Perhaps in keeping with his recent presentation as Barnacle Bill the Sailor, Kid Rock showed up to a press conference in Detroit yesterday on a standing paddleboard. Er, a paddle surfboard. Whatever. A board that you stand on, while propelling yourself with a long-handled paddle. You’ve seen them. They’re a thing now.
He was accompanied by two Red Wings, but I don’t think that has anything to do with the paddling, except that they’d be familiar with holding long sticks.
I’m well-acquainted with paddle sports; our household owns not one but two kayaks. My first marital argument, I remind you, came on our honeymoon, when we squabbled over my front-seat driving in a two-person kayak on Monterey Bay, the front being the passenger seat in paddling. The woman guiding the tour suggested we were both too strong to be in one boat, and no, it wasn’t an omen or anything.
Everything I know about paddling suggests standing is a dumb way to do it. A paddler will encounter a strong current crossing the Detroit River — although less so on that side of Belle Isle, the city park/island where the presser was held — and you want to be low, so that your body doesn’t becomes a sail, taking you someplace you don’t want to go. Also, no PFDs on any of them. Bad role modeling, gentlemen!
A quick Google tells me stand-up paddle surfing is a Hawaiian practice that allows a surfer to see more of what’s coming, wave-wise, which makes perfect sense. On flat water far from a coastline, it’s just a way for everyone to say, “Hey, look who’s coming across the water” and avoid the frequently ungraceful exit from a boat in front of a bunch of cameras.
If they really wanted to look cool, they’d have showed up on horses.
The above demonstrates a problem with modern life. In the past, if I wanted to know something about standing paddleboards, I’d have called someone. We’d have chatted for a while. Maybe I’d get a story idea out of it, maybe not, but it would involve one person talking to another. Now, a quick clatter on the keyboard, all questions are answered, sometimes in way more detail than I ever sought, but no contact with a fellow human.
This technology, it is wonderful, but not 100 percent.
It is Friday, Friday, time for fun-fun-fun-fun, so let’s go to the bloggage. I have a mind to ride my bike to my morning meeting, which means I have to get out of here early.
The mayor of Warren, a suburb here, is sensitive about his age, and a quick Google image search (sorry for bad-mouthing you two paragraphs ago, Professor G.) suggests why — he is an odd-looking duck, given to coloring his hair, twice-daily exercise and a stated preference for dating younger women. This has bugged some people for a while, and this week, some challengers in the current election cycle sued to require him to tell the world how old he is. I can’t wait to hear the final figure.
A biopic about Dick and Liz (which I don’t need to explain to my elderly readership, do I?) is in the works, directed by my man Marty. I’m so there.
Gin & Tacos looks back at one of the odder events of the Cold War — Mathias Rust’s landing of a Cessna on Red Square 24 years ago.
Finally, a great story out of Florida by none other than one of our commenting community, John Wallace:
Today St. Lucie County Sheriff Mascara announced the arrest of a (Subway) sandwich shop employee who was selling marijuana as well as sandwiches to people who asked for “extra meat.”
I don’t know what’s funnier — the extra meat or the fact St. Lucie County’s sheriff is named “Ken Mascara.”
Happy weekend, all. I’m outta here.