Central Park Gondolier

Marriage

2009-10-05T09:01:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, for the first time, a wedding happened on the gondola. Not a proposal for marriage. An actual marriage. It had been in the works for a couple months. The bride and groom didn't just show up at the docks, asking for a sea captain (though technically, I think I can marry people). There was an officiant and everything--a lovely lady who celebrated her 81st birthday recently. Beth. She showed up before the bridal party, and kept offering me eggs she was carrying in a coffee cup. I refused. Multiple times.

Ain't she swell? We circled around by the fountain, waiting for the bridal party to show up. Meanwhile, Beth kept telling me stories about different marriages over which she officiated. (We both occupy different ends of a vertical monopoly on love; me at the proposal end, she at the marriage.) She told me that she once did a wedding on The Lake before. There were rain clouds threatening the entire time, and nothing came down until the very second the bride said 'I do.'

"Oh, it was a real gullywash!" said Beth in the parlance of an old prospector. Well, that really got my gizzard, which, in turn, begat the getting of Beth's gizzard, until the begetting of gizzards was entirely gotten. (We laughed a lot.)

Then the bride and groom showed up with their two lovely girls and their caretaker (Lord, do I wish I had a better memory for names). There were also two surprise guests: twin boys! Andrea is pregnant. Very exciting. My boat captain instincts gave way to suspicion that the twins were some sneaky kind of stowaways. I was only temporarily enraged.

Andres recommended I take them to the far end of the lake for a fine view. We went out to the farthest end, by the Beresford (the three towered building), but there were too many people out. Pristine day for being out in the park.

So we went into a tunnel at the far reaches of the park for a more private setting. Now, in terms of locations for a ceremony: Excellent. The walls arched, creating a beautiful cathedral of perfect acoustics. In terms of gondola parking: difficult. I had tried to enter that tunnel when I started working there, much to my failure. It's shallow and tight, and not wide enough to turn around in. But yesterday it worked perfectly. Spun the boat around, and backed it up like a Mack Truck.

Beth started to read the whole marriage shtick (sickness/health) inside of the tunnel. I've never felt so honored to be a part of something so private and intimate. I could only see Andrea's face as the ceremony went on, as she turned to look at Michael. She held an unbreaking stare into Michael's eyes, letting him know there was nothing that could possibly distract her from then, from forever; it was lovely. Nothing to distract her, except for maybe, in middle of the whole "I do" part, Jasmine, the youngest girl, kept shouting: "Why isn't he rowing?!" It made for an hilarious and beautiful time.

We had to drop Beth off early at one of the side gazebos, where she was going to another wedding where Pete Seeger was playing. But she talked about Pete Seeger so excitedly that it got me to thinking that maybe she wasn't going to another wedding at all. Just a Pete Seeger concert.

Brother Visit

2009-08-28T10:21:00.000-07:00

My oldest brother Keegan, a gondolier in his own right, has become an unofficial photographer for New York's lovely boat. Here's what the man saw.

(THE BETHESDA FOUNTAIN)

Makes for a nice arc. You can sort of see the docking-passenger hangout time-undocking loop in one go.

Chester the Pirate

2009-08-25T09:26:00.000-07:00

If'n I only knew this was a proposal cruise... Rough. Apologies to the young, attractive and gracious couple on board. No apologies to Chester French for kicking them off moments after the video stopped.

Here is their video description:
"Moments before I was about to propose to my girlfriend during a gondola ride at The Boathouse in Central Park we came across the band Chester French recording a music video and they decided to 'involve us' in their video...having helped to settle my nerves I proposed in the restaurant shortly after..but you still owe me $30 for the boat ride Chester French! (catchy song by the way)"

This gondola ride is like the Circus: Intents

2009-08-18T22:58:00.001-07:00

I don't think I fully understand what I'm peddling here. I don’t even know if I endorse it. No. No—don't get me wrong. I have a very precise idea of what the gondola ride is like. And I enjoy it very much. Like, a whole lot. I just sometimes don't know what your idea of what the gondola ride is like. And sometimes those two ideas get embarrassed by each other. As if one opened the door while the other one was going to the bathroom. (Who in the bathroom door situation is supposed to be more weirded out? Who?!!).

