The Purple People — July 17, 2007
Alright, imagine a full on first half of the season going great. The same first half season ended on a high note with a number of oversized reds and a three trout over twenty-eight caught on the same day. Enter the week of the Fourth and a much needed rest for all captains and lodge staff. So, what do the wife and I do? We jam to Houston to watch the Lastros actually win a 14 inning battle with the dreaded Phillies and wunderkind, Ryan Howard and hopefully his rookie of the year follow up, Hunter Pence. Staying at the awesome Inn at the Ballpark, we enjoyed a couple of beers and hotdogs and took in the entire Minute Maid experience, aggressive Gestapo police and all. As we went back to our room with some take out, in went the food and without warning or reason, out came the food. I blamed it on bad food; Ashley blamed it on the beer.
Fast forward to the next morning, as most of you know me, I have a flair for culture and love visiting the Art Galleries of all cities I visit. Moreover, Ashley loves all the new asian art and the HMFA has a great young asian artist exhibit right now. I for one really do not find 8 foot tall furry purple teletubbies as art; but hey, who am I to argue what’s art and what’s not. You know the Supreme Court saying, “I may not be able the define pornography, but I know it when I see it!” About the only thing I remember from ConLaw. Now, remember the big purple people they play into this report heavily in a few paragraphs.
All day, I felt funny and started to attribute it to the beer as well. As Ashley and I made our way south, I felt worse and worse. With family in, I was slated to guide family one day and well, new family, the next. Feeling like, well poop, I guided Saturday and Sunday and I honestly can tell you…I do not remember anything. For me to willing go to the doctor is a call to warning…The last thing I remember with any lucidity…were words like…fecal…bacterial…infection…antibiotics…extremely dehydrated…bed rest….ENTER THE FURRY PURPLE PEOPLE. Imagine six days of bed rest and pure, unadulterated fevered sleep with giant tele-tubbyesque creatures your only guides through a nightmarish Hunter S. Thompson underworld which would have made Dante’s Inferno a playground. The most tortuous one was the green one under the yellow towel in the corner. Every once in awhile he would jump out and jab my foot with needle, or some other sharp instrument and tell me to go to the bathroom…which to spare the details…old Faithful ain’t as faithful as this geyser!
So simple word of warning….NO ART SHOWS BEFORE A FULL BLOWN FEVERISH INFECTION.
As far as the fishing, the bay is as dehydrated as this cat but the water drop appears to be abating. Trout and reds are holding out on the edges in about 3.5 to 6 feet of water. Dad prefers his new penny and lime tiger gulp and Steven and Teddy prefer brighter colors on the edges and Cajun pepper. Me, I have no preference just keep the Purple people away.
Sorry for the delayed reports…but I have a fair reason. And, if anyone sees a little green furry guy sticking out of any of my pockets or tackle boxes…I give you the permission to exterminate with extreme prejudice!
Tell next week! Fair winds and tailing seas!
