clouds rolled across it. The rain picked up again, so I headed for the welcoming shelter of Callenish's tent. There was a whole army of people in there. It was like the house on the block where all the kids play from the Kool Aid commercial. (Does anyone else remember this commercial or did I just make it up? Nobody there knew what I was talking about.) Shay of the Keys came over with a delicious sort of fruit bread and we all chatted as the light rain fell harmlessly, making whitish puddles all over the place. I figure those will be good for upping the humidity once the sun returns. I never saw what looked like 60 mph winds, though. I later overheard Boo (boogater on the pub) describing it as "Not bad. It was five minutes of wind and a half hour of rain." Whatever it was, it led to the cancellation of the second battle, so I couldn't intentionally miss it going to B.O.s. It takes some of the "hookey" fun out of the whole venture, you know?

Stynky showed up at some point and after handing about there talking about the various random things you talk about when you're stuck together for a while, the rain stopped. So Stynky and I went back over to the fort. I wanted to check out the vendors a bit better. It turns out that there were vendors tucked back into the recesses of the fort - mostly artists and sellers of little nick-nacks. I wasn't brave enough to go in or something so I went back to Fayma's tent to find Red Jessi had arrived. She wanted to look at the shops as well, so I got a much better tour.

The White Pavilion was there (As they had been last year; I had last seen them at Paynetown this year) and being sellers of clothing, Jessi led me in there. The owner admired Jessi's outfit and asked about it, while totally ignoring Mission's outfit. This was probably all for the good since Jessi could explain her outfit, the stitching and the material of which it was made, where as I probably couldn't successfully identify the colors I was wearing. In addition to a nice mix of period clothes, they had dread Pirate Wesley masks for $5 which gave me new appreciation for them. Red Jessi the dread Surgeon Mission, so henceforth, you can address me as such, thanks to my new kerchief.

Across the way from Greg's Weeping Heart store was Hawkin's place, so we headed over there and checked out his wares. He's a really nice guy - he didn't even comment on my dread pirate Wesley mask. Well, not much. He actually didn't recognize me, so I think it must be a good disguise. However, everyone else who saw me in it laughed, so maybe not. Papa snapped some quick shots when I wasn't looking, so I'm sure you will all be able to appreciate this soon. Tony's comment was, "You know, Mission, most people really can't carry something like that off, but on one you..." and then he rolled his eyes and walked away.

While strolling around, I also ran across Boo who accused me of blowing him off. (We had agreed to lunch on cracked conch at B.O.s) I told him that I had had a late breakfast, but since it was getting on 2pm, we should definitely go. Then he disappeared. So Stynky and I headed back to the campsite and found him talking to another guy who was a sort of amateur treasure hunter. I listened to him talk about one of his searches that turned up a 1750 something silver coin, but not much else. Boo suggested we ride our bikes over to B.O.s which suited me, even though I had to walk back to the fort again to get my bike, which I had left there when I met Stynky coming into the gate that morning (this is the real reason you have to break in your shoes and wear gel insert. 'It's not the years, it's the miles.').

It turns out Boo is a suicide bike rider and he had to frequently slow down to let me catch up with him because I didn't really want to make some of the daredevil turns he made. He told me his wife refused to ride with him anymore. Upon a rival at B.O.s we were greeted by hoots of "Arrr!" from a table of four very drunk women in the place. Actually, you hear this all over on Duvall. This is what it is to be a period pirate in Key West. (At least they aren't calling me the Quaker Oats guy or Colonial Boy.)

Over lunch, Boo regaled me with more of the wonderful tales of his life. He told me he knew where four wrecked ships were, although since he had found them, two of them had been discovered by other treasure hunters who had been working on digging them up. He said that he knew where the third was because the poop deck of a ship had washed up on shore and he and a buddy had found some things around the area. A friend of his claimed he had seen glistening goldish items in the water on one trip in the area, but he couldn't dive because of some medical problem.

He also talked about being a 'Cow Hunter' awhile back while living in northern-central Florida. As he explained it to me, they weren't called cowboys, but cow hunters because the cows tended to get lost in the overgrowth of the area and guys like him spent most of their time hunting for them. It turns out that there is still a thriving cattle industry in central Florida, something I did not know. He also noted that he was really disappointed that they weren't doing the pub in the fort again this year, telling me that it was one of the big reasons he wanted to come back to the event. There were dozens of other such interesting tales, most of which I don't remember well enough to relate, but it was a fascinating hour or two. He wanted to go watch the Florida State football game and I didn't, so we parted company upon leaving.

On the way back I wound up walking my bike for a bit along Duvall and a young couple insisted I pose for a pic with them, so I insisted they pose for a pic with me. Then I got back here. Now I shall take a nap. I hope.

The three period vendors I saw were Greg's Weeping Heart Trading Company, the White Pavilion, seller of clothing and Hawkin's shop. Yes, I finally met Hawkins. He is a really nice guy

[Mission]

The last thing I said tonight, upon picking up my 40s leather satchel and leaving Callenish's tent was "Home again, home again jiggedly jig." I wish I could tell you I was sober and the words weren't dancing around on the screen, but that would be lying. Your old surgeon doesn't lie to you now, does he?

I think working backwards would be the best tack for the moment... Having a skinful, I wandered down to the beach to admire the ocean. There was a cool breeze coming across the spit of land encompassing the beach. I'd say it was in the 60s tonight, which is parka weather for the locals. Someone was standing on the beech a ways away from me, but I figured if I respected his solitary beach experience he would be ok. I gazed out over the water and wondered the same thing I always wonder when stading on the edge of an ocean; "How far is it to the next land mass?"

Well, my beach companion decided to come over and visit. Turns out his name was (something like) McPlumbo and he was from Cleveland. He was involved with skilled trades of some sort in the area and owned a small business there doing home maintenance of some form. (Sorry to be so vague, but my memory is not servicing me just now. Wobbly screen and all that.) Business was slow and he had had to lay everyone off to make ends meet and do the work himself in whatever the heck it is he does, what with the slow economy and all. Apparently he had enough to come down to KW and practice his true sport - painting images of pirates. His shop was tucked away in one of the spaces in the fort I mentioned last time. Painting was his true hobby and he had made enough this weekend to cover his space rental. Since he liked doing the paintings that was good enough for him. He planned to return. I decided this was a huge metaphor and am reporting it as faithfully as I can in my addled state. We agreed that it was important to do the things you like as often as you can and he ambled off the beach, leaving my to wonder about the next land mass. It seemed like a nice metaphor to me. I am sort of sad he is leaving tomorrow, because I'd have liked to talk with him at length when I was more...clear-minded.

___

It was really too much last night to type everything in, so it is now morning and I am going to try and recall what happened yestreen. I'm surprised that the text above is at all lucid, but I'll leave it as is for the benefit of those who think it's funny when post things when I'm sozzled. (Curiously, I remembered many things last night that are not at all clear this morning. Perhaps when you're braced, you remember things that happen to you when you were braced and when you're sober you remember things that happened to you when you're sober. Perhaps I will propose a research study on the concept and get a large federal grant to carry it out. But I digress...)

