Volume: 3

Toy Whore

Odd parties and terrible regattas.

It wasn't until I had become an instrument flight instructor, in the eighties, that I became useful to Aaron. Eventually, we made a pact wherein Aaron and I would provide the flight instruction for each other, along with the required logbook signatures. After a year of that, Aaron, with insufficient time due to his business obligations to use his own toys, allowed me to use his airplane, sailboat and powerboat whenever I wanted. "What about your daughters?" I never asked. I had no use for the sailboat. I flew the airplane occasionally. It was the powerboat with its far better on-the-water party platform that was useful. Aaron named his powerboat Honey Bunch after his wife and daughters. If I wanted to use Honey Bunch, I had to schedule it through the mechanic, not Aaron, since something always needed repair. I suspected that most of the repairs were unnecessary, providing income for the mechanic. But, if something ever failed, including a drink holder, I knew who to call.

March, 1996

This weekend's sailing set a personal best for me by being the worst. It had nothing to do with the management of the event, only that I was out there at all, wasting so much time. I'm aware that my life is such that I can complain about sailing on someone's lovely yacht during a relatively pleasant weekend with friends. But for the same reason no one asks Olympic swimmers to compete with both hands tied, I should not try to compete in outdated regattas, assisting a group of old guys who are desperately trying to re-live their glory years.

Why did I agree to go? By helping Aaron race his yacht, I get to fly his fancy airplane and use his speedy powerboat. I am a toy whore.