So I am not sure how many of you Non-east coasters experiencing this blog out there are familiar with a little place called Nantucket that hosts a very big event every Memorial day. I spent the first weekend after the New Phase celebration enwrapped in a sail sleeping on the deck of a 36 foot yatch, with a sailor who I shall refer to as Captain Ron, at a race weekend event called Figawi. I am not really sure that I could ever ask for a better way to start a New Phase…?
This entry is dedicated to lust-love and the Young Dandy Society.
WHERE THE FIGAWI? (a little history)
The first Figawi, or so the story goes, started in 1927 when a group of friends and families decided to have a fun regatta from Hyannis to Nantucket during Memorial Day weekend. Agreeing that it would be a great way to officially kick off the sailing season. In a very grassroots manner a tradition was born. But where did this tradition get it’s weird name you wonder? The next piece of the story proved to be apocryphal this past memorial day and perhaps the story behind the given name is folklore, but in years past it has be know that the sound between the Cape and Nantucket can become quite foggy. In the days before iPhones and GPS fog proved to be quite a nuisance for sailors. Of course that very first regatta proved to be a foggy and blustery one, and the legend has it that mid-race one of the sailors had lost track of their course and in his best Cape Cod accent asked “Where the Figawi?” (if there are any of you that I have to spell it out for; it sounds like; Where the fuck are we?) And a race weekend was born. Now I know for a fact there several people who would disagree with this legend…but it is the best one that I heard the whole time I was there. It’s like summer camp, you pick your favorite tall tail and you run with it.
A CHRONICALIZATION OF THE WEEKEND: (just go with the made up words, because we are not in Kansas anymore.)
Friday 5:30pm Eastern Standard Time:
I had not left New York City in two and a half months. If any of you have ever lived in a concrete jungle you will be able to empathize with my actions as I stepped out of the car; imagine me, walking into my friend Al’s guest house, grabbing a beer and stretching out my arms while spinning in a circle saying: “ space, space, space…” This reoccurred a baker’s dozen more times as the weekend progressed.
8:00pm The calm before the launch…
My dear host and hostess Dex and Al had a small gathering at Dex’s house the night before the race. It was the foreplay before the real party began on Nantucket. I was still naïve to the situation that would bombard me upon boarding the first class Hy-Line ferry the following afternoon. I was about to enter a party that resembled a veritable pupu plater of Marti Gras and MTV Spring Break. Which was also blended(literally due to the gas powered blenders that were churning up frosted drinks in scores) with a touch of class due to the strictly A-list political crowd(namely the Kennedy clan). It occurred to me that after it was over Marti Gras and MTV Spring Break could take some notes from Figawi race weekend. There is nothing wrong with gorgeous sailors in Nantucket Reds and real wind powered yachts, versus the cheesy high-powered cigarette boats of a typical MTV style slosh fest. As the saying goes it was a (hot) drinking team with a sailing problem.
At noon the next day we headed for the ferry…
Anyone for Rum punch?
If a college freshman had a staple drink of choice it would be McCormick’s Vodka or Natty Light. The staple for sailors is Rum, and the staple for Figawi is Rum Punch. The beauty of Rum Punch is that much like many of my Kegs and Eggs college experiences or my Mimosa’s at Sunday brunches in NYC is that it is totally appropriate to have as much Rum Punch at any hour you wish, and especially appropriate at nine in the morning.
I felt privileged to partake in what is known as a “Kooler Down.” This is Dex’s family’s secret Rum Punch concoction, unfortunately he could not reveal the recipe, but it was divine and tasted of cranberry, pineapple, and rum with just a hint of something medicinal. I would not be surprised if it did contain some Dayquil. It is a struggle to keep the party alive after a few days at Figawi, and Dayquil can be a great source of caffeine. (I do not actually condone this).
Dirty Jokes and Old Men…
The day after the first leg of the race all of the Figawi participants gather in a large tent for free Mimosas and dirty joke time. Yes, the mic is open to all, and anything is fair game. I saw man my father’s age recite the following;
“ So this guy goes to the house next door and says to his neighbor, ‘Gee I think my wife is dead.’ And the neighbor says, ‘Really? Why do you think that?’ And the first guy says, ‘Well the sex is the same but the dishes are piling up in the sink.’”
Typically I would find this fairly offensive, but there were several women who came to the mic with far dirtier jokes than I would care to mention here. Feel free to ask me in person, but they are nasty. Plus after everyone has had a few complimentary Mimosas the crowd is pretty loosened up. I am a little embarrassed to admit that it was one of the funniest things I have ever attended.