I was distinctly groggy after my nap yesterday and in no fit state to communicate with the world at large. But I sallied forth. When I walked out of the hotel, some guy yelled "Commoner!" at me in a way suggesting this was a great insult and I must have shot him such a look that he actually apologized. Truth be told, it was more the grogginess and complete lack of comprehensions of the comment than anything that must have made me give him whatever sort of look I gave him. I arrived at the fort to learn that dinner was close to being served in the fort. Having left my bowl and utensils in the encampment, I had to wander back over there to pick them up. Fortunately, I came across Red Jessi on the way out and she gave me her lantern to light the way back. Unfortunately, the lantern was so bright that it played hell with my recently laser-treated eyes (if that's a word), so I had to turn it off so I could actually see the path for most of the way. Fortunately it proved most useful once I got back to the camp.

Curiously, they didn't have anything ready for the vegetarians - I think the menu was chicken and noodles, beef stew, steak dessert, spam, spam, spam, eggs and spam. No veggie-friendly. I knew that Robyn of the Bone-Island Buccaneers was also veggie, so I asked Captain Spike of the BiBs about any food for the poor ship's surgeon. He disappeared and returned with a small keg of soup that I think also serves as a boat anchor when they're not using it to hold Mulligatawny soup. The lovely Robyn had made a huge helping of the stuff for us, for which I was most grateful. At the table, Michael was serving us his homemade cherry wine, which added just the right touch.

Following dinner, they held the Dead Man's Chest auction with Cannibal Chrispy serving as the auctioneer. Last year's auction seemed like a sedate and well-mannered affair (which it really wasn't) compared to this year. This was like a bar brawl. Oh, it started off pretty typically with various re-enactor items being auctioned - plates, utensils a hat donated by the White Pavilion that they volunteered to block and set for you. (Patrick Hand was at hand to let me know that it was just such an unblocked hat that he stretched and cajoled into your own surgeon's chapeau. He said I should buy it, but then I wouldn't have a Patrick Hand original, now would I? Besides, if I did the job it would probably look like something the cat dragged in, took a good strong look at, and then decided to drag back out again.) One of Michael Bagley's cartridge pouches went for a goodly sum, the amount of which I do not recall. He was beaming. They also auctioned a shirt to be made by Kate Bagley which really opened the way for some serious bidding. There was a lot of back-and-forth over this shirt and it eventually went for $92. I plan to have her make it out of brick red fabric.

All that was raucous and jolly, but the lunacy began after that with the auctioning of an alleged "Mission mug." It seems Stynky took at least six mugs that are not mine (NOT MINE) and had Braze and Cascabel shoot holes in them to see what sort of chaos he could cause with them. Last I heard, Josh had sold 3 of them for $20 each. The bidding went on for a while, greatly offending my honesty sensor until I had to announce that it was not my mug. I went up to Chrispy and showed him my mug and he said (in a fake sotto voce) "You're not helping, mate." So I went back and sat down, foolishly setting my mug down before I sat (because it was full of rum) and it disappeared in those few seconds. I accused poor Red Jessi of stealing it and we got up and searched all over for it until Mark Gist, who was sitting across the aisle, produced it with a large grin. (Thank God it wasn't Stynky or it would probably be mailed to Juno, Alaska or something...) Since the truth was out about the mug being auctioned, (the auction was still going on during my frantic search), Stynky produced two more mugs which Chrispy claimed were the three original mugs in the video on You Tube. I'd put a link in here for you to watch that, but I am NOT contributing any further to this. I think the unmatched set went for $40.

The next auctioned item was an hour of service by Israel Cross. And who auctioned him? Our own William Redwake! (And boy did he ham it up.) I wish I could explain this bit further to you...it was the most chaotic, riotous thing I have seen this weekend. (And I've seen a lot of such things.) As madPete explained it, "this is wrong in at least 10 different ways." Mr. Cross is a ham from the word go (which makes the usually sedate William's role all the more impressive) and he played this thing up like you wouldn't believe. He insisted that when I talked about this that I explain it was all his idea. But I think I'll leave the further details of that particular auction to your imagination. I did get to chat with Israel later on and he has a fascinating perspective on the role of black pirates, of which there were many. He says most people of color barely even know about the role they placed and don't want to talk about it while most Caucasian folks are so busy trying to be PC (the other sort of PC) that they're afraid to talk about it. In a way, he views his role as highly educational. (In another way, he clearly likes to tweak people.) He is also a really interesting guy and I wish I had posted about the long conversation we had last night because that was about where the line between needing to be drunk enough to remember those parts and my current sober state start getting mixed up.

However, back to the auction. Or, rather, back to Mae and Brig who were at the auction, because after that bit of foolishness concluded, I went over to find my fellow twins. (Isreal's offer of service also sold for $40 if I remember rightly.) We got a nice shot of the three of us for mother. (Although, curiously, if you add Mae and Brig's ages together it's not far from my age, so this whole third twin thing is sort of shaky. But don't tell anyone.) While we were chatting, Jack Roberts texted Brig to let her know he was ready to be picked up at the airport. Even though the auction was continuing along, I thought it would be fun to go with her to pick up Jack. Actually, it turned out to be a really bad idea for Jack.

Mae and her friend - I believe her name is Emily - accompanied Brig and I back to the car to get cigars. They parked the car as far as possible from either end of the normal walking path for convenience. Mae kept insisting that we take an off path to get to the care and Brig said that was wrong - it was the nature trail. But Mae finally got her way and I found myself walking with the three of them on some strange path atop coral mounds next to the normal path. Successfully fending off all the mae-eating snakes crouched along the path, we did find the car, vindicating Mae in her path choice. She and Emily took cigars and left. The Brig and I climbed in to go get Jack, who was now sending his sixth text asking Brig to come pick him up. Mission did not help in this venture at all.

Those of you who have been following this missive will probably notice that, despite the fact that I have been here 20 times or so and have ridden a bicycle on every street and alleyway I could find, I have a terrible sense of direction. I have gotten several people semi-lost in the search for things that I have been to many, many times. Well this was no exception. Brig wanted to use her GPS (which she did) and I said I knew how to get their "the short way." You guys all know what this foreshadows, right? We got so lost the GPS finally finally just said, "I wash my hands of you. May God be with you in your quest." Meanwhile, Jack was standing at the airport talking to the security guy who was trying to convince him he'd probably be better off getting a cab. Somehow, Brig and I managed to get past some road blocks and into a place where each of the road and both crossroads were solidly blocked to keep people out of where we were at. Several hours later, we found the right road (which, ironically enough, was on the other side of the barrier where we turned around to retrace our steps - I was actually on the right path. We ended up taking the long way and arrived, much to the surprise of the security guy.

