Shipping Out

I really, really like old-timey nautical stuff. Seriously. It's a thing. And I can't explain it, because I don't actually want to live on the coast, nor am I particularly fond of the ocean per se. But I can't stop listening to "Shipping Up to Boston" by the Dropkick Murphys (featured in the kick ass new movie The Departed) or "Shanty for the Arethusa" by the Decemberists or "Mrs. McGrath" from the latest Bruce Springsteen album. My favorite book: Moby Dick. Favorite food: fish and chips, followed by clam chowder. I wear a pea-coat in the winter. I think Homer's "Odyssey" explains everything that Moby Dick doesn't. I know a distressing amount about the great maritime empires from the Phoenicians to the British to the Venetians to the Arab trade in the Indian Ocean (go ahead and ask me where the word "dungarees" comes from). I know that their's a church in Detroit consecrated to the shippers on the Great Lakes (The Mariners' Church of Detroit)--I've been there, it's right next to the court house. And I'm endlessly fascinated with whales and dolphins and especially their representation in art--I would buy scrimshaw if I didn't think it probably violates the Endangered Species Act.

I totally just realized all this tonight. I have, in my life lived permanently in Colorado, Arizona, and Michigan. Three better exemplars of every kind of continental interior I defy you to find. And I've been very happy with those choices; hell, I'm kinda scared of the sea. Haven't touched salt water in at least four years despite multiple trips to both coasts since then. What does all this say about me?