I was most touched by the song and dance put on by a group know as the “ Band of Angels” who are responsible for the free cocktails and dirty joke session. After two hours of obscene jokes they all gather on stage for a little song and dance that they put on every year. It was the ritual, the closeness and the apparent familial connection that this group had which made me remember the importance of ritual and community. That even though I am often lost among the vast legions of people in New York that my life and relationships here are just starting to reveal themselves. I know that in Minneapolis, where I was born 25 years ago during the previous phase, there is a community of people where the lines between friendship and my blood are hard to draw. Some dirty jokes and a little song and dance was all it took to resuscitate that side of my soul…well…at least the was the beginning of my re-awakening.
Captain Ron
Now as mentioned in the previous entry I broke up with my boyfriend of three years last October. It has been difficult to move forward and I found the winter to be rather stagnant in terms a re-bound dating scene. There was the wonderful and sweet foreign guy #1. Unfortunately, he still lives overseas and after his two weeks in America he had to return to school. I have always been in favor of distance since I like to have my space from my man but the ocean is kind of large a pond for me to bridge for a guy, especially on my budget.
Then there were a few hot dates with foreign guy #2. A beautiful Italian, Alessandro, whose fluency in the language of love made up of for his lack of fluency in English.
Next there was Steffan who had graduated from Yale and attended Columbia for Law school and lived in a fabulous apartment in Chelsea. He was one of those guys who sounds absolutely fabulous and who is incredibly sweet, but he was still running off to Vegas with his brother every other weekend to gamble and drink…and he snorted when he laughed. There were a few too many deal breakers to continue on.
Following that brief dating period there were the dark ages of nothingness in which I proceeded to occasionally meet with my ex for a rendezvous… why do I do things like this? Also during that dark ages I managed to get a little too tipsy and smooch one of my best friends…again…why do I do things like this? Then there was the most recent “shit where you eat” and kiss a co-worker move. I never managed to get too far down the rabbit hole with him and was able to dig my way out…but Jesus it has been a hell of a rebound.
And then there was Captain Ron. I really hate to think that in this age of empowered women that I let a man be part of the reason that I feel so brought back to life, but fuck it…the new phase it about honesty. Right? It’s like Madonna so famously said; “He made me feel shiny and new…” (omit the next line of the song. It would be impossible for any dude to make me feel as nervous as I did the first time i made love.)
BUT- the blonde haired, blue eyed nearly thirty Captain Ron with his dark South Carolina tan, complete with an endearing and adorable hybrid cape-cod and southern comfort accent to his words really made me feel shiny and new. There was nothing particularly romantic about him, which is a plus since I tend to frown on romance. He didn’t really have anything all too earth shattering to say. Which was great since we both knew that for two nights we would be lovers and on Monday go back to being strangers. But he had what every New York man seems to have been lacking for the last nine months. A down to earth, raw, sincere, don’t give a shit about materials just want to have a good time, drink a cold one and enjoy life attitude.
It has occurred to me that THIS kind of a man was all too easy to find in previous realms of my life. They were practically growing on the trees in Colorado. The mid-west is crawling with these “down-to earth and beautifully simple” types. Naturally when I was there I wanted none of that. I often fantasized about my life in New York with some high-powered man who wore- not suits- but beautiful clothing and took me to fabulous new little underground places that were soon to become a New York social scene staple. These men do exist. In abundence. Unfortunately with this kind of New York fantasy man comes a lot of pretension and pretension seems to be the staple of the New York social scene. I don not think that the beautiful-high powered DOWN TO EARTH New York man actually exists. I have uncovered the New York/Mid-western transplant woman's heterosexual holy grail. If there are any New York men reading this I am spoon feeding you the tools you need in order to get laid by us Nordic Scandinavian Mid-western goddesses, ready for this: JUST BE REAL WITH US.
Can you see how Captain Ron felt like a breath of fresh air? He was straightforward, honest and relaxed. I felt at ease…with a man…for the first time in a while. I fell in love with Captain Ron that weekend. (New Phase goal for the week accomplished!) I will spare you the details of our two nights together, but I will say that things got a little hot on his sailboat; which was very accurately named…ready for this… “ Heat ‘Er Up.”
He was a real shot in the arm for my confidence as well, pretty handsome guy if you ask me. I plan to post pictures in the near future.
As the weekend came to a close on Monday with some more Rum Punch back at the Hyannis Yacht Club, I could feel the angst that sailors must experience as they leave the open ocean and head right for the red return buoys towards land. It was time for me to go back to the city and wash the salty ocean from my hair. At four o’clock a little tipsy, and very refreshed I trimmed my sails and went back to New York.
As the sailors say:
Red. Right. Return.
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Like a waterfall in slow motion, Part One
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She wants her planet back. Woolfy – “Shooting Stars” Funny how his voice in
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