Pirates for Sail

 Episode 2:

  According to the Wikipedia Columbia, Md. is “a planned community that consists of ten self-contained villages.” “Opened in 1967, Columbia was designed to not only eliminate the inconveniences of then-current subdivision design……” According to the Google listing, “The Mall in Columbia Offers Columbia’s Top Shopping Experience.”  This is where “we” decided to make our public debut.

   Now, if I had seen what those lubbers in that parking lot saw as we began our trek, I would have immediately wanted to know what they were doing and….. can I do it too? Nope. It amazes me still how the vast majority in this town would rather take their chances in traffic in order to get across the street (or the other side of the bay) before they got too close. If they did have to cross our path, there was no eye contact, at all. They wouldn’t have a chance of tripping over their own feet cause their eyes and half their body would be bent down looking at them rather than having to look at us. It still happens today, even though our dress is a bit more convincing. We now carry pouches, haversacks, cutlasses, black powder and the firearms it goes in, knives and daggers, belaying pins and treasure chests. (Note: black powder weapons are not illegal to own or carry as long as they are not loaded).

  We did have an agenda. My son worked at a mobile phone kiosk which was located about 40 feet from the entrance. He was on the phone for a customer who was standing there waiting as she spotted us first. Then…he saw us. There was no controlling the reaction even though he was on the phone as I sauntered up to him in my best drunk pirate swagger, ,cocked my head to one side and said the only piratical thing I could conjure up, “you look somewhat familiar, have I threatened you before?” As he put the phone call on hold and his customer hysterically doubled over in absolute glee, mall security was approaching to escort us out on the grounds that we were “disturbing” patrons. Mmmm, things haven’t changed much.

   During all this time I of course I insisted on “practices”. This would simply mean that we would dress in our “garb” and do “piratical” things while grilling outside of our apartment that we lived in at the time. “Piratical” things included drinking rum and playing with civil war period pistols and swords purchased in none other than Gettysburg of course!

   Since we’re on  that we’re on that subject, I must say that I did find evidence that pirates did invade the town of Gettysburg a place where of course the bloodiest battles of the Civil War was fought. In a letter written by Samuel L. Holt to Governor Z.B. Vance of North Carolina, he charged that “this country has sent many & true men to this piratical war.” I thought it was an appropriate place for us. So donned in my short leather boots and our costume store wigs, we pervaded the territory again.

Ooops, you’ll have to wait now for Episode 3!

The tale of Pirates for Sail is quite extraordinary, or so I am told. In fact, it was not only extraordinary it was, exceptional, stupendous, remarkable, wondrous and grand, as well as unlikely, improbable and unbelievable. I would know, I was there, I am the Captain.

Our story begins in April of the year two thousand and five.. The same year that Johnny Depp made piracy the preferred profession for the 21st century, I was about to embark on the most ridiculous excursions I had ever conjured up. I wanted to be a pirate captain, if only in my own mind (that really shouldn’t be allowed to wander out on its own), and the fact that I was nearing 50 and most likely would not be swinging through anybody’s rigging any time in the near or far future would not dissuade me from my goal.

If some people are driven to excess, then at times I must be a Nascar driver. When the option was offered to me by my family and friends to do whatever crazy inane adventure I wanted on that day that is reserved for the most honorable of professions, the celebration of mothers, that day we so affectionately refer to as…”Mother’s Day” They knew I was prone to moments of insanity and I saw my opportunity. I said to my husband (who was not yet my husband), “Dear, I want to go down to Baltimore Inner Harbor and go sailing on this really big clipper ship they have there, and let’s take Jim (and his girlfriend at the time) … (long pause as I take stock his reaction and how I can add the coup de gras when I say) …”and I want to go dressed as pirates, and Jim can take his guitar.” Another long pause as Tim takes stock of his horror and the facts and the knowledge that we will probably do this anyway and simply says, “I don’t think so.”

 The die was cast. We were going. I never doubted what we would. I must admit to the humiliating antics that I “encouraged” my husband and dear friends to endure. I coerced, blackmailed, manipulated and guilted them, explaining how unfair it would be if they denied me my Mother’s Day wish. Before the fateful day arrived, I prepared. Providing us all with such fine garb as ski pants (teal green), flowered vests (for the men), civil war belts and pinned down cowboy hats, along with a bodice and skirt I had from a renaissance faire a couple of years before. We consumed some liquid /herbal courage and advanced on the local golf course. I felt like the pied piper as we stealthily executed our attack on the 9th hole, and not the least bit concerned that we looked slightly conspicuous in our bright clothing and loud greetings of “Ahoy, avast and aye captain” (my personal favorite to this day) as we frolicked (yes, we frolicked) on the moonlit green.

