Hornswaggler | The culture, the humor, a bit of the sports, not so much the politics, and the workplace distraction
Hornswaggle is an alternate spelling of
hornswoggle, an archaic word that means to bamboozle or hoodwink. I take my
pronunciation from the late Harvey Korman in "Blazing Saddles" --
"I want rustlers, cutthroats, murderers,
bounty hunters, desperados, mugs, pugs, thugs, nitwits, halfwits, dimwits,
vipers, snipers, conmen, Indian agents, Mexican bandits, muggers,
buggerers, bushwhackers, hornswagglers, horse thieves, bull dykes, train
robbers, bank robbers, ass kickers, shit kickers and Methodists!"
Hello hello. We found this tattered journal, written on waxed paper, washed up on the rocks in Bolinas. Very odd. Not sure what to make of it:
Tuesday July 2, 2002; 7:32 a.m. Yesterday was my first day among the harbor seals of Bolinas Lagoon. Suffice it to say I am glad I bought the thickest wet suit I could find, because I was the target of several bites from some of the more aggressive and protective individuals in the group. Nonetheless I have made some headway and they appear to be tolerating my presence. 6:45 p.m. We spent most of today basking on the sand bar, with a few breaks for frolicking and catching fish. With my flippers and mask I am able to keep up with them on a rudimentary level, but clearly I have much work to do.
Wednesday July 3; 12:11 p.m. Arrived back at the lagoon this morning. The seals have begun to accept me. It looks like a female I've named Linda ventured out too far beyond the lagoon last night and had a nasty brush with a shark. Also, had my first taste of raw fish, which I scavenged from the catch of one of the males. Leaves much to be desired. 4:53 p.m. Briefly detained and questioned by the sheriff's department after complaints from drivers on the two-lane road that runs by the sand bar. They've warned me to stay away but I know that to be impossible. There is just too much work to be done.
Thursday July 4; 2:39 p.m. While most Americans celebrate Independence Day with a BBQ in the company of family and friends, I munch on a half-eaten fish and ponder what I've learned so far. I jousted briefly today with the bull male, Squiggy, for a prime piece of real estate on the sand bar next to Sheila, the group's finest mating specimen. But his strength was too much and, after five minutes of vigorous posturing, chest bumping and barking, I was forced to admit defeat.
