Tour of Jessica Watson’s Yacht

Jessica Crosses the Equator

Jessica’s Christmas Video Message

Jessica Watson Rounds Cape Horn!

i’m like a schoolboy with this jessica watson story. love this kid. and yes, i’m fluent with the arbitrary dicta of the WSSRC and supposed deficiencies of her route, and i know that the state was all up inside her accomplishment from start to finish (including a silver-level sponsorship from the criminal agency calling itself the government of new south wales). i also know her blog entries were likely edited by others before presentation, technology blurs the “unassisted” line, her parents are supposedly wealthy, she’s a “global warming” gulper, she used a self-steering aid, and blah blah blah. oh, and you’re probably sick of her.

some things that kick ass about jessica watson and her adventure:

• she’s intelligent, soulful, enthusiastic, cheerful, artistic, and independent. balls included.
• she was a 16-year-old girl, now 17, who chose to be physically alone for seven months, some of it in the earth’s more desolate places.
• on her first major test voyage she collided with a ship… then didn’t slink off into a corner and disappear. how she handled the collision is alone worth a short book.
• she has a squeaky voice that lulls her detractors into further stupidity.
• she’s unapologetic and supportive of her private sponsors.
• she’s insanely photogenic even though not an overt knockout.
• she rammed one up creepy kevin rudd’s arse.
• her team chose mechanical instead of electrical self-steering, which may be a major reason she succeeded.
• her video clips from the trip are usually more interesting than the average full-length movie.
• sailing rules. sailing solo nonstop “unassisted” around the world jams steady.

her interaction with sailing circumnavigator jesse martin is fun to watch. his 1999 circumnavigation and book/documentary inspired jessica to do her thing, and he supported her energetically, as did solo sailor mike perham, who now apparently asserts boyfriendship to our jess. cool watching those three sail the boat back from the sydney harbour finish line to the dock. also interesting that sailor jesse martin is a far more intuitive interviewer than the career hacks who at the worst times kept shoving their sponsorship in jessica’s face. yes, i know too much about this story. pathetic. it’s a good’n though. hope when the book’s written they don’t obscure her voice in the process.

now i’m going to yap off about the “around the world” controversy:

it’s impossible to sail around the world according to a geometric mind set. the pristine course must bisect the globe (e.g., on the equator, around the poles), holding the line exactly. land, ice, and physics demand massive deviation from that ideal, which then leads to arbitrariness. are antipodes enough? how many pairs? when does the distance requirement become mere sailing in busywork circles?

i agree that crossing the equator’s a minimum absolute criterion, but after that it tends toward dogma. i don’t think a single pair of antipodes makes it unambiguous. i don’t think anything less than infinite antipodes (perfect great circle course) is clear, and that’s impossible.

i can dig that walking a 20′ path around the south pole doesn’t qualify for a rollicking celebration of your circumnavigational achievement, but maybe it’s good behavior to not knee-jerk every non-WSSRC-sanctioned ATW trip into pooh-pooh nothingness. look at the course and celebrate accordingly, far from binary fiction land.

last bit, and someone to watch: laura dekker is another independent sailor girl, but one the state’s fucking with in the extreme because of her age (14). goons have inserted themselves beyond parental control, and it sucks heavily. however, even with their interference she may become the youngest solo unassisted ATW sailor.

[...]

We passed across Holborn, down Endell Street, and so through a zigzag of slums to Covent Garden Market. One of the largest stalls bore the name of Breckinridge upon it, and the proprietor a horsy-looking man, with a sharp face and trim side-whiskers was helping a boy to put up the shutters.

“Good-evening. It’s a cold night,” said Holmes.

The salesman nodded and shot a questioning glance at my companion.

“Sold out of geese, I see,” continued Holmes, pointing at the bare slabs of marble.

“Let you have five hundred to-morrow morning.”

“That’s no good.”

“Well, there are some on the stall with the gas-flare.”

“Ah, but I was recommended to you.”

“Who by?”

“The landlord of the ‘Alpha.’ ”

“Oh, yes; I sent him a couple of dozen.”

“Fine birds they were, too. Now where did you get them from?”

To my surprise the question provoked a burst of anger from the salesman.

“Now, then, mister,” said he, with his head cocked and his arms akimbo, “what are you driving at? Let’s have it straight, now.”

“It is straight enough. I should like to know who sold you the geese which you supplied to the Alpha.”

“Well then, I shan’t tell you. So now!”

“Oh, it is a matter of no importance; but I don’t know why you should be so warm over such a trifle.”

“Warm! You’d be as warm, maybe, if you were as pestered as I am. When I pay good money for a good article there should be an end of the business; but it’s ‘Where are the geese?’ and ‘Who did you sell the geese to?’ and ‘What will you take for the geese?’ One would think they were the only geese in the world, to hear the fuss that is made over them.”

