🚀 go-pugleaf

DAVE BARRY
	The reason we bought a motorboat is, we needed a new kitchen. Our
current kitchen has a lot of problems, such as a built-in Colonial-era
microwave that we think might not be totally safe because it can cook
food that is sitting as far as 15 feet away. We had spent months
striding around our current kitchen, making sweeping gestures and saying
things like, ``We'll move the sink over there!''
	What a pair of goobers. As you experienced renovators know, it's
easier to construct a major suspension bridge than to move a residential
sink. Thousands of homeowners who embarked on sink-relocation projects
during the Eisenhower administration are still washing their dishes in
the bathtub. My wife and I kept running into people like this, people
with plaster dust in their hair and hollow eyes from spending their
wretched nights sleeping in the garage and their bleak days waiting
desperately for workmen who inevitably made things WORSE. ``We have no
telephone or electricity or water,'' the Renovation People would say,
``and on Monday a man is supposed to come and take all our oxygen.''
	This was discouraging, but we really needed a new kitchen. Finally
we said, OK, if we don't do it now, we're never going to do it, so we
decided to bite the bullet and: buy a motorboat. Our reasoning was,
``Hey, if we have a motorboat, we'll have Family Outings where we can
experience Togetherness and possibly crash into a reef and sink, and
then it won't matter about our kitchen.''
	But reefs were not our immediate problem. Our immediate problem was
something much worse, a daunting nautical challenge that has tested the
courage of mariners since ancient times, namely: backing the boat into
the carport. The trick to remember here is, if you turn your car wheels
to the right (``starboard,'') the boat trailer will actually go to the
LEFT (``forecastle'') until your wife (``Beth'') announces that you ran
over a sprinkler head (``$12.95''). Using this procedure, I was able to
get the boat into the carport in no more time than it took for Magellan
to reach Guam.
	We kept the boat moored in the carport for several weeks, after
which we decided -- call us bold adventurers -- to try it on actual water.
We met at the marina with our salesperson, Dale, who showed us how to
launch the boat via a terrifying procedure wherein I had to back the
trailer down a scary ramp RIGHT INTO THE BAY. I have since learned that,
here in Miami, on weekends, amusement-seekers will come to the marina,
set up folding chairs, and spend a highly entertaining day watching boat
owners perform comical maneuvers, such as forgetting to set their
parking brakes and having their cars roll down the ramp and disappear,
burbling gaily, below the surface. In the generous nautical tradition of
rendering assistance to those in need, Miami boat owners sometimes --
this is all true -- get into gunfights over whose turn it is to use the
ramp.
	Fortunately, we had Dale with us, so we had no trouble getting out
on the water, where he taught me the basics of seamanship. Here's how it
went:
	DALE: OK, you see that shoal over there?
	ME: No.
	DALE: OK, you see that marker over there?
	ME: No.
	DALE: Do you want to take the wheel for a while?
	ME: No.
	Finally, when I was fully confident that, if necessary, I could
take the boat out myself and get everyone killed, we returned home to
spend a carefree evening washing our hull. You have to do this because
it turns out that -- get ready for a fascinating nautical fact -- SEA
WATER IS VERY BAD FOR BOATS. I'm serious. Ask any boat owner. Sea water
contains large quantities of barnacles and corrosion, which will rapidly
turn your boat into a giant piece of maritime crud.
	So while I was scrubbing my hull, I had this blinding insight: The
smart thing to do, clearly, is NEVER PUT THE BOAT INTO THE WATER. I
shared this insight with some other boat owners, and they all agreed
that, definitely, putting your boat into the water is asking for
trouble. Most of them have had their boats sitting in their driveways
long enough to be registered historical landmarks.
	A group of us boat owners were discussing this one evening at a
party featuring beer, which is how we decided to hold a Driveway
Regatta. Really. I have the whole thing on videotape. We had it on our
driveway, and we had four boats, on trailers, secured via anchors in the
lawn, trees, etc. The judges awarded First Prize to a dentist named
Olin, whose boat not only contained golf clubs and a croquet set, but
also had a spider web containing a certified spider that had apparently
died of old age. It was a fine afternoon, and nobody got seasick, and we
even -- try this at sea -- had pizza delivered. I would have cooked, but
we really need a new kitchen.
	
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