 Join me next time as we take our first prize…Columbia Mall and the beginning of the pressgang…..

Stopped by to see my new “niece” and “nephew” last night. As many of our fans know, our fiddler and his two lovely polyamorous mates had twins of different mothers recently. The beautiful Alaria was born, appropriately, on  Fell’s Point Privateer and Baltimore Pirate Invasion Day in April. The handsome Alaric was born a week later. Fortunately, each favors his or her mother and not Father Fast Fingers.

As I was saying, though, I visited the babies last evening. I had previously seen Alaria twice but had not yet had the pleasure of making Alaric’s acquaintence. So I ventured to Baltimore and the home of their very lovely grandma (I know where Maia gets her looks) where both babies and their mamas are staying temporarily. Held ‘em, fed ‘em, burped ‘em, talked to ‘em, and then handed ‘em back to grandma to change ‘em. She didn’t seem to mind. If there’s one thing better than beautiful grandmas, it’s beautiful grandmas loving on their beautiful new grandbabies.

Now, as anyone who knows Fast Fingers is well aware, the Ferrets’ catch phrase for him is, “Why are there always carrots?” After excessive alcohol consumption, as Faster Fingers’ body is rejecting said excess alcohol, he complains there are always carrots present, even when he’s not consumed carrots.

So the question now is whether this axiom will hold true for his offspring. I did not witness any spitting up last night, fortunately. Just standard burps and hic ups, cooing, yawning, and stretching. We’ll keep our fans updated on the carrot question. I’m sure you’re all on the edge of your seats.

Leave it to the Last Mate to find this gem of a story from the Baltimore Sun.

Fire sends Maryland lawmakers rushing out of Annapolis bar
Celebration for new members of legislature ends abruptly

———-

Please tell us someone yelled “MacIntyre”..!

I have long held that most blogs are just ego trips for the authors. Who reads them but for a handful of the author’s friends? But my Drunken Ferret crewmates have prevailed upon me to join the crew blogging–not to be confused with flogging, although I suspect that’s what would await me if I did not start blogging…on the other hand, if the flogging were being dispensed by any of the women aboard ship, perhaps that wouldn’t be such a bad thing. But I digress.

In any event, thus begins the Chanteyman’s Chronicles. Where to begin? Hmm. Perhaps a look back and a look forward would be in order.

Seventeen-ought-nine ’twas a proverbial banner year for Pirates for Sail (PfS). We released our second CD, Band on the Rum, to much critical acclaim (okay, there were a couple of lukewarm huzzahs), and so far Sir Paul has not sued us. Did I mention it’s available on both CDBaby and iTunes?

We made stealth appearances at the Fells Point Privateer Day in April, singing at the dock to celebrate the first anniversary of the christening of the Urban Pirates’ ship, the Fearless, and later being invited on stage to perform with our good friends the Brigands (there’s also a story about Bertha’s mussels and a very sick Gute: see below); we appeared for our second year at the Virginia Renaissance Festival (VARF) in May, an oppressively hot Rock Hall Pirates and Wenches Fantasy Weekend in August, and the cool and windy Long Island Pirate Festival in September; and we made raids on private parties on the Potomac, at Vane Brothers in Baltimore, and at the Chesapeake Maritime Museum in St. Michael’s. We closed the year by splitting the crew in half (not literally, but there’s an idea for next year) on New Years Eve, with half doing a show at Piratz Tavern and the other half performing at Oglebay Resort in Wheeling WV. (That’s a whole ‘nuther story.) Huzzah for us!

And 1710 is shaping up to be as busy. We’ll be continuing our weekly appearances at Piratz Tavern in beautiful downtown Silver Spring, MD. Please come out and see us every Friday night.

Although we’re disappointed we won’t be back at VARF this year (therein lies a long, sordid tale involving stout ale, the Queen’s greyhounds, and a midget with a very long cutlass), and we’re sad to report that the Long Island Pirate Festival will not happen this year, we do have many appearances booked, and more in the works.

First up, PfS will be skulking about the Fells Point Privateer Day once again, Saturday April 10, singing in the bar at Bertha’s in the afternoon and wherever the hell else we damn well feel like it. In March, we made the first of what we hope will be many appearances at the Chesapeake Roller Derby in Westminster, Maryland. We’ll be back there again Saturday June 5.