There is a complex psychology to the intentions of gondola-romanceers. I can spot you from 80 miles away, Mr. "Gonna get laid tonight cause I'm taking my girl OUTT." But what are you thinking? I mean, don't you know there's going to be another dude on the boat? And don't you know he knows you're thinking about getting laid? No idea what these guys are thinking. The artifice is all there--cue the red Christmas lights, and "When the moon hits your eye." I know an excellent Italian restaurant in the Lower East Side. For whatever masochistic reasons, I probably enjoy these gondola rides the most. At least after they're done.

I really do enjoy the rides where the girl takes the guy along. For his birthday, or whatever excuse she has. I like getting lost imagining the extents of her private romance. Does she expect it to inspire a heart in him? Expect him to be bathed in an Italian splendor after riding in this water chariot, dragging behind it some kind of kicking ghost Hector? Little does she realize that the ghost Hector is the one pushing their boat. Meanwhile, I keep my heart to the invisible wall behind her seat cushion. I suppose this is an even weirder instance to have another dude on the boat.

Then there are the cruises I don’t even know are supposed to be romantic. I had a cruise with two women once, where I dropped into part of the shtick (another theme to be touched on) that I usually reserved for bachelorette parties, families and friends riding together. I say "I know this isn't necessarily a romantic gondola ride, but I have some Italian Love songs for you..." It was automatic at this point. Just said it, without thinking. How was I supposed to know!? I thought one of the ladies hit on me at the dock. I was confused. The response went something like this: "How do you know it's not a romantic gondola ride?" I followed with several "Oh... ums," reconsiderations, and many apologies. I had to stop myself before my mistake became anemic. Everything was smoothed out—the ladies were way cool about it. I explained the drag of the shtick, and I tried my best not to screw up on my singing that ride.

The impulse cruise. I tell the people riding that these are my favorite cruises. You are people I just picked up from the dock! You decided to go along for a wild and spontaneous gesture of romance! A lot of the time, they are my favorites; I am not just telling them that. I picked up a couple that had just been engaged, who lost their reservation at the restaurant and were about to leave. They seemed very nice, and I felt bad and took them out. The guy kept yelling to people on the shore, "I'm not high; I'm crying. Something beautiful just happened!" It was the kind of situation where a gondola ride would have been in the mix for months. But this was the perfect combination of special occasion mixed with last-second decisionry. Impulse cruises are wonderful. But then again, impulse cruises can bring about belligerent Wall Street goons. Their tips consist of Goldman on margin, and maybe a couple of drink straws for a bonus. No one is happy, save trickle-down economists.

Then there’s the irony cruise. There a lot of overlap between the impulse cruise and the irony cruise. I enjoy these. I get them. This gondola, as a gesture, is told in bombastic language. We're riding a pleasure cruise; we are drawing attention to ourselves and we’re going to eat it up; we’ll wear our hearts on our sleeves like an oversized shield for our more-precious real-hearts. Seeing as how I spend half my time dropping subtle hints to passengers that I understand how ridiculous my job is, you’d think I’d get along with people who tapped into the ridiculous. I used to. Until one irony cruise.

It was with a French couple. And you’ll have to excuse me in the future for tagging passengers by nationality, sexual orientation, highway exit in New Jersey—these kinds of things make for unfortunately convenient mnemonics. But in this particular case, their Frenchness played a key role. I picked them up at the dock; it was a late cruise, and everything was dark—especially their clothing (again: they are French). They had champagne, and seemed like they had been drinking for a good bit beforehand. She carried herself elegantly, sliding on to the boat in two ladylike strides. And he was kind of nerdy, short, and choked a bit on the step. I was mesmerized by her. But then again, attraction instincts often draw you to the wrong person. (Heterosexuality does too.) Pushing off the dock, I wasn’t quite sure what was going on at first. But it became clear after a couple of leans to the oar that this was a first date. His idea. And regardless of the intention behind the cruise, the woman started to override his gesture.