Back at the fort, the hot spot was the Arch Angel camp. Most of the Mercury and Archangel folks were there, a large fire was going and rums flowed freely. Red Jessi had brought a fine rum, which was not the Ron Atantico she brought last year, but something equally as good with a funny name like Riki Tiki Tavi. Here is where my recollections begin to blur...badly. My camera battery stopped working so I don't even have any documentation from which to reassemble the goings on. I spent a lot of time talking to William & Israel Cross and possibly the Moon God, Gilgamesh and the ghost of PiPmas past. I eventually wound up talking to some guy on the beach as I wondered where the next land mass was...

[Quartermaster James]

(Curiously, I remembered many things last night that are not at all clear this morning. Perhaps when you're braced, you remember things that happen to you when you were braced and when you're sober you remember things that happened to you when you're sober. Perhaps I will propose a research study on the concept and get a large federal grant to carry it out. But I digress...)

Back in the day, we knew this as State Dependent Learning AKA: State Dependent Memory. Good luck with that grant!

And thanks for the play-by-play! Keep it up!

[Mission]

Well, not having my (or rather, Fayma's) bike stolen yesterday made me complacent. As payment for my laxness, it was stolen today. So I had to hoof it to the fort. Fortunately the Pegasus is about as close as you can get to the fort as far as hotels go. Even more fortunately, I ran into a guy in a kilt fussing with his van about two blocks up the road. "Are you walking to the fort?" he asked. "Unless you give me a ride." So he did. He told me his name was Redbeard or Rat beard. Rat beard? He explained that he had two rats, which he showed me as they were in a cage beneath a tarp between the seats. His van had a missing window which he also explains. It turns out he had locked his keys in the car last night and had been unable to jimmy the door open. So he either took out or broke the window to get them this morning.

Now we're going to do a little rogue's gallery since I met so many people today.

When I arrived, who would be sitting in the Mercury central control tent (Callenish's place) but Cannibal Chrispy. You may remember from a previous surgeon's journal (last year's I think) that he repairs guitars. It turns out he had also toured with various bands for 17 years. The highlight of this career was when he was flown to Japan to fix a problem with one of the guitars used by Stevie Wonder's band. Stevie is very sensitive to sound and the slightly out of tune guitar had been bothering him for weeks. So Chrispy was called to the rescue. He brought his own equipment and worked on the guitar. After the concert, a guy came and said, "Mr. Wonder would like to see you." Chrispy said he was thinking, "Oh, crap" as they led him to the superstar's dressing room. But Stevie was effusive in praising Chrispy and hugged him, thanking him for fixing a problem that had eluded all the technicians touring with him.

Red Jessi and I had agreed to have breakfast at Blue Heaven this morning so, once she had dressed - those corsets have 3000 eyelets in them which must be relaced every time you put them on or take them off - we headed out in her cool vehicle Sarge. (For more on Sarge, see last year's journal.) Finding parking was a chore and a half and we wound up walking several blocks once Sarge was parked and resting. She spotted a large yellowish-white flower in someone's yard and showed it to me. I believe it was called and Angel's Trumpet and it turns out it is a deadly flower which you are not even allowed to grown in some counties in Florida I also learned that appleseeds could kill you (if you ate about 500 or them) and other curious facts that she had stored about deadly Florida flora.

The place was crowded, so we had to wait, but people actually invited us to take their seats at the bar. It's good to be a pirate in the normal world...well, as normal as Key West gets. We had a great breakfast where I learned that Jessi had spent two years learning about American Indian customs from a local medicine man in training. She was able to attend several of their functions, despite the fact that the tribe usually shunned outsiders. She got in so well with them that they gave her a tribe name of "Many women." This was because she was involved with so many different things in her life. Several people came up to us during the meal to ask questions about our outfits and what was going on at the fort. You definitely get to be the center of attention when in garb. It was a very good breakfast, made even better by the company.

When we got back to the Fort, William and Israel Cross appeared and everyone expressed wonder at how boistrous and glib William was when auctioning Israel off. William returned the amazement at the idea that we would amazed. He said his friends back home (in Utah, I believe) would disagree with our assessment. It turns out he made up most of what he said during the auction on the spot.

madPete was sitting at the table, so I chatted with him for a bit. He came here from Arizona where he explained that it never rains except when it pours down in absolute buckets for a short period. (We had been talking about the alleged 60 mph winds from the previous day.) He has been pretty quiet most of the weekend which suggested he was a fellow introvert. I told him that I was impressed that he would come all that way to hang out with people he had never met before. It seemed like a very extroverted thing to do. He just shrugged and said you have to try new things, which is a great philosophy.

I also ran into Shay of the Keys. I discovered that Vintage Sailor is her son. He works with the Commodore casting cannon and making his own weapons on the side. His wife, whose name I think is Shoshana, is from Siam. She arrived here two months ago. VS crews on boats which is where he met someone who introduced him to her. If I remember correctly, she taught English in Siam, so you hardly know she wasn't born her. She was marinating chicken and I was delighted to find that many of her ingredients appeared to be printed only in Thai. Too bad I'm a veggie. She told the group that she liked me, which I considered a very good thing in that she was holding a very large knife when she said it.

Shay herself is one fascinating woman. Like Duchess (another fascinating woman) she is a pilot. She also races antique cars and was a member of a club of people who re-enact with their cars as the center of the period they re-enact. The way I understand it, you buy an antique auto and then you have to go and buy authentic gear (no re-creations) to go with your car - clothes, luggage, the works. If they find you have something non-authentic on, you are banished from the club. Now THAT is seriously enforcing some rules. She is also a concert pianist so she is making a clavicord to play at events. She showed me pics of a clavichord and then showed me the one she is working on now. It has all authentic woods and designs, although she uses a modern electronic organ inside because a real clavichord is too quiet to be heard. She hoped to get a chance to play with Diosa at the Hide later, which I hope to see as well.

Speaking of Diosa, I espied her and wandered off to hug her (again) so that she could explain how bad I was about being willing to hug her. I told her that the reason for this is because I always get lectured. (Diosa: ) She had a really neat set-up which I promise to post pics of when I get back to reality. (Not yet...no reality for me yet, thanks.)

She introduced me to one of her crew, D.B. Couper. Mr. Couper said the he had been a pirate for the last 40 years, it just took him until this year to find a group of people he could pirate with. He has only been re-enacting a year, but he has down a yeoman's job of putting together some beautiful bamboo and wood tent poles. (Again, I will post pics when I get back.) I wondered how he had attached the wood to the bamboo and he told me it was "with glue, little nails and a lot of patience." He had a really cool mast-like flagpole which I helped him set up so that I could take a picture. He had taken it down when the threat of the storm arose yesterday.

