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Yachta, yachta, yachta: Why I am a landlubber

For one thing, we continue to go out on the water with the same equipment that Columbus used when he missed China by 6,000 miles.

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Right now, my wife and friends are sailing. I am indoors. It is warm in my home. It is cold on the water. I am dry. They are wet. My hair looks terrific. (Just washed it. New conditioner.) Their hair is, I am certain, sticking up like wheat stalks. I am happy watching football. They say they are happy. They are wrong. They just don’t know it.

Sailing – I just don’t get it. As mankind has grown up, we have learned that “new” is often better than “old.” Thus we gave up cooking over a fire for the more temperature adjustable stove. We’ve decided black-and-white television is neither the cat’s meow nor the dog’s bark.

And yet we continue to put ourselves onto the water with the same kind of equipment that Columbus used when he missed China by 6,000 miles. (His first words to a confused native were, I believe, “Where’s the moo goo gai pan?”) The Inquisition came to an end, why not sailing?

And still, people endure the pains of sailing – pulling, tugging, and tying ropes made especially to resist pulling, tugging, and tying. If there is no wind, you just sit in a cramped boat watching waves do what waves do, which is go up and down.

If there is a wind, it knifes through your skin like stilettos. And if the wind is really blowing, then you hang on to the side of the boat, promising that if you ever step on land again, you will donate half your earnings to paving the oceans.


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