Swimming with the Fishes, Fer Reals

So this week I made my plans to go down to Florida and, per my dad's request, scatter his cremains in Florida Bay.

Not terribly funny right? Not material fit for a humor blog? Oh, just you wait for it, my friends.

So in doing some research, I learned that in order to accomplish these last wishes, I wouldn't be able to spread the ashes off a peaceful dock somewhere with a nice view. I would need to rent a boat, since Florida law says you can't spread cremains in the water unless it's three miles off-shore.

Given this is about the same distance I see smokers these days having to walk away from a public building in order to have a cigarette, this wasn't entirely surprising to me.

So the question for me became: what the heck kinda boat does one rent for such an occasion? I mean, this is Dad. This isn't the former Little Big Jimmy Left-Feet of the Parmagiana Crime Family who you speedboat out to the Everglades while playing the Miami Vice theme song, dump him in, and hope for curious crocs before the police get wind.

One has a certain expectation for decorum here.

Worse, I was getting visions of fishing charters where I'd be scattering ashes on one side of the boat while Stan, George and Mindy Sue there on the other side of the boat were tapping a keg and pulling in the Catch of the Day. "Hey, watch it, lady-- it's drifting. You got a little of your father on our flounder!"

(I know, I can't believe I wrote that, either. But this is the way my mind works under stress.)

So I called the main funeral home down in the Keys and explained the situation. They were very understanding and kindly gave me a referral to a reliable place their clients often use in sad times just like this:

It happened to be a dive shop.

Yes, in between snorkeling trips and dolphin wrangling and whatnot, this dive shop takes the bereaved out in boats so their loved ones can swim with the fishes for all eternity.

So very Florida Keys.

But here's the kicker, the thing that nearly made me burst into wholly inappropriate fits of giggles...

I booked the boat, was glad to have this one increasingly complex task finally pinned down, my mind relieved, and the nice Dive Dude says to me, "So, will you be wanting to go in the water after?"

"Um... WHAT?!"

"Well, sometimes people want to do snorkeling trips on the way back."

"From the funeral?"

"Yeah. They stop to go diving. Will anyone be swimming?" he asked, his voice filled with total sincerity.

"Um, no."

To my knowledge, Jimmy Buffet has never mentioned this in his songs.

Doggs and Reindeer Living Together, Mass Hysteria

(Part of the Humor Bloggers Christmas Carnival)

I'd pretty much pooh-poohed all the paranoid blather about 2012 being the End of the World As We Know It...

Until this morning. Because I do believe I saw evidence we're headed that way.

I was flipping channels, enjoying my beloved morning java, and there on my television screen was Martha Stewart and Snoop-Dogg, making holiday brownies together in jarring, surreal camaraderie-- and rapping about it.

Martha Stewart. Rapping.

Snoop-Dogg. Baking.

This alone may be proof that something decidedly strange is up with the Universe.

For me, however, all else remains per the holiday norm. For instance, the Annual Christmas Self-Crippling is well underway.

Yes, nothing suggests a festive holiday like spending it twisted and hobbled like a cross-dressing Tiny Tim with a gland disorder!

I'm not sure why exactly, but every year at this time, I feel compelled to spread Holiday Perfection to all corners of my home-- and apparently mostly those that require ladders and Twister-like contortionist skillz to reach them.

The fact is, my father will be the main person to see this Winter Wonderland of Interior Excess.

And this is a man whose feels he's really home-cooked when nuking instructions exceed three minutes...

A fellow whose most-used dishes come on a roll labeled "Brawny."

There really isn't a lot of pressure here.

Christmas won't skip to next door just because one wayward dust bunny isn't wearing a Santa hat.

Ebeneezer Scrooge won't humbug for all eternity if I don't get the Dickens Village set up this year.

The world will not end if the sugarplums are not moshing away in La-La Land.

If anything, the world ends when Snoop-Dogg starts telling us how to get the perfect glaze on the ham we smoked in our own smokehouse.

The gig is over when Martha starts her program with "Yo, yo, yo, peeps! S to the A to the N-T-A!"

But alas, I still find myself thinking-- if I could only uncover some way to wrap festive holiday lights around the electric heating pad I will be strapped to for the next five days, I could truly multitask.

Some things never change, I suppose.

Hail to your mommas.
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Maybe It's a New Game Show?

Okay, my friends. I want to know what you make of this one...

True story. I was returning from the drugstore, headed back to the office on Tuesday. I went to cross the street at the corner, where there is an apartment building. From the second floor apartment on the corner, from the ledge, there hung the following:

• A long black string
• With a clothespin at the end
• Holding several dollar bills

This was dangling over the street, but no one would have been tall enough to reach it. In other words, you could get to it, but you'd really need a ladder, to be a professsional basketball player with excellent hangtime, or you'd have to be Spiderman.

Yesterday, it was raining, so I didn't go out to see whether it was still there. Today, it was gone entirely.

Now-- my question to you all is....

WHY?

I've been mulling on this quite a bit myself-- y'know, in between zombie-proofing the house-- and I've come up with the following possible theories:

• It was an Idiot Enticement Snare and someone wants to hit it big with a YouTube video
• It was the world's worst wallet
• The renter in the corner apartment continually would leave the apartment without cash. This was supposed to be a time-saver.
• Someone got inspired by the song "Pennies from Heaven" but took into account for inflation
• Worried about robbers, the tenant decided to hide his cash in a place thieves would never ever look
  
• It's a new hit game show called "Jumping for Dollars"?

That's all I have. I'd love to hear suggestions. I'd mentioned before that the area in which I work is a bit like stepping into a Salvador Dali painting on any given day, except with fewer floating body parts. This money on string scheme is just another example of habitual surreality.

And, if I'm right about theory number one, and it ends up being a big YouTube video? I'll be the gal with the unnaturally red hair who walks by, glances up at the camera hidden in the clothespin, and raises an eyebrow... Then moves on...

Oh yes, moves on...
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