Nigel of the Bone Island crew came up to me and asked me hopefully if I was going to be a surgeon during the battle today. Since I had not been to a battle, I agreed to do it. He then went off and got me reams and reams of bandages with blood on them so that I could bandage people up. The planning stage was beginning for the battle, so I went over to the pirate group and listened to the plan. Ok, I really didn't listen at all because being the surgeon is not exactly a front-line position...you tag along and wait and see if anyone remembers to fall down so you can fix them up. But much planning and writing in the sand was done by Braze so that the battle would go well. (I guess it was a little disorganized on Friday and we didn't have one on Saturday because of the storm.) However, being amongst a bunch of pirates gathered around Braze while he was writing in the sand with sticks was like walking back in time. During a pause in the plotting, I loudly asked if anyone was planning to die which they all seemed to think was funny. Well who can I fix up if no one falls down?

We trooped out to the field across the gravel, supposedly lying low by walking along the water's edge until it become (foot) painfully aware that it would be much easier to say the hell with lying low and just walk on the packed down path. Which we did. There we were joined by Patrick Hand who hadn't gotten the message about the planning going on in the sand and had just gone to the field to taunt the British soldiers. So much for lying low.

A cannon was fired on the field and we all literally ran from our position by the water to the fort wall which is a lot of fun when you're hauling a bunch of gear around with you. A battle commenced the looked and sounded really good on the field. Of course, everyone forget to fall down as the adrenaline kicked in once they started firing. William had wanted to be my surgeon's mate, so I wryly commented on this fact. Not one to be left out of the battle scenario, writings in the sand notwithstanding, he went down the small arms line and asked if anyone was willing to die. Oderless eye volunteered, but he fell forward of the firing line so William and I had to drag him by his ankles back so I could work on him. Actually, William dragged him while I watched. I was going to get his shoulders so he wouldn't literally be being drug, but I missed my cue or something. Turns out Oderless had decided on an actual dying, so my ministrations were all for naught as he just lay there with a uselessly applied pre-bloodied bandage on his leg. Hey, at least I stopped the bleeding.

Once one person got wounded, the flood gates opened and it became all the rage. Unfortunately, I ran out of bandages. Part of the problem was that the cannon crews had to stop firing once the battle was engaged, so they were standing around bored and had decided to go play wounded. One guy I was able to get was Nigel who announced that his eye had been wounded. I dressed him with a particularly bloody white rag from PiP 2007 and he was so proud of it that he was still wearing it when I left the fort. He said he planned to apply a bunch of scar make-up as he felt it would impress the ladies. Uh huh.

Since I didn't have any more bandages, I pulled out the only high visibility tool I had in my bag. Can you guess what it was? If you guessed the enema syringe, you got it right. Mad d'Dogge was lying in just the right position, so I took it over to him. Someone told me he was dead and I explained that once I got done with him he would jump straight up in the air, fully recovered. I also spotted Mark, who taught me canoneering in 2007 in a, er, ripe position, so I took Mission's wonder cure over to him as well. Tony got a bunch of shots of that, so I'm sure you'll have plenty of opportunity to see. I also threatened Stynky with it, but it didn't seem to bother him. Actually thinking about it further, it probably would have gone worse for me than for him. Mark Gist wryly noted that when all you have is a hammer, everything looks like nail. Agreeing him, I sagely replied "And when all you have is an enema syringe, everyone looks like an asshole. Wait, that didn't sound right...

Once the smoke rings settled, I was delighted to meet Jamaica Rose from the pub, who has been on my "must meet" list for quite awhile. She's working on a pirate book for kids, the title of which is something like "The Pirates Big Book of Stuff." I understand there is a whole serious of "Books of Stuff" for kids out there and this is a planned addition. She has been nightly checking her email as the editor goes through the book chapter by chapter. I told her a little about my book project and she said that I should write an article for her magazine. She also made some suggestions about the book (The Period Sea Surgeon's Big Book of Stuff? Actually William suggested that I give it a really long name like they did during period. The titles actually ran down the entire front cover of most such books.)

Spike promised me that dinner would be very veggie friendly and that there was still a whole cask of Mulligatawny Soup that I had to finish before I got off the island. So I should probably get back to the fort and get started...

[Brig]

I can understand the writer's reluctance to quote himself (not really), but I felt there were a few Mission nuggets from the night of the auction that should be preserved for posterity.

During the unfortunate nature trail walk, a root stretched across our path in the near-darkness. This led our mildly intoxicated ship's surgeon to declare "That's a snake! It's big enough to eat Mae. This place is full of Mae-snakes."

I was also stopped mid-stride by the observation that I myself am like a nun, because I have "wheels under there". I'm fairly certain I lost sleep over that. The next day the meaning was pieced together from the mind of the surgeon himself...something about Catholic school and gliding nuns. I don't remember the rest, as that man who's name I can't remember was being exceptionally entertaining at the moment.

Our unintentional tour of the island while on the way to the airport was repeatedly declared "an adventure!". I simply could not argue with that one.

It was all rather exciting.

Edited December 7, 2009 by Brig

[Mission]

You don't ever get lost, you go adventuring. Travel is all about adventure. As for the rest of it, I'm quite sure she's lying. Ignore the woman behind the curtain (who is gliding around on wheels.) Besides, we don't question Mission when he is journaling. It's bad form. :D

The evening started off pretty slow from the surgeon’s journal POV. Kate Bagley took some glamour Mission shots at sunset because Tony (Poppa Ratzi) had explained how to do it with her camera the previous night. Actually, the way she put it was that Tony had told her more about her camera in 10 minutes than she had figured out since she’d bought it several years ago. We shall have to see how the glamour Mission shots came out when she posts them. It was kind of a bummer at the beginning because Mae & Brig left (and only Mae said goodbye to the ship's surgeon), Boo disappeared when I wasn't looking and Red Jessi took off when I was typing the the last journal entry without me getting a chance to see her off.

We wandered down to the fort at 6pm for the crew and pub shots. Unfortunately, no one else seemed to know about these shots, so we decided to await dinner. It was a long await because, as is tradition, they had other things to do first and it was late Dinner this year was a roast pig and apparently the porker hadn’t cooked fast enough for the hungry pirates. So we all sat around in the fort and chattered while we waited for Porky to catch up with the pirate's stomachs. (All except mine and Robyn's which are vegetarian stomachs. Except hers is much smaller an sleeker than mine.)

About five minutes before the pig was done, someone announced that it would be a good idea to get the pub picture while we were waiting. This was utter madness, of course, because it takes at least a half hour to get such a shot set up. It gets bigger and bigger every year and this year was no exception. We had one set of benches for people to stand on in the large group shot, so I suggested we put the medium height people on the bench because there were more of them than tall or short people and the tall people could then stand in front of the back bench standing folks and still be shorter than them. The upshot of all this was that I wound up on the bench which quickly proved to be hard on my feet after a half-hour of figuring the photo out.

