“What do ye think the teacher’s gonna look like this year?”
–Legendary Pirate Captain David Lee Roth
It be yer old salt Cap’n Jim here with a quick update. From September 12 through 15, 2017, save 20% on any order at our humble little website. That’s something even a crusty ol’ schoolmarm could get behind. And since we know all of you love saving a few doubloons, don’t forget we offer FREE US SHIPPING on all orders of .
Which all reminds me of a story. Well, to be fair, everything reminds me of a story. No one has ever accused me of not being loquacious.
MS. STARSHINE & PROJECT BEARD
Decades ago when yer Cap’n was just a wee lad of 16, I had the loveliest AP US History teacher ye might have ever laid peepers on. I will call her Ms. Starshine, since she had a lovely hippie vibe. In perhaps her mid thirties, she often wore flouncy tie-dye and beads. She was scimitar-smart, a fabulous teacher — and certainly a bit demanding and ruthless when it came to insisting I pay attention and stop disrupting the class. I was indeed the class irritant and well-known school practical joker. Indeed, I was the bane of Vice Principal Apodaca, a disco weasel in perfect, expensive suit, whose job it was to enforce order and to make sure miscreants like me knew there be only so much leash allowed — whose parameters I’d constantly test, of course.
Arr, but what I wish I could have told Ms. Starshine was that it was in fact her spectacular derriere that was by far the most disruptive influence in that classroom, and every lad (and likely a few lasses as well) could not help “butt” to take notice.
Ms. Starshine also often wore disco jeans. Perhaps you remember these. Here’s to you, Sergio Valente. Truth be told, Ms. Starshine’s appeared to have been painted on. Now perhaps ye might think this incongruous with the hippie vibe, but this being 1980, we were in a bit of a style vacuum, and into that vacuum stepped the mighty swishy aft section of the good ship Starshine. Her booty wasn’t disproportionate or voluminous – but it was perfect.
One day her pants were flesh-colored. Fairly certain I wasn’t the only one of me mates to store that one high up in the spank bank!
Needless to say, within a month or so yer humble narrator developed a bit of a pathetic schoolboy crush on Ms. Starshine. Me first pathetic attempts to curry favor with her involved BS’ing her about how much I loved a certain news magazine. Every Wednesday she would hand out copies of “Newsweek” to everyone in class (this being 1980, public schools still had budgets, mind ye.) Then for 45 minutes she would make us read it. Then we’d have a class discussion about the things we found of interest. Her goal being, of course, to hip us to world news and events. I vaguely remember leading a long discussion about Pink Floyd’s “The Wall” tour and defending it against attacks of sexism from an ill-informed female sanitary product posing as a fellow classmate. Thus, one day after class I worked up my nerve and laid it on thick to Ms. Starshine, certainly an award-worthy performance, gushing about much I’m learning and evolving from reading the corporate media rag and telling her how much that meant experience to me (gag). Me best guess is that she thought me a bit daft (correctly) and likely trying to shine her up good (also correctly.) Perhaps somehow the subtext of “I’d really like to put me plank right in yer poopdeck” might also have come through a bit. Alas, she had me pegged as the kid who’d rather joke about kids who study than be one.
As the semester went by, I realized that my only shot with this hot-for-teacher was to change me appearance. Now as an Italian through and through, growing voluminous hair has always been fairly easy for me. Indeed, able to grow a full mustache when I was 13, I was. So I rolled out Project: Beard. The idea was, of course, to show me sudden maturity and viability as a boning partner for the ass-tounding history teacher. For the next several weeks I worked at the beard. And by “worked at it,” I mean I wondered why in blazes it was looking so thin and reedy. Where was that Lou Ferrigno in “Hercules” look I was going for. Arrgh, not so much, lads.
Delusion won the day (it usually does) and I decided to make a real move regardless. I was driving at this point, and in fact (inexplicably) me parents occasionally let me drive the Audi sports car, rather than the barge-like orange Volvo wagon. So feeling both nervous and cocky (hey, I be driving a cool car!) I stayed after class on some excuse and proceeded to blitheringly convey to Ms. Starshine that if she needed a ride home or anything, I have wheels. And it’s an Audi 5000 Turbo.
I’m sure she groaned and tensed inside, but she smiled and replied, “Oh, you’re so sweet. But Nick is driving me home today.” When me daft, blank response indicated that I had no idea what she meant, she continued,
“My fiancee. Nick Apodaca.”
Boom. Yer Cap’n took some shrapnel to the chest that day, lads, it be true. I don’t right recall what happened after that — all a bit of a blur. But seriously — NICK APODACA! I wish I had a photo of this guy, but I do not, alas. So let me sketch something real quick so ye can get the idea. Something like this. Yes, this Tom Selleck wannabe with the perpetual scowl, ready to hand out detention for minor nonsense like mooning the Regents meeting or that time I changed out the coffee creamer with cement in the faculty lounge. Not sure what she ever saw in this lubber, except perhaps, all things considered he was 6’1″ and good-looking. But his hair was a greasy, painted-on helmet, and he, lads, was what we seaman commonly refer to as a narwhal’s arse.
Aye lads, well, I learned many things from that experience. Firstly, I learned that while it probably be a waste of time trying to punch above yer own weight class — that time is ours to waste, right? Aim high, lads, and go down swinging! I also learned that Ms. Starshine wasn’t as smart as I thought she was, and in retrsopect, her overall figure would likely be considered average — but for those jeans and our roily teen libidos.And I learned I preferred ships to Audis. But that goes without saying.
But most importantly, rogues, I learned if yer gonna go for it, make sure yer beard be up to the task! If only I’d had Blackbeard for Men back then to fill in that beard. Who knows? (yer Cap’n remains delusional, lads, rest assured.)
Remember, we love to hear from the crew! Send us yer own marauding stories or a beardnificent photo.
May yer mast and yer drink always be stiff.