An Explosive Experience

As I have stated before, there were several movies from my childhood that I have seen so many times that, regardless of whether the volume was turned on or not, it didn’t matter for me to know exactly what was being said at any given moment.

Monty Python and the Holy Grail was one of these movies. 

French Soldiers: “Your Mother was a hamster and your father smelt of elderberries.”

Ferris Bueller’s Day Off was another.

Gum-smacking, hair-twirling girl from Ferris’s class: “Um, he's sick. My best friend's sister's boyfriend's brother's girlfriend heard from this guy who knows this kid who's going with the girl who saw Ferris pass out at 31 Flavors last night. I guess it's pretty serious.”

And finally, the crown jewel of them all, the one that I have seen more than all others combined:

Better Off Dead.

Charles DeMar: This is pure snow! It's everywhere! Do you have any idea what the street value of this mountain is?

Charles DeMar: I've been going to this high school for seven and a half years. I'm no dummy. I know high school girls. 

Howard Cosell: Truly a sight to behold. A man beaten. The once great champ, now, a study in moppishness. No longer the victory hungry stallion we've raced so many times before, but a pathetic, washed up, aged ex-champion. 

Lane Myer: [talking about skiing the K-12] Look Charles, I gotta do this. If I don't, I'll be nothing. I'll end up like my neighbor Ricky Smith. He just sits around crocheting all day and snorting nasal spray.
Charles De Mar: He snorts nasal spray? Know where I can score some? 

If I were born 15 years later, there is no question which movie would be my “new” Better Off Dead. There is one movie which has risen above all others to become an instant cult classic among high school movie geeks. Even more so among Mormon High School movie geeks.

Two Words -

“Tina, you fat lard!!! Come and get some dinner!!!”  

That’s right, watching Napoleon Dynamite is a guilty pleasure of mine, thanks to all of the brilliant, deadpan one-liners uttered by Napoleon and his band of Preston, Idaho misfits. Here are a few of my favorites:

Kip: Napoleon, don't be jealous that I've been chatting online with babes all day. Besides, we both know that I'm training to be a cage fighter. 

Rex: After one week with me in my dojo, you'll be prepared to defend yourself with the strength of a grizzly, the reflexes of a puma, and the wisdom of a man.

Napoleon: You know, there's like a boat-load of gangs at this school. This one gang kept wanting me to join because I'm pretty good with a bow staff. 

As I read them here, out of context and independent of seeing the movie, these quotes are not all that funny. But seeing the movie and having experienced small-town Idaho and knowing people who could be those characters gives it whole new meaning.

Several months ago, I was on an early morning bike ride before work with a friend  when I had my own little Napoleon Dynamite moment. No, it did not involve smashed tater tots or throwing the pigskin a quarter of a mile. But yes, it did almost exactly resemble a brief scene from the movie.

Our normal early morning bike route takes us about 10 miles into the countryside before turning us around to head back home. When we were about 6 or 7 miles from home, we were passing alongside several small farms. One of those farms has several dozen head of cattle in the field near the house. We rarely see the cows anywhere near the road, as they are typically several hundred yards away.

On this particular morning there were three farmers standing next to the fence right by the road. Two of the guys were leaning casually against the wooden fence posts, with the third standing about 5 feet in front of and between them. Standing about 15 feet in front of him was a lone, solitary cow. She was as docile as most cows are, casually chewing her cud, while gazing intently at the three farmers. 

As we rolled up closer to the farmers, we saw that the middle one had something in his hand, although it was hard to tell at first what it was. We continued to travel closer until we were nearly equal to them along the street. As we did so, in an instant the middle farmer raised his rifle that he had previously been discretely holding in his hand to his side. Knowing immediately what was going to happen next, we surmised that there was no way that he was going to do the deed with two bicyclist just a few short feet away.

Well, we surmised incorrectly. Just as we were parallel to that poor, unsuspecting bovine, no more than 15 feet from where it stood, we heard a deafening “BOOM!!!” come from right behind us.  A split second later, the cow dropped where it stood - killed in an instant by a single blast from that farmer’s rifle.

We were speechless. Could this be possible? Did that farmer really just blow that cow’s brains to smithereens right before our eyes? Yes, he most certainly.

I didn’t know if I should laugh or cry.