On the plus side, I was standing next to a buxom and vivacious young lady from Puerto Rico who clocked in about a 300 mph rate. She insisted I put my arm around her and was most excited when she figured out we were positioned directly under the pub skull on the banner painted by William Red Wake and crew in 2007. She said we "were going to make the picture." I hope so. The banner was off and in the process of trying to straighten it out they managed to drop it on our heads. Talking through the canvas, I learned that my new pal was named Coral Pearl. Based on our position I suggested that we should be going steady, to which she answered that I would have to get in line to go steady with her. She was a real card. She was also not on the pub, but she typed in the web address on her blackberry and I hope I managed to convince her to check it out. You won't be able to read her posts very well because if she types half as fast as she talks, it'll just confuse you, but she was cool and we'd be better off here for having her.

During the half hour involved in that session the pig arrived and everyone not on the pub had already jumped smartly into line. So we wound up at the back of bus, which is really not all that surprising. In fact, I didn't even bother to get in line, I just went back to the table we had staked out where I found William, Iron John and Paula eating cheese that William had retrieved from Iron John's camp before getting shanghai'd into the whole picture-taking debacle. Paula turned out to be from Brazil. She had wound up here awhile back after her first marriage and liked it so much she decided to stay. She was very charming and soft-spoken and I was glad to have met her, not the least because she sliced up all the cheese and kept feeding it to your ship's surgeon.

Somewhere during the proceedings someone came up and told me that they had warmed up the Mulligatawny soup in the Fudge shop and that I could go get some at any time. No line, excellent soup? You don't have to tell me twice. Back at the table I shared my good fortune with the group, so Paula went off to get them, followed eventually by William and I. Did I mention before how good it was?

After dinner they actually opened the old tavern up, which was a wonderful surprise. As nice at it was to hang out in the camp with your crew, the communal area of the tavern is a great place to intermix with other people and other crews. Micky Kate, Mark and Jenny Gist decided to hang around in the dining area for awhile first rather than head directly over. Shay of the Keys broke out her small electric organ and played a couple of selections that she had written during the weekend on it. ! !! She has a truly lovely voice which eventually made you wonder if you weren't listening to a show tunes recording. Well, except the lyrics to the songs were along the lines of "Life is a grand old cannonade..." or something like that. (To the tune of Caberet.)

Jill-Handed Red appeared on the next bench...well, actually she had been there all along, but I didn't know who she was. Once Kate told me, she sort of appeared to me. She had a bottle of home made wine which she shared around. She is with the Pyrates of the Coast and had started doing PiP in 2007 like me. She works as a bank manager in mainland Florida and told me that the first thing she did when she started there was to institute "fun" policies like Halloween costumes on the day. It turns out that her name came from a label she used on a bottle for wine that was made when the crew was doing cutesy names for the wine they were home brewing. Her actual pirate name is Red Handed Jill, but the label was a play on that called Jill-Handed Red. So she was definitely in the right humorous place for me. I had Kate take several shots of us, some of which I hope my mother never sees.

Michael and Kate decided to check out the tavern, the four of us went in there. It was just like the tavern of bygone years, lit entirely by candle and containing many rowdy pirates singing along with the song leaders on the makeshift stage. Michael apparently knew the words and sang along. After doing that for a bit, we headed back out where I ran into several people whom I forced to pose for +Mission photos.

Following that, I went back to camp. But now it's after 2am and I'm tired so I'm going to sign off for the nonce. I'll finish up the tale tomorrow along with adding some of the stories I forgot to tell throughout the weekend. Night all. Sorry to leave you hanging. Don't let me forget to tell you about Stynky's Shite, why Michael sleeps nearest the door and what Israel Cross does for a living.

[Mission]

Man...I may need to sleep for a week once I get home. I woke up this morning feeling tired.

Unfortunately Stynky had to leave the party early last night because he, Braze and Cascabel were all taking off early this morning, so there were no hat trading or other bizarre stories like that to tell from last night's festivities. In fact, it was one of the quietest Sunday evenings I have seen. (Although I did leave a little early myself, so I may have missed things that you'll hear about as people get home.) One thing Stynky did leave us were two bottles of something he called Grog and everyone else called Stynky's Shite. It was kind of funny to offer it to people because the conversation usually went something like this: Me: "Here, try this, it's really good." They: "What is it?" Me: "It's something Stynky made." Pause. Look of slight suspicion. "Really, it's good." They: "Stynky made it?" Me: "Yeah!" Pause. Take the bottle. Sniff the mouth of it. "It smells like cloves or something." Me: "It's good!" Pause. Tentatively take the smallest of small sips. "Hey that is really good!"

Michael also broke out his blueberry mead, which was quite yummy. Upon leaving the fort area last night, I went over to the campsite where I found Jack Roberts starting a fire. He cheated, using lighter fluid, with I think puts a dent in his FB reputation. Based on my past experience of him, I expected him to be using period flint and steel. (Patrick Hand informed me that his lighter contained both flint and steel and that was good enough.)

People began to filter into the Archangel camp and pretty soon we had a nice, if not a boisterous, gathering. Mary Diamond and husband Mark found me and we chatted for a bit until Mark begged off and went to bed. He had been sitting at the Commodore's table for dinner with Mary that night and had had to dress in borrowed finery to pull it off. I was very impressed with his kit, even if he did seem to want to scratch himself from time to time. (Not that he did. He just seemed like it. Or maybe it was just me wanted to scratch myself.) The point is that he looked very nice. (Mary, being Mary, didn't have to borrow anything to dress in finery and look very nice.) When Mark departed, Mary sat next to me and we spent a very pleasant hour discussing life, the universe and everything while sipping Stynky's Shite...once we got through the whole "Try it, it's really good" routine.

Mary and I then went on a joint-bathroom hunting expedition which is a story unto itself. For some reason they had left the doors open, but the lights off in the bathrooms nearest the encampment which led your laser-eye-surgeoned Surgeon groping around the bathroom in the dark trying to find the urinal. (Do not try to do this. Ever. If you can't figure out why, you're as foolish as I am.) So we wound up extending the trek and going over to the main bathrooms near the fort. I left her there at her request and wandered back over to the campsite. Sensing I was sliding into the realms of beyond tired, I bid everyone good night. Kate Bagley volunteered to drive me back to the fort to save the mile or so walk, which I instantly accepted.

There are a bunch of other things I heard that I wanted to report on here, but which I forgot when I put pen to keyboard. As I explained before, I sort of fill up my mind with interesting events and stories and then try to keep them all in there until I get back to the hotel room so I can do a mind dump onto the internet. If they're really good, the come back to haunt me, so I feel compelled to share them. However, most of them are faded by even the slight passing of time. A weekend at PiP is like spending two weeks at most other holiday spots. ("More vacation bang for your buck!") So I thought I'd start by doing a little speed reporting and see what facts have been circling the mental drain.

I was sitting across from Hawkins at dinner last night and we had a nice chat. He and his wife and her friend decided to make a full time career of selling authentic clothing and accouterments about six months ago and he said it looks very promising. I believe he does leatherwork and his wife and friend make the clothing. His place is called At the Sign of the White Rose. He's an interesting guy to talk with once you get going and those of you who spend lots of time hanging around in Captain Twill who have never met him would probably be a bit surprised. When you say something that is really wandering far off the PC farm (like my preference for hotels over tents), he sort of growls deep in his throat, but usually doesn't say anything more.