“Listen, we’re not taking this seriously. It’s a big joke to us,” she said to me with high nasal. She had a perfect American accent—had been in New York for seven years. “We are very French, and very cynical, so this is absurd to us.” I agreed (half my job is agreeing with things I half believe in), and started to play along. “No, I completely understand. I like pushing the boat around, but I’d never take a date on one,” said I. This was a lie. My high school prom date can definitely testify.

She continued, “I mean, look at us with this champagne! This is so cheesy.” Our nerdy friend next to her started to shrink away, and stopped contributing to the conversation. She went on, not paying him any attention, “I mean, you must just go home at night and laugh and laugh. You have to have a good sense of humor to have this job. How did you even get this?” Alright, lady. This boat is small enough that there are only a few lines to cross, and I think you hit all of them.

I forgot how easy it is to be better than something. You can spend a whole life like this French woman, observing everything from above. But a life in a helicopter is invariably spent in a tiny box away from everything else. I’m certainly not better than what I do, or what I have to offer. Who am I to prescribe irony to the people on my boat? This gondola is the shit. This is my livelihood she’s attacking. How dare she insult the gondola! It is a ferry of romance. We have a lake to ourselves in the center of the biggest city in the world! It is night time. You can’t even hear cars. I don’t care if the boat beats romance into you with a heavy stick. It’s something that you’re experiencing, and what you’re experiencing is nothing to be taken for granted.

I guess I spent too much time worrying about what the gondola means as a gesture. Too much time lamenting the universal romantic significance it accrued over the 1,000 years of its tradition. I ignore that the gondola’s placement in Central Park sets it apart. Because each ride is the opposite of a universal experience. It’s completely personal, and entirely variable. Contrary to what the French lady thought, that gondola ride wasn’t a floating irony. It was exactly what it was, and what it had unfortunately become: an awkward first date, doubled over in a vomiting self-consciousness. I let them off the boat—she glided off in her two graceful steps, and he nearly tripped—and I secretly hoped that I would see this guy again. With another woman who appreciated his gesture. And I wouldn’t even mind if he was spent the entire gondola ride thinking about getting laid.

The Bucket List

2009-07-27T20:50:00.000-07:00

So much rowing! There was a stretch where--between two jobs--I had two days off in a month. Just to give you an idea, last week I worked 56 hours, and registered 47 rides. The last digit of my youth kept me clung to the oar. Now I'm nearing carpal tunnel.

But who's complaining? Not me. I have the greatest job in the gondola world. If anything I have nothing but respect for Andres, the gondolier there for 15 years. The man worked 7 days a week, at least 7 hours a day from May to October. Unbelievable. (Everything done is done very thoroughly in New York.)

I can't begin to account for what's happened to me in those 47 cruises. Each is incredibly different, that is, if you don't count any of the New Jersey ones (Jersey, you're just too easy). Piloting a boat gives you nothing but time to think the think-thoughts, because water and meditation are forever wed. So in the tick between the "o" and the "sole," I came up with some ideas for how to describe what happens on the boat. I've come up with a list of themes that I will later touch upon--just a preliminary list, that I'll no doubt build up. They go as follows:

- Gondolier as Minister
- Gondola as Island
- Romance for the Romanceless (unlike Pants for the Pantsless)
- Pre-Occcupational
- Bachelorette Parties
- Old People
- Young People
- Drunk People
- The Great (Manmade) Out Doors
- Lake's Nocturne
- Row Boats
- Pain = Gain = Rowing + Rain = Rogane
- The Shtick

O Sole Mio (Italian for: 'embarrassingly enough')

2009-07-21T19:01:00.000-07:00

Thanks to Carroll.

Mahoney!