In an instant, I was scarred for life, my memory branded with the lasting images of that innocent cow, one moment peacefully minding her own business eating grass in a field; the next moment pushing up daisies in that very same field. I now understand the sheer terror that those poor, unsuspecting, innocent children on that school bus must have felt in Napoleon Dynamite when they witnessed the very same incident occur, also just a few feet away from where they sat. 

We should form a support group.

RIP, Betsy. RIP.

Your Father Smelt of Elderberries

I was thinking this morning about some of the greatest movie scenes of all time. Being curious what others felt were the greatest cinematic scenes, I consulted with my good friend, Google to provide me with the answer. Here is a sampling of search results:

The Birds - The School Yard scene

Lady and the Tramp - The Spaghetti Scene

The Exorcist - Full Head Swivel (Sorry, no pictures for this scene. This is a family blog.)

To Kill a Mockingbird - Boo Radley revealed

Singin’ in the Rain - The Rain Dance scene

Casablanca - The Goodbye

and finally, at the top of many lists,
Saving Private Ryan - The D-Day Invasion

All fine choices, certainly worthy of any award which they receive..

However, there is one glaring omission from this list. There is one scene that should rank near the top of any “Best of” movie scene list. The reason why its omission is essentially unforgivable is the simple fact that it has been a ground-breaking piece in the formation of the sense of humor of scores of young people with minds impressionable to pop culture, such as mine.

The scene to which I refer occurs in one of the all-time classics, “Monty Python and the Holy Grail”. My fondness for the scene likely says more about me than anything that any critic has ever said about the film.

This award-winning sequence takes place as King Arthur and his Knights of the Round Table approach a heavily-fortified French castle. After exchanging pleasantries with the French guards, who are safely perched atop the castle walls, King Arthur demands to be granted entrance to the castle to view the purported Holy Grail which is contained inside. The dialogue goes as follows (Soldier parts to read in an outrageous, thick, French accent):

Arthur: It is I, King Arthur, and these are my knights of the Round Table.
Whose castle is this?
Soldier: This is the castle of my master, Guy de Lombard.
A: Go and tell your master that we have been charged by God with a sacred
  quest.  If he will give us food and shelter for the night, he can join us
  in our quest for the Holy Grail.
S: Well, I'll ask 'im, but I don't think 'e'll be very keen-- 'e's already got
  one, you see?
A: What?
Lancelot: He says they've already *got* one!
A: (confused) Are you *sure* he's got one?
S: Oh yes, it's ver' naahs.
  (to the other soldiers:)  I told 'em we've already *got* one!
  (they snicker)
A: (taken a bit off balance) Well... ah, um... Can we come up and have a look?
S: Of course not!  You are English types.
A: Well, what are you then?
S: (Indignant) Ah'm French!  Why do you think I have this out-rrrageous
  accent, you silly king?!
Galahad: What are you doing in *England*?
S: Mind your own business!
A: If you will not show us the Grail, we shall take your castle by force!
S: You don't frighten us, English pig-dogs!  Go and boil your bottoms, son of a
  silly person!  Ah blow my nose at you, so-called "Arthur Keeeng"!  You and
  all your silly English Knnnnnnnn-ighuts!!!
(the soldier proceeds to bang on his helmet with his hands and stick out his
tongue at the knights, making strange noises.)

Galahad: What a strange person.
A: (getting mad) Now look here, my good ma--
S: Ah don' wanna talk to you no more, you empty-headed animal food-trough
  wiper!  Ah fart in your general direction!  Your mother was a hamster, and
  your father smelt of elderberries!Galahad: Is there someone else up there we can talk to?S: No!!  Now go away, or I shall taunt you a second time!

Here is the scene in its' entirety:

One of the great insult sequences ever captured on the big screen, to be certain. In my opinion, with kids these days there are far too few elderberry references used while hurling routine schoolyard insults. Plenty of hamster references, but not nearly enough elderberry references.

Recently, I was on an early morning bike ride with a friend. We had just finished a nice section of country road and were passing through a fairly busy highway intersection as we made our way back toward town. We had just seen a couple of cars full of some friends who were on their way to spend the day in the mountains.

Moments after they passed, another vehicle, this time an old, beat-up farm truck, slowed as it approached us. Wondering if it were possible to see three different people that I knew on this lonely stretch of road, I craned my neck to see who it was that had slowed their truck. The driver, a burly-looking, unshaven and unkempt man in his early 50s, leaned out of the driver’s side window. In response to the cycling jersey that I was wearing, he yelled, “BYU sucks!!! Oregon Ducks Rule!!!”.