While standing around one night, Blood Thirsty Barbara (wife of Crudbeard and keep of Oreo) came up and gave me a huge hug. The shocked me because I had no idea she even knew who I was. (It's that hat. Everyone knows me and I don't know half of them.) Barbara wears one of those special contacts that makes her eye all black, which I think is one of the creepiest effects you can do with those things. (All what is good too.) She explained that the bird had done the damage. Oreo can really kick up a fuss when he (or perhaps she) wants attention. I happened to be walking by Crudbeard and Barbara's encampment when the scared the heck out of me with a call.

I also learned at some point that Michael Bagley sleeps nearest the door whenever he and Kate are traveling because she is afraid of aliens breaking into the room. Well that's what they told me...either that or I was drunk. Michael also turned out to be something of a baby-clubber when he smacked Hamish with his gun. (It was an accident, but everyone called him Michael the Baby Clubber for the rest of the day that that happened and I thought I'd pop it in here.)

Isreal Cross crews on boats for a living (just in case you're on Jeopardy! and that's the $800 question under the "Random Re-enactment category" and also volunteers to crew on boats, I think at Jamestown. He and Mark Gist, of the Columbus, OH Santa Maria ship fame, had a really detailed and intricate discussion about bring the Santa Maria to where it sits moored in the Scioto today. They got it there by building it, sawing it in half with chainsaws so it could be put on trucks and then putting it back together once it was in Columbus (for the $1000 question.) Israel was appalled to learn that it never left it's mooring - in fact, it can't because it would scrape on the bottom. As he put it, ships were made to move!

The organizers did an amazing job pulling this all together. Without having Harry, all sorts of details needed to be handled. Fayma, Spike and some of the Archangels (Captain Sterling and Lily Alexander in particular) did yeoman's work in trying to keep things together. I guess the guy in charge of the park was most impressed with our battle scenario yesterday and gave high marks to the group for it.

Well that about covers it. I'm going to shower and go back to the fort and see if there's anyone willing to go out for breakfast. I want some scrambled eggs...

[Mission]

These journals are always a bit melancholy on the last day, with everyone hugging, kissing, slobbering on each other and other such things that your ship’s surgeon is not usually a fan of. But I hugged and slobbered with the best of them because it’s sad to see the PiP family going their separate ways after a riotous weekend.

When I arrived, I was scouting for someone to go to breakfast with, but everyone was busily packing their gear and loading their cars in preparation for leaving. So I wandered about, trying not to get in anyone’s way too much. Diosa was walking around offering people coffee rather than dumping it out which is something you don't have to offer me twice. She even gave me a cup since mine was packed away and offered up variety of sweat breads. It's the nicest Diosa has ever been to me. I should have recorded it on video by way of proof.

Oh, and before I get on track, I did want to note that I had been told there is going to be a new ride next year at PiP called Sit & Speak. It involves sitting on a cannon and having someone speak down the barrel. The charge for this ride will depend on how long and loud the person speaking has to continue. (More than this I cannot say. There were about a dozen stories I heard this weekend that I cannot tell without offending half the readers out there. And this is coming from someone who was trying to deliver battlefield enemas. )

Leaving their site, I happened upon Vintage Sailor’s wife who helpfully spelled her name correctly for me – Sansanee. We talked for a long time about how dramatically her life had changed by coming here from Siam a few months back. She was amazed by all the paperwork and buerocracy involved in flying here, although she liked the entertainment centers built into the backs of the airplane seats in business class. She said one of the biggest things she had to learn was not to be so direct when talking to people in the US. I guess they say pretty much what the mean in her country, which may not be all bad when you think about it. I asked her what it was like to switch from one culture to a completely different one and she said it was quite overwhelming. Being an introvert like she is, I could imagine how difficult that might be. She wasn't at all sure about the piracy thing yet, but she said it reminded her of being in girl scouts in a way. (The camping aspect.) I hope I see her again next year, because it will be interesting to see what she thinks after she's had a year to take it all in.

I helped Mary and Mark pack the Minicooper. Well, 'helped' is being generous, but I stood around and talked and helped to lug Mary's sea chest into the back. It was a neat chest with these cool half rope, half leather-wrapped handles. As we jostled and wedged the chest in, Mark noted that Mary was not going get a bigger sea chest. "You just need a bigger car." He said he probably would have one next year because he was hard on cars and got a new one about every three years. Turns out he used to have a Porche. Having owned a Delorean for eleven years, we talked about the joys and expenses of owning collector cars.

Shay of the Keys arrived and begin what was to be a two hour process of saying goodbye to everyone. She's one of those extraordinarily extroverted people who makes friends fast. She told me about several projects she was involved with...did I mention she races antique automobiles on the west coast? I asked her when she was going to invite me to her place in Key Largo and she replied, "When are you coming down?" She's that kind of person. Vintage talked about bringing his sailboat down next year and then heading out to Fort Jefferson after PiP ended with a handful of people. I hope he does that - I'd sure like to try it.

Shay also told me a good Patrick Hand story, so I have to relate that. I guess it started raining late Thursday night (before I arrived) and many of you know that Patrick always sleeps in a hammock. Shay said that Patrick's hammock fell down or he fell out of it or something, causing Patrick to start swearing loudly. Then, as she put it, he fell asleep in a puddle for about five minutes, woke up again and started swearing like a sailor. (Which only makes sense.) Then asleep in the puddle. Then awake and swearing. Rinse and repeat for best effect. Patrick told me only his back got wet and that he was mad because his back hurt.

Needing a ride, I wandered around looking for a likely driver. Many people had trailers and I didn't want to put them through the trouble of trying to get to my hotel, which was straight down the street coming from the fort, but which the city had wisely decided to use one way streets so that you couldn't actually get there from here. Fayma had tentatively volunteered to give me a ride if I couldn't find another, so I wandered over to the fort for the second time this morning. Walking is good for you. (At least that's what I told myself.) I think I made the trip between the campsite and the fort about twenty five times this weekend.

I had thought about asking Shay for a ride, but her vehicle was packed to the gills with stuff and she had a trailer. On the way over there, a pubber named Jezzie came running after me and said that Shay told her to tell me that she was riding with Shay into town. "Why did she tell you to tell me that?" "I don't know, it's kind of strange now that I think about it." So we walked to the fort and Jezzie talked to Fayma and someone who was with her group while I talked to Patrick. I explained that I had heard that Lady Brower's husband had made a hat just like my Patrick Hand original planter's hat, even being the same color. (I guess a lot of people have been asking him why he stole Mission's hat, to the point where he's started asking who the heck Mission is.)

