The Beginning

2010 was the year of the Buddha.

2011 will be the year of the Pirate.

Let me explain.

For Christmas I bought two books for my sister and brother-in-law. The first, for my sister, was a Zombie Combat Manual, because I happen to know that she stays up a-nights putting her plans together in the event that a Zombie Apocalypse should occur. Which is a good idea, really, because all emergency preparedness experts say the best way to survive an emergency is to put a plan in place and mentally and physically practice said plan.

The second book was for my brother-in-law, captain of the canoe The Salty Wench, in which has been experienced many a drunken midnight adventure. He has a fondness for "Pirate Juice," and I'm pretty sure he stays up a-nights dreaming of an unfettered life as a sailor in the Carribean.

So shortly after the New Year I was sitting in their house, dreaming the day away as usual, when genius shot down out of the heavens and made itself known to me. I suddenly sat bolt upright and told my sister,

“You know, I should really just start living like a pirate this year."

What I meant was, last year was hard. In 2010 I went through a separation, a serious bout of joblessness, and the realization that the thing I had been working towards for ten years was probably not going to happen.

Living like a pirate seemed, and still seems, the obvious solution. I need a little swagger, a little civil disobedience, and a little reminder that a purpose-filled life is not always as good as it's cracked up to be.

Plus, I love me some rum.

And while I was at it, and while she was sitting next to me and commending me for such a glorious plan, I suggested that my sister spend her year preparing for when the zombies come, and that we both blog about our experiences. Because let's face it, we are nothing if not narcissistic.

Which, might I add, bodes well for Pirate-making.

Thus the plan was born. My sister will systematically prepare and implement a zombie-combat course of action, while I drink rum, insult people, and search for wenches.

Frankly, my plan sounds like a lot more fun, but when the zombies come (and they will), I'm hoping I can hide behind Lil and just wave my cutlass around in return for a cask o' rum.