2009-07-10T07:47:00.000-07:00

A lot of ish went down in the past weeks, keeping me stupid-busy. I quit my other job that was taking 30 hours out of my week. With the time and space, I now have a six-shooter pointed at this here blog, and I'm just toying with a pocket full of bullet points.

For example, a couple weeks ago, I was with a very nice family on a cruise and was about to pass under Bow Bridge (please, just go along with the pictorial narrativity; it's the internet) when this shirtless dude--a thicket of curly hair and aviator glasses--in a row boat came out of nowhere, pulling water at an unbelievable rate directly at my gondola. This is an egregious pain in the ass about rowing the gondola in Central Park. Rowboats scattered willynilly. The 8 hour weekend shifts are like running a marathon back and forth illogically through Times Square--just impossible.

The Lake can sometimes be a nautical Times Square--people walking around in a clutter of inexperienced tourist tippy-steps. Everyone is trying out row boats for the first time probably ever. Which is not a problem; in this great union of rowboats, I encourage a democratic state.

Unlike the gondola, rowboats are rowed backward (I will draw diagrams later). There's no visibilty unless you have a cockswain. As popular trend on The Lake has it, moms are usually the cockswain, letting their children know what obstacles not to hit. (Moms are like cockswain on land also.) The guy coming at my boat, however, might be too old to have his mom still around, or seaworthy (non-seaworthy moms are simply land-cockswains--and even if they die, they will be your land-cockswain until the day YOU die [memory, genetic preserves]).

Anyway, this sea-mom-coxonless rower is in a boat all by himself, hauling ass directly at my cruise. And nothing puts a damper on romance like boat collisions, so I have to yell out to this backward-facing-missile. "Hey! Watch it, there!" surprising myself with an out-of-nowhere New York lead in my voice. The gentleman hears me, turns his head and corrects himself, yelling back in an equal New York affectation: "I'm just doin' my thing!"

But at the moment he turned, something strange happened. It's a familiar feeling--familiar is exactly what it is. I knew it from before. I've often mistaken the feeling for seeing a family member unexpectedly. Usually I convince myself that I've seen one of my brothers. Strange, strange. Thinking hard, I looked back, trying to rationalize what just happened. And I realized that everyone on my cruise was turned around also. They felt it too. Strange. How do they know my brothers?

And as I turned to face forward, nearly crashing into a rowboat myself (you should certainly never row a gondola backwards), I realized that that shirtless dude in the row boat was none other than Steve Guttenberg.
It was truly an auspicious day for both Central Park Gondoliers and the Police Academy movies.

Have many more stories--have to go now, though. I have a 12-day stint of rowing.

Nel Blu Dipinto di Blu

2009-07-07T20:55:00.000-07:00

This is the next target.

2009-07-06T21:33:00.000-07:00

Ah. A batch of photos. I will be writing more in the coming weeks--apologies for sparseness. I actually just quit my other job so I can write more. Pe' llaria fresca.

It's in your face

2009-07-05T20:25:00.000-07:00

I'm now learning O sole mio, despite my efforts to avoid the song at all costs. I wasn't happy about learning it until I found this awesome translation.

What a wonderful thing a sunny day
The serene air after a thunderstorm
The fresh air, and a party is already going on…
What a wonderful thing a sunny day.

But another sun,
that’s brighter still
It’s my own sun
that’s in your face!
The sun, my own sun
It’s in your face!
It’s in your face!

When night comes and the sun has gone down,
I start feeling blue;
I’d stay below your window
When night comes and the sun has gone down.

But another sun,
that’s brighter still
It’s my own sun
that’s in your face!
The sun, my own sun
It’s in your face!
It’s in your face!

Su passagieri

2009-06-25T10:57:00.000-07:00

Number of rides: 7

Ah, but isn't it all about romance! Come for a ride on the gondola. It is what the Dons of Venice used to ride in. It was the Lincoln Town Car of the canals. At weddings and funerals, the gondola was centerpiece. It is life and death, and love and death. The ferryman is here to take you to whatever ending you want (happy endings?).

