Home of the Brave
Lowell and Perry are out sunning, as usual. As usual it's late afternoon, to avoid the mid-day Florida heat. Perry is circumspect, as usual. Lowell is working on the brightwork of his perpetual rehab project, the schooner Andromeda. Keeping up the wood finish on a wooden boat in Florida is about like painting the Golden Gate bridge. By the time your done, it's time to start over again.
"Hey, Lowell," says Perry, through a cloud of cannabis. He's been smoking more lately, and enjoying it less. "Don't you ever get tired of working on your damn boat?"
"Sure. Every year," responds Lowell, slapping on a new coat of varnish on the stern rail, having finally finished re-sanding it.
"Seems to me you spend about ten hours of varnishing for every hour sailing, wouldn't you say?"
Lowell grins. "So few? I'd put it at more than a hundred to one. In fact, when was the last time we went sailing, like out on the Gulf?"
Perry relights his pipe, with a shrug. "Last year? No, the year before, I think. Which is my whole point."
"So? It gives you something to look forward to. Plus, think of all those memories."
"Mostly bad ones, what I remember. I am really not crazy about being driven through tidal waves with the boat about to tip over and I don't, like, swim, and there's lightning and thunder and we're goin' nowhere fast, and what's the point?"
"The joy of nature. And leaving no carbon footprint," adds Lowell. "And the sensation of speed."
Perry snorts. "Speed? That's speed," he notes, gesturing at a passing cigarette boat out on the Manatee River, beyond the bayou.
"It's not the same. Speaking of carbon footprints," mentions Lowell, "only thing burns more fuel for no good reason is those fucking leaf blowers."
"Hey, I love those leaf blowers. It gives me a sense of power. Pushin' all them leaves around."
"And dust," notes Lowell. "Those things mostly just push dust around."
"Hey, luckily here in Florida we don't get too much dust."
"Hence, no need to blow it around. And they create more CO2 than a hundred cars."
"That so? But it's very useful. We do get leaves, y'know. Like, every year in the fall?"
Lowell dabs a bend in the rail with his brush. "Are you familiar with the concept of a rake? What happened to all your Native American one-ness with nature, anyway?"
"Got bred out of us, I guess. Due to forced contact with Whitey."
"Hey, watch it. I haven't been white since the week I was born. Not even then. Pink, more like." Lowell gestures at his brown, well-weathered face with his brush. "Does this look white to you?"
"Only metaphorically speaking. Which is the whole point. No Native American would have the self-and globally-destructive impulse to tear up a river bed in order to make waves at seventy m.p.h. or whatever and leave a cloud of smoke and coating of oil in my wake as my gift to Planet Earth."
"It's just our way of showing our superiority to all things and creatures, great and small. It's also how some of us feel compelled to express our contempt for rules, regulations, and life's lower forms."
"Like your dead manatee out there," nods Perry, towards the mouth of the bayou, where a mother and calf had once lived, until the mother had been hit by possibly that same passing surface shark, as Perry likes to call them.
"Good point. But we Anglo-Americans have a strong need to kill stuff and wreck things, anyway. It's how we show our superiority. None of that Chief Joseph shit for us. Guns and God and Gobs, that's us."
"Gobs?"
"Good Ol' Boys. Like my man Dick Cheney. And our lady, Sarah Palin. Shoots wolves from airplanes, like sitting ducks. How cool is that?"
"Way cool. Wolves, ducks, and panthers."
"Don't even mention the panthers. What's left of them."
"But hey, you gotta admit, they look good on those clubhouse walls."
"Yeah, them and the elephants. Gimme that pipe." Lowell takes a toke, thinking about what kind of people like to behead wild animals. The same kind of people that like to behead people, probably.
"Anyway, as you say, some people just gotta be free, 'cause this is the Land of the Free."
Lowell nods. "Except from danger, threats, exploitation, deception, corruption, pollution, or injustice."
"Whaddaya want?" points out Perry. "Those things are all legal!"
"Hey, Lowell," says Perry, through a cloud of cannabis. He's been smoking more lately, and enjoying it less. "Don't you ever get tired of working on your damn boat?"
"Sure. Every year," responds Lowell, slapping on a new coat of varnish on the stern rail, having finally finished re-sanding it.
"Seems to me you spend about ten hours of varnishing for every hour sailing, wouldn't you say?"
Lowell grins. "So few? I'd put it at more than a hundred to one. In fact, when was the last time we went sailing, like out on the Gulf?"
Perry relights his pipe, with a shrug. "Last year? No, the year before, I think. Which is my whole point."
"So? It gives you something to look forward to. Plus, think of all those memories."
"Mostly bad ones, what I remember. I am really not crazy about being driven through tidal waves with the boat about to tip over and I don't, like, swim, and there's lightning and thunder and we're goin' nowhere fast, and what's the point?"
"The joy of nature. And leaving no carbon footprint," adds Lowell. "And the sensation of speed."
Perry snorts. "Speed? That's speed," he notes, gesturing at a passing cigarette boat out on the Manatee River, beyond the bayou.
"It's not the same. Speaking of carbon footprints," mentions Lowell, "only thing burns more fuel for no good reason is those fucking leaf blowers."
"Hey, I love those leaf blowers. It gives me a sense of power. Pushin' all them leaves around."
"And dust," notes Lowell. "Those things mostly just push dust around."
"Hey, luckily here in Florida we don't get too much dust."
"Hence, no need to blow it around. And they create more CO2 than a hundred cars."
"That so? But it's very useful. We do get leaves, y'know. Like, every year in the fall?"
Lowell dabs a bend in the rail with his brush. "Are you familiar with the concept of a rake? What happened to all your Native American one-ness with nature, anyway?"
"Got bred out of us, I guess. Due to forced contact with Whitey."
"Hey, watch it. I haven't been white since the week I was born. Not even then. Pink, more like." Lowell gestures at his brown, well-weathered face with his brush. "Does this look white to you?"
"Only metaphorically speaking. Which is the whole point. No Native American would have the self-and globally-destructive impulse to tear up a river bed in order to make waves at seventy m.p.h. or whatever and leave a cloud of smoke and coating of oil in my wake as my gift to Planet Earth."
"It's just our way of showing our superiority to all things and creatures, great and small. It's also how some of us feel compelled to express our contempt for rules, regulations, and life's lower forms."
"Like your dead manatee out there," nods Perry, towards the mouth of the bayou, where a mother and calf had once lived, until the mother had been hit by possibly that same passing surface shark, as Perry likes to call them.
"Good point. But we Anglo-Americans have a strong need to kill stuff and wreck things, anyway. It's how we show our superiority. None of that Chief Joseph shit for us. Guns and God and Gobs, that's us."
"Gobs?"
"Good Ol' Boys. Like my man Dick Cheney. And our lady, Sarah Palin. Shoots wolves from airplanes, like sitting ducks. How cool is that?"
"Way cool. Wolves, ducks, and panthers."
"Don't even mention the panthers. What's left of them."
"But hey, you gotta admit, they look good on those clubhouse walls."
"Yeah, them and the elephants. Gimme that pipe." Lowell takes a toke, thinking about what kind of people like to behead wild animals. The same kind of people that like to behead people, probably.
"Anyway, as you say, some people just gotta be free, 'cause this is the Land of the Free."
Lowell nods. "Except from danger, threats, exploitation, deception, corruption, pollution, or injustice."
"Whaddaya want?" points out Perry. "Those things are all legal!"
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