As I write this, I am on vacation in Maui, sitting on a sectional sofa in a cozy rented condo, overlooking the ocean. Whales are plainly in view, breaching and spouting and carrying on. Every time I see one, I feel as if I’m watching something special. It never seems to get old.
I can’t figure out why the hell I want to spend so much time staring at whales. I’m generally hard to amuse. But if a whale spits some water out of a blow hole (I like saying blow hole) half a mile away, I think I just witnessed the birth of Jesus. And if I see 10% of a whale’s back, I practically achieve a full climax.
This puzzles me because I don’t even respect whales that much. They eat too much and they’re too dumb to breathe underwater like the fish they ought to be. They are essentially cows that like water.
This morning at about dawn, I was sipping some green tea and looking for more whales from the comfort of my condo. Suddenly I spotted a whale down on the beach. It appeared to be dead. This excited me because I’ve always wanted to see a dead whale up close. I couldn’t wait to finish my tea, grab my flip flops and take a better look. But in time, the light of day informed me that it was only a large rock.
The bottom line is that I spent a good 30 minutes being entertained by a rock impersonating a dead whale. Tonight I plan to drink some Grey Goose and stare at that rock again. This is a great vacation so far.