August 13-15, we’ll invade the 3rd annual Rock Hall Pirates and Wenches Fantasy Weekend, performing with our friends the Brigands and the Pyrates Royale. The following weekend, we’ll cruise down to the Richmond, VA, area for a gig at the Chesterfield Library, Saturday August 21. We’re also looking at returning to the Unicity Performing Arts Festival in Saulisbury, MD, in September, and possibly heading up to New York State this summer to appear at some venues with our cohorts, Ye Pyrate Brotherhood.

Finally, Saturday October 16, we’ve been invited to raid the Toms River Pyrate Festival in, surprisingly, Toms River, New Jersey, where we plan on joining with the crew of Captain Charles Black and Valhalla’s Pirates for a day of plunderin’ and music.

Before I close this long-winded epistle, let me urge you to attend the Ft. Frederick Market Fair, April 22-25 (that’s Thursday thru Sunday) at historic Ft. Frederick in Big Pool, MD (near Hagerstown). You’ll find tons of fun stuff if you’re into living history and historical reenactment during the American Colonial period, French and Indian Wars, Revolution, age of pyracy, etc.

Eat Bertha’s Mussels
They’re the best there is, by far
You can eat them in the dining room
And throw up beside your car
Whenever you’re in Baltimore
And you’d like to throw up in the street
Eat Bertha’s mussels
Just don’t throw up upon your feet

We’re all big fans of the great songwriter Tom Lehrer, big enough to anoint him an Honorary Drunken Ferret, so what better way to celebrate today’s holiday than by spreading around our cover of “The Irish Ballad”? You can hear us in two different St. Patrick’s Day podcasts this week: previously mentioned pirate blogger Bilgemunky and world-famous cover music podcast Coverville. Listen to Bilgemunky here (direct MP3 link; you’ll also want the setlist) and Coverville here! We even show up, without fanfare, in this entry of the Cover Me blog. How nice it is to appear among such august company. Now go drink green things and wear lots of booze!

Wednesday next comes with a very special distinction, as we all are sure to know.  It is a day both blessed and cursed, for it celebrates one of the patrons of my homeland.  I call it cursed in observance of the many here in the States who celebrate it in entirely the wrong manner.  You see, St. Patrick’s Day is the occasion on which the Irish of the world rejoice in their collective heritage, while the Irish of Ireland honor St. Patrick.  I’d like to take this opportunity to share with you all, our devoted readers, the proper means by which one may celebrate St. Patrick’s Day.

To perform this most righteous ritual, you will need:

• Something green
• A church
• Irish soda bread
• Atlantic Salmon or lamb stew
• Guinness
• A 4-leaf clover

When morning rises on St. Patrick’s Day, dress yourself accordingly.  Put on something green!  Not everything green, or some plastic bowler hat with “kiss me I’m Irish” emblazoned all over it in large, bold letters.  A simple touch of green- a green tie, or pin, or ribbons dangling from what was once a woman’s shirt, tied around your right arm.  I wouldn’t recommend cutting said shirt from the woman’s body at Tavern, though, there’s a rule against that (now).  The green is meant to be a subtle homage, because in Ireland, green is everywhere you look!  Outside of Ireland, it tends to show itself on the envious faces of lads admiring the bonny contours of an Irish colleen latched to the arm of another man.  It also shows itself on the faces of the non-Irish who claim Irish blood as an excuse to drink green-tinged beer, but I’ll get into that later.

Once dressed in appropriate attire, your first stop should be morning mass.  After all, this is a Saint’s holiday, and Patrick was rather known for his habit of preaching to the unconverted pagans of the Emerald Isle.  While Patrick was not the first Catholic to set foot on Irish soil, he was among the first to bring the message to the “unwashed” masses.  If you can’t make it to morning mass, at least pop into a church and say a prayer for family and friends.  If you’re pagan like myself, take a moment out from your day to remember those who came before, and give your thanks for those who are yet to come.

While out and about, be sure to greet everyone you see with a heartfelt “beannachtaí na Féile Pádraig oraibh! (buh-KNOCK-tuh na FEEL puh-DRAYG ar-RAY),” which means “St. Patrick’s Day Blessings to you!”  Also, bear in mind that giving a wee pinch to anyone not wearing green on this special is a time-honored tradition in Ireland.  Just keep in mind that decking people who pinch you is also a time-honored Irish tradition.

