By Lex, on Thu – April 7, 2005
When a ship that is tired returneth,
With the signs of the seas showing plain;
Men place her in dock for a season,
And her speed she reneweth again.
So shall ye, if perchance ye grow weary,
In the uttermost parts of the sea,
Pray for leave, for the good of the Service,
As much and as oft as may be.
Excerpt, from the poem, “Laws of the Navy ,” by ADM R.A Hopwood, RN
You: “So, Lex – what did you do today, on your third day of leave?”
Me: “I played golf, gentle reader, sport of princes. At Torrey Pines, south.”
You: “And did you meet any interesting people?”
Me: “I did, too. One of my partners was a member of the San Diego glitterati, an exceptionally important real estate lawyer, for a commercial firm whose sales reached $400 million last year.”
You: “How did you learn about this astonishing volume of sales, Lex?”
Me: “He told me. In between cell phone calls. While I was putting.”
You: “Em. Well. Where had he done his schooling, this exceptionally important person?”
Me: “He did his undergrad at Stanford, and followed it up with law school at Harvard.”
You: “Where he also got an MBA at the B-school, as a classmate and occasional basketball teammate of hizzoner, George W., the President?”
You: “What did he think of hizzoner, the President, back in the day?”
Me: “He thought him a lot of fun, and called him ‘the president of the normal guy club,’ in what I took to be a flattering kind of way.”
You: “Interesting observation. What did you make of that?”
Me: “What do you?”
You: “So, how did he play, this exceptionally over-schooled member of the curve-breaking elite?”
Me: “Not badly, for all that he had his cell phone pinched to his ear by his shoulder for many of his drives. I asked him if he was having a busy day, or if this was the way his life was.”
You: “And what was his answer?”
Me: “Summat about $400 million in sales. I think we were supposed to be impressed.”
You: “And weren’t you?”
Me: “Not as much perhaps as we were supposed to be.”
Me: “Summat to do with the glaring disparity between the number of night traps * in my logbook, and his.”
You: “Not to mention combat missions.”
Me: “At all.”
You: “Who won?”
You: “Unless that was a bad question to ask…”
You: “Speaking of Harvard, have you heard the story of the Harvard prof that’s been arrested for stealing manure ** ?”
Me: “I had – Taranto *** mentioned it. Said something about being surprised that there wasn’t enough up there already.”
You: “Which is pretty funny.”
Me: “As well as being insightful.”
You: “Although perhaps just a bit tinged with the green devil.”
Me: “Of envy.”
And afterwards, I took a bath. Which is something I think not enough men do, excluding for the moment those who are too morbidly obese (the late Orson Welles comes to mind as a won’t-fit-in-the-shower, can’t-reach-all-the-spots archetype) although I cannot quite be sure. About the other men, that is. Because we don’t talk about that sorts of things. As guys.
And how about those NCAA finals, yah? Woo. Great series.
But. It was scrumptious almost to the point of hedonism, and I’m convinced that with only two more days of this, not counting the weekend (which was mine anyway, dammit!) and I’ll be ready to hurl myself back into the breech again, dear friends.
Spice mines or no.
* 07-06-18 Link unavailable – referred to one of Lex’s posts about night traps (Night In A Barrel? – Ed.
** 07-06-18 Original Link Lost; replacement found – Ed.
*** 07-06-18 Original Link Lost; no replacement found – Ed.