Apparently the creepy image of the guy in the Cricketeer suit was the last straw.
In between fishing stories I’ve talked about weed cupcakes, shrinking penises, skinny-dipping, beer, beer, more beer, shown videos of half-naked chicks baked out of their minds at a Willie Nelson picnic, cussed, ranted, called a supreme court justice ‘Darlin’, made disparaging remarks about osprey nests, and wrote an entire post on the pros and cons of spoon-casting.
But the Cricketeer suit was too much for yall?
Whew. My instincts are way off. My father is a pretty loyal reader of this blog and when I noticed he hadn’t chimed in this week, I rang him up and pried for his take on the Cricketeer. I think these are pretty much his exact comments:
“I tend to agree with your readers who felt the need to vomit in their own mouths.”
“I wasn’t going to say anything, but it’s really not your best work.”
“Let’s just say if I were a first-time visitor, I wouldn’t come back.”
“Don’t worry, even Hemingway couldn’t bat a thousand.”
“Whoa, I’d follow up with a conservation topic if I were you.”
“Why don’t you do what real writers do and have a cache of story ideas on-hand for a slow week?”
“No matter what, don’t tell your red fishing story. I’d hold off on that one for awhile.”
Yep, that pretty much sums it up. And was a short conversation.
So with that in mind I settled-in to write a sensible, thought-provoking fishing piece that would appeal to the masses and keep everyone’s breakfast down. Hmmm, I’m sure we could all have a lively conversation about the current argument over access on the Applegate River in Oregon. Stream access debates are always a good time.
Or there’s my on-going fascination with the Why Wild movement. Having spent the bulk of my career brainwashing the American public with sharp advertising messages and cutting edge graphics, I am fascinated by their approach to this conservation issue. Eat more of the very species we are trying to save. At first it seems counter-intuitive, but their presentation is so sophisticated and fresh that I am halfway out the door to the grocery to buy wild salmon and cook it for dinner.
Oh wait, I don’t cook.
So I could talk about a personal favorite, the evils of Leafy Spurge. I know, I know, sounds like a bad name for a garage band. But really it’s a noxious weed that is eroding the banks of the Smith River, and it’s quite serious.
Compelling topics, all of them, but I couldn’t seem to focus. I was batting some ideas around with a friend and he concurred that it was probably time to do a meaty, substantive post. After all, people are going to start to think I am a little crazy.
I’m so sorry…what was that? Did he just call me crazy? Crazy?
Well hells bells, I am from the South for heavens sake. You tell ‘em Julia…
Screw it. I may be a little weighted toward the color in my commentary of late, but certainly my fellow fishing writers have the conservation issues covered at the moment. These blogging boys always beat me to the punch on the substantive topics anyway. And they write about them so passionately and thoroughly – I’d hate to seem redundant.
Then again, Patsy copied one man’s crazy words and just sang ‘em in her own special way. I think we can all agree that worked out quite well…
So maybe I do have a little conservation speak in me. But it’s Friday. Stream access, endangered fish and noxious weeds will be waiting for us on Monday. For now, why doesn’t somebody just bring me a beer and I’ll tell you all about the time I caught a Texas redfish in my bra & panties…