“Well, I have no connection with any other people who have been making inquiries,” said Holmes carelessly. “If you won’t tell us the bet is off, that is all. But I’m always ready to back my opinion on a matter of fowls, and I have a fiver on it that the bird I ate is country bred.”

“Well, then, you’ve lost your fiver, for it’s town bred,” snapped the salesman.

“It’s nothing of the kind.”

“I say it is.”

“I don’t believe it.”

“D’you think you know more about fowls than I, who have handled them ever since I was a nipper? I tell you, all those birds that went to the Alpha were town bred.”

“You’ll never persuade me to believe that.”

“Will you bet, then?”

“It’s merely taking your money, for I know that I am right. But I’ll have a sovereign on with you, just to teach you not to be obstinate.”

The salesman chuckled grimly. “Bring me the books, Bill,” said he.

The small boy brought round a small thin volume and a great greasy-backed one, laying them out together beneath the hanging lamp.

“Now then, Mr. Cocksure,” said the salesman, “I thought that I was out of geese, but before I finish you’ll find that there is still one left in my shop. You see this little book?”

“Well?”

“That’s the list of the folk from whom I buy. D’you see? Well, then, here on this page are the country folk, and the numbers after their names are where their accounts are in the big ledger. Now, then! You see this other page in red ink? Well, that is a list of my town suppliers. Now, look at that third name. Just read it out to me.”

“Mrs. Oakshott, 117, Brixton Road — 249,” read Holmes.

“Quite so. Now turn that up in the ledger.”

Holmes turned to the page indicated. “Here you are, ‘Mrs. Oakshott, 117, Brixton Road, egg and poultry supplier.”

“Now, then, what’s the last entry?”

” ‘December 22d. Twenty-four geese at 7s. 6d.’ ”

“Quite so. There you are. And underneath?”

” ‘Sold to Mr. Windigate of the Alpha, at 12s.’ ”

“What have you to say now?”

Sherlock Holmes looked deeply chagrined. He drew a sovereign from his pocket and threw it down upon the slab, turning away with the air of a man whose disgust is too deep for words. A few yards off he stopped under a lamppost and laughed in the hearty, noiseless fashion which was peculiar to him.

“When you see a man with whiskers of that cut and the ‘Pink ‘un’ protruding out of his pocket, you can always draw him by a bet,” said he. “I daresay that if I had put 100 pounds down in front of him, that man would not have given me such complete information as was drawn from him by the idea that he was doing me on a wager. [...]

on the audio side, here’s the type of demisemi-analogous microphone donna summer used to record her vocals on Another Place and Time.

here’s a YouTube of the full spanish “Yankee Rose”.

can’t stop the signal.

Gina Carano may still be the face of women’s MMA, but she’s not the best female fighter in MMA. Cris Cyborg destroyed Carano in the main event of Saturday night’s Strikeforce card, beating her throughout the first round and finally winning by TKO just before the round came to an end.The fight was fast-paced and exciting from the start, but it was never particularly close. Cyborg was simply bigger, stronger and tougher, and she battered Carano throughout the first round. Carano showed great heart and wouldn’t give up, and she did land her fair share of strikes and mount Cyborg on the ground. But Cyborg’s punches were too powerful for Carano to take.

The official stoppage from referee Josh Rosenthal came at 4:59 of the first round, and at first there was some question as to whether Rosenthal had stopped the fight or just the first round. But Carano was being battered badly by Cyborg, and Rosenthal made the correct decision to protect Carano and end the fight.

“I want to thank Gina Carano for the opportunity, and I want to thank the fans,” the Brazilian Cyborg said afterward, through her translator. “The key tonight was five years of training.” [...]

good vid of the weigh-in:

two women and a young girl walking by asked me about the birds, and we chatted for a bit. the mother mentioned some book about a girl and an owl. since the daughter was obviously very into the birds, i asked if she’d like to feed and water them. she was thrilled, and did a great job with minimal instruction. i dig watching kids discover things.

on the way out the girl asked if she could keep a feather she’d found on the floor. can’t stand drone kids, and this was the anti-drone prototype. wonderful. they said goodbye and i figured that was that, since they’re about 40 miles away.

few weeks later i walked into the store and was shooting the bull with my friend. he held up this book and told me a little story. earlier that day a mother and daughter had come into the store and asked for “the owner of the birds”. they said they’d spoken of their visit regularly, and wanted to leave a gift for the bird guy. pretty cool. here’s the inside front cover, inscribed by one of my soul sisters:

that drawing puts a smile on my grumpy mug.