Jezzie came back and told me her friend was giving her a ride into town and that I could now go with Shay because Fayma couldn't take me right now. (Are you following all this? Perhaps I need to diagram it.) So I literally jogged back up the path to the encampment so I would be nice and sweaty for the enjoyment of all the passengers on my flight. Shay wasn't there. I guessed Jezzie had forgotten to mention that she was meeting Shay at the gate or something. So I jogged through the parking lots (rather than along the path, which would have been much easier) to see if I could find Shay's truck. She ain't here, either! So I started back into the fort when Fayma called me to let me know that Fayma was in the fort wondering what the heck was going on.

Anyhow, we sorted all that out and she took me to get my bag from the hotel (which involved several left turns with the trailer) and going right down Duvall with the damned thing. Traveling! Adventure! Yay! She told me to navigate and I explained about my repeated attempts at navigation this weekend, so she took the map and got us there herself. (She did like the Atlantic side route, though. It's much more interesting than the Truman street path through New Town which is basically a parade of strip malls, fast-food restaurants and hotels.

Now here I am in the Conch Flyer, eating my annual bowl of conch chowder. I recommend it if you're flying. It's kind of weird, though, because they've built an all new one that's as airy and spacious as the old one was claustrophobic and cramped. I miss the old one. Oh well. At least they have free internet. How many airports can say that?

My laptop battery is running low so I'm going to post this and continue reading Michael Crichton's latest book. They put it out just in advance of PiP, which was nice of them. (No, really, it's all about me.) Mission out.

[silas thatcher]

wish i could have been there to join in on the fun !! at least we have your humorous journals to read !!

[RedJessi]

EXCELLENT job, Mission, as always!!

The rum: It was Kilo Kai, not Riki Tiki Tavi (But if Mickey and Kate decide to switch from wine and mead to rum, I think they should appropriate the name!)

The plant: The name Angel's Trumpet refers to the large, very dramatic, pendulous trumpet-shaped flowers that can be white, yellow, pink, orange or red, and have a delicate, attractive scent with light, lemony overtones, most noticeable in early evening. Flowers may be single or double. All parts of Brugmansia plants contain dangerous levels of poison and may be fatal if ingested by humans or animals, including livestock and pets. Contact with the eyes can cause pupil diliation or unequal pupil size. Some municipalities prohibit the purchase, sale, or cultivation of Brugmansia plants. (Thanks wiki!)

The auction: Mission, Mae, Brig and their friend missed the infamous kiss due to leaving to pick Jack up at the airport. A non-pub pyrate (friend of the Jack Sparrow that participated in PiP last year) decided at the last minute to add a kiss to the auction. Alas, the poor lad had not figured out that pyrates of our ilk have a rather twisted sense of humor (and after the auctioning of Israel Cross, he has only himself to blame for this lack of insight!). As such, much to his likely dismay, all the individuals bidding on said kiss were men. The prize ended up going to Cross for $12. Deciding to sweeten the pot I asked Mickey Souris to help me out: as I spent most of the weekend sans voice, I needed his vocal power to make a bid for me. Another $10 for a long kiss. Next thing we know, people are adding music and candlelight. Lots of candlelight, so people could get good, romantic pics! (expect to see them soon, I'm sure!)

[Captain Jim]

Mission: thank you, thank you for your reporting. I'm gonna give you a big hug when next we meet. Warned, ye have been.

[Mission]

Thanks for the extra info, Jessi! In addition to being useful for the web page part of the journal, it's always a exciting to see the word "pendulous" in a sentence. If anyone sees anything that I explained wrongly, feel free to comment so I can correct it when I get around to doing the web page. Well...unless the way I explained it is funnier to me, in which case you'll be wasting your time. Accuracy is no where near as important as humor here.

There is a follow up to the journal. (I am tempted to keep adding stuff this year that I are percolating up through the gray tissues until the well runs dry.)

I was waiting at the American Airlines gate in Miasmi yesterday when who should I espy but our own Master Aloisius (or something like that) d'Dogge. He asked me what I thought and I'm happy to report that I thought it was great. There was a bit more to our role, what with a few somewhat more strict rules of behavior and the added onus of having to do some volunteer jobs, but it wasn't really that bad. In fact, 'onus' is far too strong a word. Sitting up with Red from 1-3 after 20-some hours of being awake, with my brain running on mere mental fumes and my mouth just running, watching the millipedes on parade was actually a highlight of the trip. Pitching in also makes you feel like you're giving something back to the fort - which gives us so much.

Speaking of which, I am hereby establishing Mission's Own Fayma's Stolen Bike Memorial Fund, all proceeds of which are to benefit Fort Zachary Taylor. Send your checks, boats and jewelry to: Friends of Fort Zachary Taylor Historic State Park (you may have to tape an extra piece of paper on the end of the envelope to fit all that on there) P.O. Box 58, Key West, Florida 33041. (But don't send cash through the mail. Boats and jewelry, yes. Cash, no.) Be sure to write Mission's Own Fayma's Stolen Bike Memorial Fund in the comment line of the checks - in bold blue lettering just like I have done here. Also, send them a nice note explaining how great your FZT PiP experience was. They sometimes get bored there in the FoFZT office and a cheerful little missive adds just the right touch before their midday snack.

Oh, and I also was told that the girls on the All Girls Cannon Crew sort of agreed not to wear dresses amongst themselves, so you can ignore my umbrage at that particular happening.

To Brig - the comment about the nuns has to do with the fact that you never see their feet and they seem to glide around. Plus most of them are pretty serious and a bit austere. So I assume they are cyborgs or something and they actually have wheels under those long black skirts. (Brig was wearing a very long black skirt, I was a little drunk and this led to the comment she claims not to understand.) Next year I am going to corner Mae with a Maesnake and prise a good story out of her for the journal. She's always so quiet, placid and thoughtful looking that I'll just bet she's got some really interesting tales to tell. Still waters run deep and all that.

The whole exchange with Chrispy that I mentioned actually had a different point when I got started, but with all the sleep-deprivation and trying to get all the info out of my skull, I forgot to get to the point. When he learned he was going to be the auctioneer, he went on YouTube so he could study auctioneers. He actually practiced for his role, which was probably why he did such a good job with it. As he told me, he has been the guy at concerts who says, "Ladies and Gentlemen, put your hands together for Mr. Barry Manilow!" (I'm certain he must have toured with Barry at sometime in the past. Right, Chrispy?) so he had the voice for it and he didn't mind getting up and playing the role in front of everybody.

Oderlesseye and Israel each said something really cool that occurred to me this morning on my morning walk, but which is now completely gone again. (I really have to start taking notes.) If it comes back to me, I'll note it. One discussion that I find interesting (because you can never really see yourself as others see you) was about me. (It is all about me, you know.) William was saying how fun my posts can be, but (there's always a but) he noted that sometimes I like to stir things up after they've all been settled. Isreal chimed in with (and I know I'm going to get the actual phrasing wrong, but what the heck) "Yeah, it's like you enjoy poking the badgers with sticks." Or maybe it was "You like to put bees among the badgers." Something about badgers. I think. In fact, I am not acquainted with any badgers and I certainly wouldn't poke them with sticks or bees or anything. Isreal is a weird guy sometimes. Here's proof:

Oh, and Jim...be careful what you ask for.