In the back of the truck were 2 mid-sized crates, who’s occupants were a couple of old farm goats. As the driver accelerated past us up the road, his goats began bleating loudly at us as we stood straddling our bikes. It was as if they were a couple of their driver’s toadies, joining him in his derision, parroting his mockery of two lycra-clad cyclists wearing BYU gear.

Now, I’ve been mocked plenty of times while riding my bike. But never by a couple of caged goats. And while I’m not sure what it was that they were actually saying, I’m sure it was intended to hurt me very, very deeply. 

While it wasn’t their expected response, I couldn’t help but laugh out loud at what had just happened. I had just been insulted by a Duck fan and a couple of old farm goats. Please don’t tell the goats that I laughed. I’m sure that as I type this they are yucking it up the barn, telling all of the other animals how they burned a couple of goofy looking guys wearing tight pants and funny hats.

While they were not nearly as articulate as were the Frenchie’s atop the castle wall, the goat’s message was the same - you mess with a goat, you get the scorns.

The Man Behind the Curtain

Some things in life are simply better left unknown.

Santa Claus comes to mind. Wouldn't life be so much more magical if the true identity of good old St. Nick were never known? Same for the tooth fairy, the Easter Bunny and the actual ingredients of an Oscar Meyer hot dog.

When Dorothy and her rag-tag bunch of castaway friends went to see the wizard in Emerald City, their hopes and desires were limitless. With the help of the wizard, the scarecrow would once again have his brain, the lion would again have his courage, and Dorothy would finally be able to return home to Kansas.

Remember their disappointment upon peeking behind the curtain, learning that the wizard was nothing more than a con artist - a travelling salesman with a knack for navigating hot air balloons? Their lives would never be the same. They were now jaded and disillusioned. Their innocence was now lost. The magic was now gone.

Last summer, while making a weekend get-away to the Northern California coast, we had the opportunity to visit Emerald City. You might know it as Our Favorite Little Restaurant in Trindad. I had considered posting the name of the restaurant, but thought better of it. You’ll see why in a moment. Trinidad is a quaint little seaside town and "The Restaurant” is a quaint little cafe in that quaint little town. 

And they have some of the best food known to man.

I’ve been there probably a half dozen times and have not had a bad meal. Their clam chowder is incredible and this, coming from a non-clam chowder guy, is saying a lot. Their blackberry cobbler is out of this world.

The kids love the place as well. You see, they have this item on the kids menu that the kids can’t get enough of. Its call Mac-n-Cheese. Perhaps you’ve heard of it. Whenever I am in charge of preparing Saturday or Sunday lunches, it is always Mac-n-Cheese. Either that or cold cereal. That’s all I’ve got in my culinary arsenal.. But the kids never tire of it. They love the stuff.

But there is something special about the kids dish as prepared by “The Restaurant”. Despite all of the other delicious items on their kids menu, the kids always seem to come back to the Mac.

This particular trip, we were at the eatery with two other families, totalling 9 kids. The majority of the kids ordered Mac-n-Cheese, fries and a side of Ranch Dressing. A delicious meal, to be certain. And it had better be, at almost $6 per meal. Since it was something that we knew the kids would enjoy, we didn’t balk at the price tag. Plus, it was “The Restaurant” and it was sure to be good.

I should have know that something was amiss when I caught a peek into the serving area and saw a large bottle of Hidden Valley Ranch Salad Dressing. This didn’t bother or surprise me. After all, I like Hidden Valley Ranch, and they didn’t charge us extra for the dipping sauce. Plus, they have to get their food from somewhere, so why not in bulk at Costco? For something that tastes good and is offered at no extra charge, they can serve whatever they want. Right?

On this occasion, our food was taking longer than usual. We thought that to be odd. After all, Mac-n-Cheese had to be a fairly popular kids item, so it should be one of those items that they always had on standby.

As our waitress brought out all of the items that the adults ordered, she apologized profusely for taking so long with the kids’ food. She then explained that they only had one microwave working. I thought to myself, “What does one working microwave have to do with our order?”

She continued.

They had underestimated how many of the the kids at our table would order Mac-n-Cheese and how long it would take to cook each order. You see, they used Kraft Instant Macaroni and Cheese packets. You know - the kind that come with two single size packages - one for the macaroni and one for the powdered cheese. The same product that we have in our pantry that we recently purchased at WinCo for $1.38 for 10 packets. Now, we were paying more than $50 for 9 packets! The same exact stuff with a couple of french fries (likely frozen Ore Ida), and some Hidden Valley Ranch Salad Dressing from a Costco-sized container.