And sometimes it's not so romantic. Like, say you just graduated for some reason on a Monday from a prep school in the Bronx, and your parents befuddlingly want to take you on a romantic gondola ride. Or say you're a group of four lady cousins, two pairs of sisters. Excluding me, who is trying to smooch who? All I have in my pocket is two very romantic songs, and some hot facts about celebrities. I'm always so curious about people's intentions going on the boat. What do they expect? How can I provide their best expectations for them? Do they like boats as much as I do? Probably not. Let's talk about your relationships instead.

Gondola: Anatomy and History

2009-06-24T18:29:00.000-07:00

The gondola is a quirky boat. Completely nonsensical. Who makes a boat that long and narrow? Won't it tip? (I can't tell you how many minutes I've spent convincing older Upper East Side women that 'no, it won't tip.') Is it curved? Why does the front look broken (see entry #1)? Are you punting? Why aren't we going in circles?!

Good questions. I appreciate your curiosity. Let me show you how the boat works/tell you a brief history.

Extremely Complicated Diagram (#1):

F = Ferro

f = forocola

X = Gondolier

x = passenger

Or perhaps you need more diagrams to understand what's going on, maybe to get someone else's different--albeit entirely hamfisted--depictions of what the gondola looks like.

Heinously Oversimplified Diagram (#2):

Heinously Oversimplfied Depiction (#3):

Diagram of the Gondola Rowed by Jeff Bridges in the Movie "Tron" (#4):

As you can tell from my diagram--no thanks to any other diagrams that may or may not have been drawn by someone's 5-year old cousin--the gondola is unlike most boats for several reasons.

1. Asymmetries:
- There is only one oar, which stays on Starboard side.
- There is a curve to the boat (The left side hull is approximately 2 ft longer than the right.)
- The Gondolier stands closer to the Port side.
- Passenger weight.

2. Flat-bottomed

3. Elaborate Oar Lock (Forcola)

4. Dimensions:
- A whopping 37 ft. long
- A mere 4.75 ft wide

5. Elaborate Rowing Style

6. Rower is Wearing Funny Clothes

But why? Why?!

The gondola is a boat with a history that spans nearly a millennium. The first documentation of a gondola dates back to 1094, when Doge Vito Falier issued a charter allowing the peasantry to build their own gondolas. You might imagine that the Doge was some kind of pompous snoot with fat ruffles, a harem of reluctant lovers, and a bit of a 'let them eat cake' complex. And you wouldn't be far off. Gondolas were for the hella rich, ferrying the aristocracy around the lagoon (and soon after an increase of population, canals) of Venice.

Originally, gondolas were symmetrical and operated by two gondoliers--balancing out the rowing motion with one in the front, and one in the back. But as the boat dispersed among us common folk (Thanks, Doge), it became less economical to have two hired hands. Furthermore, the boat's seating was in higher demand, and needed to expand to carry more passengers. The logical evolution for the boat was for it to get longer (they couldn't get any wider, with the canals at their constant width) and for there to be only one gondolier. Thus, the boat elongated, and got kicked around into an asymmetrical shape. (Charlie Darwin, anyone?)

(Note: the gondola has always been flat-bottomed, due to the shallow waters in the lagoons.)

(Thanks to: Arthur Gillette)

In its current manifestation, the gondola is a delicate design of counterbalances. The boat, when unmanned, tilts Starboard. When the gondolier takes up the oar Portside, however, the boat balances an even keel. On a longitudinal plane, the heavy steel, blade-like ornamentation called the 'ferro' sits on the prow, acting as counterweight to the overweight gondolier standing in back. In any other boat, rowing only on the starboard side would send the boat going Portside willy-nilly. But the curvature of the boat aides in arcing its path back Starboard.

Check out Tramontin for an awesomely thorough step-by-step on how contemporary gondolas are built with traditional methods.

