Fishing [Ryan]

I don’t get fishing.

It’s not that I’ve never done it; I have many fond memories of sitting, freezing on a boat in the middle of a lake, downing the last of the Cheez ‘n Crackers, as my dad waited for some particularly stupid fish to ignore the mistakes of his predecessors and bite the lure.

And it’s not that I hate it, either; unlike certain activities, like golf, I can see how fishing might be fun: you get to see nature, you get to spend time with the people you love — you know, stuff like that. But I can get those experiences by hiking, or by living with my family in a cabin in the woods filled with pizza and "The Office" DVDs.

Thus, it’s just that I don’t see the point of fishing. True, if tomorrow the world were reduced to a post-apocalyptic landscape and we had to forage for food, fishermen would suddenly be in high demand. But for the modern fisherman, actually eating the fish seems secondary to the apparent joy of sitting for an hour in anticipation of reeling in a fish, watching it wriggle around in the air, then tossing it back into the depths from which it came.

Am I missing something? I imagine it must be weird for the fish, as well. There they are, just going about their menial lives, when they are suddenly whisked into air, subjected to various indignities, and then thrust back home without explanation or apology. I bet that’s what an alien abduction feels like.

Then there’s the environmental factor. Fishermen will brave cold, rain, heat, and sometimes active volcanoes for the chance to dip their line into the water. I remember a time we went to Mexico. My dad, not content to enjoy the beaches or pyramids, took my brothers and me on a six-hour fishing trip in a tiny boat with a guide named Angel or Jorge or something like that. It was a chance for my brothers and me to become men, or at least reasonably adept net-holders for when Dad caught a fish.

Imagine, if your faculties can envision such a scene: there we were, sitting in the searing afternoon heat, honoring the ancient tradition of father/son/Mexican guide bonding time with an equally ancient boat. We couldn’t swim (that would scare the fish). We couldn’t talk loudly (that would also scare the fish). The fish weren’t biting. Jorge Angel stood on the prow of the boat like Columbus entering the Americas, casting his long shadow across the water, but that didn’t scare the fish. I think my dad caught a few fish, but I can’t help but wonder if we were somehow outsmarted by beings with brains the size of Skittles. (My personal theory is that there were very few fish in the first place; most of them were on vacation, checking out the ruins at Chichen Itza or Uxmal.)

I love the outdoors, but I don’t need to be knee-deep in icy water or adrift underneath a scalding sun to enjoy it. If you’re a fisherman (and all of my immediate paternal ancestors are), you go enjoy it. It’s just not for me.

Five principles of girl-ness

Before I begin my regular column, I think I owe an apology to all the Jane Austen fans I offended last week. No, I take that back — actually, I just an apology to Ms. Austen herself. Jane, you’re welcome to stop by and have a free Otter Pop anytime — on me, as a token of my regret for my naïve suggestion that your books might benefit from a little less feminine angst and a few more gunfights.

To any Twilight fans I may have offended, however — well, you’re on your own.

There are some things we’re not meant to know. Where dinosaurs fit into the scheme of things, for instance. Or why the Spori doesn’t have a vending machine for drinks.

Or what drives the inner workings of the female mind.

Nevertheless, I’m going to sum up the basics of what I’ve learned in my years of living on the same planet as the female half of the human race.

Correct me if I’m wrong, which I probably will be.

Principle #1 — Girls are absolutely necessary for the survival of the species. Just trust me on that one. Or go ask your mom.

Principle #2 — Girls don’t have any clue what they want. In this way, they are much like sea sponges, except more infinitely intelligent, more beautiful, and somewhat less predictable. So — not like sponges at all, I guess. (The analogy was worth a shot.)

Principle #3 — Girls don’t mean exactly what they say. I reference Kelly Kapoor from The Office: “Who says exactly what they’re thinking? What’s up with that?”

If a girl tells you she wants to hang out sometime, what she actually means is a) she is trying to be nice and doesn’t seriously want to do anything with you, or b) she actually wants to hang out, or c) she is planning to emigrate to Mexico. It could be any of the three, or none of them. You never actually know.

Principle #4 — Girls tend to be more lovey-dovey than males. They leave posts like this on each other’s Facebook walls: “OMG! You’re so beautiful! Come visit me!” A guy would never, ever, write something like that on another guy’s Facebook wall, even if the alternative proved to be a dire threat to his life or manliness, like having to watch the six-VHS set of Pride and Prejudice.

Principle #5 — Girls are wonderful, beautiful, indispensible additions to humanity, without whom I would probably be at home watching reruns of 24 again this weekend.