While I appreciate the waitress’s candor in explaining why our food was late, in some ways I wish that I had never been afforded that sneak peak “Behind the Curtain” to see how one of my favorite restaurants prepares their food. 

Life was bliss, with me knowing that, while on vacation, my kids were eating a healthy, quality, home-cooked style meal. And darn it, I was okay with paying $6 to do so.

Will this knowledge stop me from continuing to eat there? Absolutely not. I did mention that their blackberry cobbler was out of this world, didn't I?

"I'll take Quakers for $400, Alex"

One of the great tv characters from my teenage years was an affable postal worker who often frequented a dark, dingy Boston pub after completing his daily mail route. That's right, I’m talking about Cheers’ very own Cliff Clavin. While Sam, Diane, Woody and Norm completed the show, Cliff really made the show, in my opinion. He was the most quotable character in the series, and I find that he continues to make his way into some of my conversations even today.

My favorite episode involving Cliff was one of the few that took place almost entirely away from the bar. It was the episode in which Cliff was a participant on Jeopardy. As the classic know-it-all, it was Cliff’s destiny to be a jeopardy champion. As a contestant, this was confirmed when he laid his eyes on the categories of his “Dream Board”, which included “Civil Servants”, “Stamps of the World”, “Mothers and Sons”, “Beer”, “Bar Trivia”, and “Celibacy”. 

Going into final Jeopardy, Cliff had amassed $22,000, compared to his nearest competitor’s sum of $400. The category was Movie Trivia. The ever-confident Cliff didn’t hesitate to place his bid, knowing that his fate was soon to be sealed as one of the greatest Jeopardy champions of all time.

(Spoiler Alert!!!)

As luck would have it, Cliff did not know the correct answer. The show host, Alex Trabek, consoled him, reassuring him that even though he got the answer incorrect that he would be fine, as only a complete moron would wager the entire amassed fortune, knowing that he was guaranteed a win with a conservative bet.

Long story short, Cliff did wager the entire amount, losing the game by a narrow margin. He returned to Cheers, despondent and humiliated, but defiant in knowing that, while it wasn’t the answer that they were looking for, he nonetheless gave a correct question to that Final Jeopardy answer. And now, whenever I don’t know the answer to a question that should be a slam dunk for me to know, I can respond with, “Who are three people that have never been in my kitchen”. (You have to watch the episode to understand what the heck that means.)

Not long ago as we were eating breakfast, my 10 year old, Tyler, starting flipping around the box of Cap’n Crunch cereal, obviously looking for something. He was searching to see which company manufactured that brand, as it was no where to be found on the front or top panel of the box in the customary spots. I directed him to the bottom of one of the side panels where there was the distinctive icon of the Quaker company. He looked puzzled as he considered it for a moment.

Thinking out loud, he wondered why in the world anyone would choose Quaker as a company name for a food manufacturer and distributor.

He then launched into a 3 minute monologue on the history of the Quakers. I would quote it here, but I can’t really remember anything that he talked about. Something about religious freedom, King George, and the original 13 colonies. He wasn’t doing it to show off - he was genuinely confused as to how the Quakers became associated with sugared breakfast cereal, given their history of pacifism and religious tolerance. Jaylynn and I just sat there, looking incredulously at each other, as we listed to his early morning history lesson.

Is this how Cliff Claven got started? As a young 10 year old boy did he dazzle his friends and impress his family with random tidbits of information on a wide array of topics? Will I one day find myself screaming into the television set, “Tyler, NO! Don’t you dare bet it all! You can’t possibly know anything about Byzantine-Era cathedral architecture!!!”  

And you know what? It won’t surprise me one bit when he does bet everything and proves, once and for all, that he does actually know it all.

A Gentlemen's Bet, but a Bet Nonetheless

We have a new custom that entered our home recently. It involves my birthday present from last summer - DVR. It has become tradition that whoever has the remote control at the time that a commercial comes on to hit pause at random times during the commercial to see who can get the funniest still photo of someone’s face. As we are very easily amused, this often brings on some riotous fits of laughing .

