'Pastafarians Invade Catalina'
I understand what a treacherous situation we had unwittingly put ourselves in. Now that the Noodly Appendage has touched us, we realize what a perilous time we inhabited.
Photos of Pastafarian flags, tremulous in urbane breezes off Two Harbors, sparked this recollection.
On our honeymoon in 2002, my bride (atheist) and I (a-religious) choppered from Long Beach to Catalina. I was thinking that almost anyone would feel tall stooping to exit a helicopter with head intact as I did so. The village of Avalon can be described as a netherworld of small and 'short' or even 'dwarfed' streets. A fleet of golf-carts, nothing more than 'midget' cars, buzz harmlessly up and down the noodly byways.
We walked the short distance to our accommodation on a little hill. It featured low ceilings, short doors and a tiny bed. The place was short on amenities but did offer a plethora of Zane Grey novels. I still haven't read 'em.
Once we had settled in, we ventured down to the dwarf, er, I mean wharf or harbor or marina. I still felt tall and didn't know why. Was it the euphoria of still having a head or the heady excitement of being on my honeymoon?
It was neither. I had experienced this sensation some years earlier among the indigenous population of landlocked (no pirates) Bolivia.
I/we were tall. It was a midget convention. Boatloads of little people had been infiltrating Avalon all week. It was culminating in this weekend long celebration of small persons.
I realize now that among the hundreds of sail-boat masts, rocking like a drunken forest, not a single Jolly Roger flew. This was a place desperately in need of a pirate intervention.
I would bet that not a single midget was at Two Harbors or Avalon during the Pastafarian Invasion.
Spaghettily yours. Ramen!
Photos of Pastafarian flags, tremulous in urbane breezes off Two Harbors, sparked this recollection.
On our honeymoon in 2002, my bride (atheist) and I (a-religious) choppered from Long Beach to Catalina. I was thinking that almost anyone would feel tall stooping to exit a helicopter with head intact as I did so. The village of Avalon can be described as a netherworld of small and 'short' or even 'dwarfed' streets. A fleet of golf-carts, nothing more than 'midget' cars, buzz harmlessly up and down the noodly byways.
We walked the short distance to our accommodation on a little hill. It featured low ceilings, short doors and a tiny bed. The place was short on amenities but did offer a plethora of Zane Grey novels. I still haven't read 'em.
Once we had settled in, we ventured down to the dwarf, er, I mean wharf or harbor or marina. I still felt tall and didn't know why. Was it the euphoria of still having a head or the heady excitement of being on my honeymoon?
It was neither. I had experienced this sensation some years earlier among the indigenous population of landlocked (no pirates) Bolivia.
I/we were tall. It was a midget convention. Boatloads of little people had been infiltrating Avalon all week. It was culminating in this weekend long celebration of small persons.
I realize now that among the hundreds of sail-boat masts, rocking like a drunken forest, not a single Jolly Roger flew. This was a place desperately in need of a pirate intervention.
I would bet that not a single midget was at Two Harbors or Avalon during the Pastafarian Invasion.
Spaghettily yours. Ramen!
posted by Steve-O at 1:18 PM
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