On the way home, I got chatting with the guy next to me about the hobby when he commented on how hard I was working on copying notes from my book on dental pelicans. I explained about my cool repro pelican made by a blacksmith in Detroit. It turns out that the guy is retired and he spends his days molding and making repro plastic parts for garden tractors from the 1960s. He told me he has 10 of these tractors. One of them had a broken doohicky (that wasn't precisely the name for it, but I'm sure it was close and since he'll never read this and correct me it doesn't really matter) which he couldn't find anywhere, so he started making them. It turns out plastic doohickies for 1960s garden tractors are really brittle and are thus hard to find. Since he had made a whole mold for the piece, he made a few extra and sold them on eBay. Now he makes a bunch of repro parts and sells them that way. He focuses on specific 1960 tractors of one particular brand. This led to our marveling over how well the internet serves hobbiests. He said that he learned that a guy who lived less than 10 miles away from him had 60 such garden tractors from a tractor collector website! (Of course there's a 1960s garden tractor collector website!) Can you imagine 60 models of the same brand of 1960s garden tractors? That's almost as crazy as trying to reproduce an entire set of 18th century medical instruments!

I also forgot to mention one of the most interesting things Sansanee had said to me yesterday morning. (Was it just yesterday? It seems like a year ago.) When I asked her what she thought about all this, she told me she didn't get the whole pirates thing as I mentioned. She also told me she didn't like the loud noise of the cannons. But what interested me was that she said the neat part really seemed to be about the people. This is probably not exactly a huge revelation to anyone, but it's absolutely the truth. The great thing about PiP really is the people - the whole disjointed, distended, dysfunctional PiP family. You guys really do put the 'fun' in dysfunctional.

[Professor Death]

thats hilarious i wish i could have made it, but this time of year is the busiest here at UPS, work before play. maybe next year.....

we had an auction last year at an event i was at, we had all these HOTT, i mean smoking hot, college foreign exchange wenches show up with their bf. so i declared we would have a slave auction and sell them off, nobody else wanted to be the auctioneer, so i did it, "who will give me 2 deer hides? ok, 2 hides and a pound of shot? ok, now i hear a musket over here, are you sure sir, don't you want to examine the merchandise first?" and ended up selling the one to my co-chief for.... my own spare musket. then we had "the wenching post", which was a riotous tyme in its own right. i know i laughed for at least 5 hours straight that night.

makes me want to go to florida just for the ambience.....

[madPete]

Nicely done Mission!

BTW... uh... Pink Flamingo Slops... That is a bit much for an Introvert wouldn't you say?

Note to Michael and Kate Bagley:

I would like to commission a pair of Pink Flamingo slops... In Mission's size!

madPete

[Mission]

That's going to cost you $92, Pete. It's the going rate for Bagley originals.

If he makes them, I will wear them at PiP next year. In fact, I'll pose in them for a pic with Hawkins and Captain Sterling, since I know they'll want that as a keepsake of my fine taste in authentic period wear. We'll tell them that it's a batik print or something. (I can already hear Hawkins growling in the back of this throat now...)

There's actually a story there. It involves Hobbes. See, there was this cartoon with Calvin & Hobbes where Calvin was explaining how cool sunglasses or something was and how uncool Hobbes' pink flamingo jams (and sombrero) were. There was also a humorous punch line that would really help make this post interesting, but of course I have forgotten that. So I decided to make myself a pair of pink flamingo jams because I couldn't actually find any to buy. (Jams were not entirely uncool at this time, you see, but I guess pink flamingo jams were.) So I bought a pattern at JoAnne Fabric and the results were so horrifying that I have never been able to face the needle and cloth since. (Needle and flesh, yes. Needle and cloth no.)

Incidentally, being the Dread Surgeon Mission or Zorro Mission, I intend to leave my mark on all my patients by creating an M-shaped scar over my work. I don't even plan to charge for this extra service.

And...I think...at PiP, I'm less of an introvert than usual for whatever reason. Actually, writing this thing is a part of it. I feel compelled to learn interesting things about people so I can report on them. It's like I'm on a mission. Hah! Plus I'm among friends (and soon to be friends) and we introverts are much more extroverted when we're among friends.

[Matty Bottles]

Matty Bottles, AKA Bloody Jack Madd here. I feel as though I should explain about the side trip to the Ben Franklin's:

I had actually suggested it, since I didn't bring a blanket (well, I did bring a nice big piece of linen I was planning to sleep under, but I lent it to someone) and the previous night was both wetter and colder than I appreciated. When traveling into town, I noticed a fabric store in one of the strip malls, and figured I'de just go there and get two yards of something warm to sleep under. I also bought a big-ass hat and wanted to pick up some cotton tape to trim the edge of the brim. Mr. Cross heard my plans and thought they were sound, and so we decided to tag along. Now, our original destination was an actual fabric store, not a craft store, but it turned out the fabric store was out of business. That was the second or first strip mall after the bank, if you'll recall. Or not recall. It's cool. Anyway, obstinant as we are, Israel and I were going to a farbic store of one kind or another. So that was the prolonged search for the BF's, were they not only claimed to have never heard of cotton tape, but said it in a tone of voice that suggested maybe I had made it up.

Anyway, I was thinking that next time I play 5-finger fillet, you can be on hand with an apron to catch the blood that is sure to flow without ceasing from my fingers. I hope someone got a picture of that.

That's going to cost you $92, Pete. It's the going rate for Bagley originals.

If he makes them, I will wear them at PiP next year. In fact, I'll pose in them for a pic with Hawkins and Captain Sterling, since I know they'll want that as a keepsake of my fine taste in authentic period wear. We'll tell them that it's a batik print or something. (I can already hear Hawkins growling in the back of this throat now...)

There's actually a story there. It involves Hobbes. See, there was this cartoon with Calvin & Hobbes where Calvin was explaining how cool sunglasses or something was and how uncool Hobbes' pink flamingo jams (and sombrero) were. There was also a humorous punch line that would really help make this post interesting, but of course I have forgotten that. So I decided to make myself a pair of pink flamingo jams because I couldn't actually find any to buy. (Jams were not entirely uncool at this time, you see, but I guess pink flamingo jams were.) So I bought a pattern at JoAnne Fabric and the results were so horrifying that I have never been able to face the needle and cloth since. (Needle and flesh, yes. Needle and cloth no.)

[Jack Roberts]

Incidentally, being the Dread Surgeon Mission or Zorro Mission, I intend to leave my mark on all my patients by creating an M-shaped scar over my work. I don't even plan to charge for this extra service.

MAY THE POWER OF MERCURY HEAL YOU!!!

[Kate Souris]

Uh....Pink Flamingo Slops are going at a rate of $93 these days. Shirts are $92.

Is the shirt still considered a Bagley original if I am making it???