Not long ago on a Sunday afternoon, we were sitting at the dinner table having a snack while watching a Planet Earth episode on Netflix. Randomly hitting pause during a nature show is not nearly as hilarious as it may be while watching an Old Spice commercial or that cute little talking baby, but we still do it.

At this particular time, my 10 year old, Tyler, was in charge of the remote. He stopped the frame on a dusk mountain scene, with the reflection from a placid lake in the foreground and a cloudscape in the background. Tyler commented that it looked like the mountains were tilted sideways in the picture, or more likely that the camera was tilted sideways at the time of the still frame. I took a different approach to viewing the picture - I said that it looked like the scene was upright, but rather that the oblique cloud shape in the background was an optical illusion in depth, making it look like they were rising at an angle, and thus, skewing his perspective.

After some discussion, being one to never pass up an opportunity for a debate, Tyler casually asked me, “Wanna make a bet on it?”

I was intrigued by his proposition. I agreed to a friendly bet as to who was seeing the still frame correctly. He then stated, “Okay, I’ll advance it a few frames and we’ll see who’s right”.

As he was pressing the play button, he continued, “A gentlemen’s bet, but a bet nonetheless”. 

I won’t bore you with the details as to who won the bet. It doesn’t matter. The important thing is - when will he learn? He should know by now the three classic blunders: To never get involved in a land war in Asia, never go in with a Sicilian when death is on the line, and only slightly less well-known is this - Never make a bet with your vindictive parent when tv-watching privileges are on the line.

Gentlemen’s bet, indeed. Gentlemen don’t bet.

Do these shoes make me look old?

For a couple of reasons, I found myself in a Vans Outlet store yesterday for the first time in about 20 years. First, I have a daddy-daughter dance on Friday night, which has an 80's theme. I've always gone all out on dressing up for these events, which have included Disco and Roaring 20s in the last 2 years.

Secondly, on Saturday night our church youth dance, which I’ll be chaparoning, also has an 80's theme.

Being one to take my costuming very seriously, I set out to find a good 80’s outfit. On Saturday I found a killer Members Only jacket right next a nice pink Izod golf shirt, complete with collars that flip up perfectly. I'm still looking for a good pair of acid wash jeans, but have a couple of leads for places to look.

Not having any shoes to match the rest of the outfit, I thought that a nice pair of Classic Vans would go nicely. I picked out some black Classics to buy.

One thing to realize here is that I wore this same exact pair of shoes for about 3 straight years in junior high and high school. I was raised in the glory days of skating (boards, not rollers); well before Shawn White was even born and even back when Tony Hawk was still cool and still alive. And while I stunk on a skate board, I still rode. Everybody did. And nearly everybody wore Vans. After all, this was California in the 80s. If you didn’t wear Vans and sport a Flock of Seagulls hairdo, you may as well hitch your pants up to your chest and don a pocket protector.

As I was at the checkstand, the 20ish year old worker commented, "Nice! Going with a throwback pair. Did you wear these when you were a kid? Did you used to skate as well?"

I answered "Yes" to both questions and left the store to head back to work. As I was walking across the parking lot, it dawned on me what had just happened. He had just called me old. I had decided to pick up a pair of Vans, and the kid worker assumes that I wore them when they first came out and that I no longer skate, and only did so 20 years ago?

I was deeply, deeply offended, despite everything that he implied being true. Did I really look that ancient? Am I so old that I can no longer pull off wearing a pair of Vans and pegging my jeans without someone questioning my motives?

Is this my mid-life crisis purchase? If so, sweet. Its a lot cheaper than a corvette.

Call Me Ishmael

The American author, Herman Mellville, penned these memorable words to begin one of the great literary classics of all time, Moby Dick. Or so I hear. You see, I’ve never actually read it. It fills one of the major voids in my knowledge base in reading the all-time classic works. Well, that plus about 95% of the other classics that have somehow evaded me as I have busied myself reading other great works, such as Tales of a Fourth Grade Nothing and Magic Treehouse: Dinosaurs Before Dawn. Unrecognized classics, they are.

As the story goes, the narrator, Ishmael, is a wandering sailor who finds himself on a whaleship commanded by the eccentric and obsessive Captain Ahab. On a previous fishing adventure, Ahab encountered the great white whale, Moby Dick, and subsequently lost his leg, confined to walk the rest of his life on a prosthetic limb carved out of whale bone. He had devoted his life to exacting revenge on his nemesis, wanting nothing more than to find and kill his rival, the whale. 