Going to mass and doing all that pinching while you’re out is sure to work up an appetite, so reach for the corned beef and cabbage, right?  No!  Make yourself a pot of lamb stew, with plenty of potatoes and carrots, or a make a meal of an unsuspecting Atlantic Salmon or Whitefish.  Any of these three are far more Irish than the American tradition of corned beef and cabbage.  Be sure to eat your meal with a bit of Irish soda bread, but make it yourself- the stuff in the stores is far too sweet and confectionary to pass muster.  Wash it down with a good measure of a fine brew- a nice, dark stout.  Guinness is ideal.  What about green beer, you ask?  To make beer turn green it has to be pale enough to take food coloring, which automatically makes it unworthy for an Irishman to drink.  Granted, an Irishman will generally drink whatever’s poured for him, but when toasting “slainte (SLAUN-cha)” to St. Patrick, use real alcohol to honor a real man.  Speaking of which, toast with “slainte!” instead of some terrible overused drivel.  You’ll be saying “to your health!” and wishing any and all within earshot a great many happy returns.

Last but not least, if you can find one, adorn yourself with a four-leaf clover.  If you eat one, it’s sure to bring you luck and love.  Put one in the heel of your left shoe and you’ll marry the next person who comes in the room!  Just make sure it’s not your cousin.  Or Jim.

So, this St. Patrick’s day, do something right.  Show your true Irish pride, be your blood green or orange.  And do it at the Tavern, where we’ll be performing in accordance with our own St. Patrick’s Day traditions!  Come out and hear some good Irish fiddle, folk songs, and let me drink you under the table (or on it)!

I just received word from CD Baby. The money they raised for Haiti relief amounts to…

$23,498.

Not a bad haul for a bunch of landlubbers. Thanks to you lot for buying our CDs and helping ‘em out.

So I walked into a small room, buried in the catacombs of the vastness that is the New Carrollton Federal Building.  It is in this place that I pass as pirate-at-large among the unsuspecting masses of my day-to-day employer.  Well, not in that room specifically, that room was a special trip.  You see, today brought to that room a legion of the second-worst scourge of the lands- vampires.  The worst scourge is so terrible as not to be named, but the bitter rivalry and feud that brews between the kind piratical and the members of this honorless bunch of pajama-wearing nancies is well known to all who sail the seas of the Internets.  Were I to face said scourge in single combat, the world would learn in short order why the fiddler focuses so intently on the music and the lasses- only those two, with the addition of whiskey, can hope to sate his rage.  Still, today brought me toe-to-peg with the second-worst scourge, the vampire.  They came to my place of employ with but one goal- to drain the place dry, one pint at a time.  Did I face them?  Yes.  Did I defeat them?  Yes!  Their pint-draining attack was no match for the sheer volume of Irish whiskey in my blood.  They even jokingly suggested I lay off the sauce for the evening, as in my “diminished condition,” I might have the alcohol tolerance of, say, the Reverend Doctor Skipford von Toumalou.  What farce!  What nonsense!  The British speak truer things than that!  Oh, wait, I’m feeling a bit dizzy… Is that Flint over there, or a boy with an artificial bosom?  *staggers away*

So this weekend past I accomplished two most noble life goals.  Goal one came in the form of taking the especially bonny, especially glorious, especially lascivious web-wench home from the Tavern.  Did I give her a ride?  Count on it.  Did she thank me after, and extend the invitation to do it again at some future date and time?  Count on that too.  Did she ask me to come back and see her again later on in the weekend?  OH yes.  This leads to goal two.

Goal two came in the form of the especially bonny, especially glorious, especially lascivious web-wench inviting me into her most private bedroom, wherein I did, and with full knowledge and intent of the act to be performed, take her to her bed.  With her husband, unsuspecting, in the next room!  It’s good to be the Fiddler.  The world may never know or fully appreciate the mysteries and glories beheld by me that day, in that room, in such singular company as hers.  It is, truly, good to be the fiddler.

Today it was my civic duty to present myself down in the fair City of Anna to sit upon the panel of jurors.  These American rights, so inconvenient for a visiting pirate.  Needless to say, I escaped the sentence prematurely through a cunning mixture of craft, resource, and convenient timing.  The jury commissioner’s gender helped a bit as well.  The lasses, they can nae resist the Fiddler’s charms.  Shirking civic duties while giving a civil servant a lesson in true… civil servitude… life goal achieved.

Later on, I learned of an alternate place on this great, wide Internets wherein the people gather to worship and appreciate us pirates even more than here!  That place- freepirateporn.com Facebook.  That’s right, the Fiddler is on Facebook.  Commence with the cyber-wenching!

And in the vein of wenching, I’ll be at Tavern for the next few weeks!  Lasses, come out and be entertained!  Or wenched.  Or mayhaps even seduced.  That works too.