This past summer, our family took a week-long camping trip to the Northern California coast near Crescent City. We stayed at a camp called Mill Creek Campground. It is set about 2 miles inland from the ocean, so its about 20 degrees warmer than the colder, damper campgrounds nearer to the water. There is also very little fog. It is one of the best kept secrets of the far-Northern California coastline.

We went with some of our close friends and had an amazing time. Our week was filled with hiking, biking, lounging, reading, eating, playing, and marshmallow roasting.

There was one other thing that we did during our trip - crabbing. No one in either family had done any crabbing before, but we didn’t let our lack of experience get in our way of trying something new.

So we went to a local fishing bait shop that was located on the public pier to rent some crab pots. We also bought some fish heads to use as bait for our pots. After a brief tutorial by the local crabbing experts, we set off for the end of the pier to go catch our dinner.

The process is pretty simple - you set up the crab pot, you put bait inside an enclosed plastic container, you throw the whole thing over the edge of the pier and then you wait. As this was our first time trying it, we weren’t sure where exactly to throw the contraptions or how long to leave them underwater. The first few times that we threw them in we likely pulled them out too quickly, as there was nothing inside but maybe an old shopping bag when we pulled it up.

Our friend, Dan, made the first catch of the day, hauling in a beautiful crab that was close to 6 inches in diameter. My kids and I then got into the act, pulling in a couple of nice, if slightly, smaller crabs.

Tyler, his buddy and I then moved to the other side of the pier to try our luck. And here is where the earlier Moby Dick reference will hopefully make a little sense.

As we dropped our crab pot into this new spot, several minutes passed before we tried to pull it in. As we did, I noticed that it felt quite a bit heavier than the last several attempts. As the pot broke the surface of the water, we peered over the edge to see what we were hauling in. As we did, we caught a glimpse of something else clinging onto the edge of the trap. It was difficult to tell exactly what it was, but the best guess of an aging 36 year old man with ailing eyesight was that we had just caught a giant octopus! Or maybe it was a squid. I couldn't really tell, as it fell off the edge of the pot when it was just a few feet above the water.

The two boys and I were going crazy. While we may have have only had about 2 seconds to inspect it from over 20 feet away, we still couldn’t believe what we had just seen.

“You should have seen it - IT WAS HUGE!!! It was 8 feet long if it was an inch!!!”

Everyone ran over to our crabbing spot to try and catch a glimpse of what we had seen. But, of course, by now it was much too late. The giant octopus (or squid) was now likely slowly floating back down to the ocean floor, covered by 20 feet of murky seawater.

As the excitement settled, we returned to our respective crabbing locations, wanting to try the same spot again after our brush with the sea monster. Moments later, as I began to haul the crab pot up once again, the weight of the load seemed eerily similar to the last attempt. As it broke the water surface into our view, what should we see, but the giant sea animal was once again attached to our crab pot.

I hurriedly pulled it up the remaining 20 feet to the edge of the pier. But this time something was different. Instead of the 8 foot long monster that we had caught the previous drop, now the creature attached was much, much smaller. Did I mention that it was much smaller this time?

As we pulled it onto the pier for a closer look, the octopus was a mere 18 inches from one tentacle tip to the other. And this estimate may even be fairly liberal, depending on who you ask. And it wasn’t even a vicious octopus. Or a man-eating giant squid. It looked more like a squishy 10-legged starfish.

The kids were gaga upon seeing this creature, despite its less than impressive size. We took several moments to look at it and take pictures before returning it to its watery home.

Fast forward 6 months later to the present day, and all I have to prove the existence of the 8 foot long sea monster on that cold, windy day in Cresent City is the image burned into my mind and the creative, corroborating imaginations of two 9 year old boy witnesses. The second boneless creature that we had captured couldn’t possibly have been the same one that we had caught just moments earlier. No, our sea monster was likely miles out to sea, leaving only his undersized and underwhelming step-cousin, the squishy, slimy starfish, as a prize to some unsuspecting vacationing crab fishermen. No, he’s probably still laughing at us to this day as he thinks about the old bait-and-switch (pun intended) that he pulled on us in that faraway port.

The legend of the elusive Moby Dick of cephalopods  will continue to live on in the lore of Goss and Bickmore family vacations. So until our next crabbing adventure when I am able to once again capture my nemesis, please don’t call me a liar or a big-fish storyteller. Call me Ishmael. Or, more accurately, call me Captain Ahab.