Beautiful. One marvels at the gondola's design with the same awe reserved for the perfect conditions that make Earth such an awesomely liveable place. (Were you aware that we know of no other life-sustaining planet in the universe?! Crazy.)

And then there's the rowing. Yes, rowing; not punting. Do NOT confuse a gondolier's methods with those of the Nancy-pants Brits. Rowing a gondola involves an extremely difficult technique--took me a solid 2 weeks to not go in circles, which my mentor Angelino (more on him later as well) said that was quick by most standards--so don't come to your gondolier with your BULLshit "aren't you just pushing off the bottom with a pole?" questions. Sheesh!

Sorry. I got worked up back there. It wasn't fair of me. Just don't ask me that ridiculous question ever again.

The oar stays suspended in the water with the help of the oar lock, called a forcola (see funny diagrams #5-6). It has several curves to it, each taken in and out of the original shape to allow for different rowing motions. The base is used for power-rowing; the little lip on the Prow-side is used to slow the boat and set it to drift to the right; the elbow in the front is for putting the boat in reverse. There are niches on the forcola that scientists are still trying to figure out. It's just that complicated.

A Really Really Bad Idea of What a Forcola Looks Like (#5):

Another Bad Idea of What a Forcola Looks Like (#6):

In standard rowing position, when the gondolier pushes the oar forward, the forcola acts as a fulcrum point, pushing the oar back toward the stern, and propelling the boat forward.

Ornate, Beautiful, and Entirely Accurate Diagram of Rowing (#6):

When the oar is returned to its original position--pulled back and down by the gondolier, without taking it out of the water--the oar resists water.

Ornate, Beautiful, and Entirely Legible (and Necessary) Diagram of Rowing (#7):

And let me emphasize that despite the fact that I have laid these positions out as two very different steps, it is necessary to understand that in order for this whole gondoliering thing to work properly, the two steps must be seamlessly combined with a flick of the wrist. Propell and resist. Propell and resist.

But it doesn't make any sense to resist water! That just slows you down! I know, I know. Suspend your incredulity for just a second (we are talking about a near-mythological, 1,000 year old boat here). This is exactly how the gondolier steers. For those of you in the nautical 'know,' it's very similar to the J-stroke on a canoe. The more drag the gondolier creates on the return stroke, the more the boat pulls to the right. The less resistance, the more the gondola is inclined to go left. It is a process a gondolier learns to feel his/her way through. Rotating the oar creates drag. Pushing down on the oar also creates drag. One must find the appropriate combination of multiple factors on a multilateral plane.

Ok, apologies. That last part got complicated, and I didn't explain it very well. It was like showing someone a pentagon, and presenting it as a sphere. There is much more nuance to it, which exists in the wordless gaps between language and motor movements. Maybe you should come check it out.

And I suppose that leaves us with the last unique element to gondolas. Funny outfits. Why does the gondolier wear such a funny outfit?, you may ask. Why, just for the sake of looking funny.

Entirely Accurate Recounting of the Best Gondolier Party Ever Held (#8):
[I am the one without a shoe]

First Day

2009-06-20T14:10:00.000-07:00

Call me Liam Daniel Pierce. I am the new gondolier in Central Park--just hired today. And while I originally wanted to reserve this account for the uncommon and bizarre things to which a gondolier holds witness, I seem to have been spectacle enough for today. I nearly lost my job. Wait, no. It's still possible that I lost my job. These things are all up in the air.

The point is that I somehow managed to cause significant damage within minutes of this idyllic summer job. There is a lot of backstory to me becoming a gondolier. I will piece that together at some point. Now, however, is not about backstory. Now is about today. And today was about eating S'.

And things started out so well! Andres--Central Park's gondolier for 15 years (note: now is also not about Andres, though he is legend enough to fill twelve Bibles. Later, later)--suggested that I take the gondola out for a spin before he arrived, to practice. I agreed. I was rusty, hadn't rowed in about a year. But soon, sure footed, I took to The Lake like some kind of water champion.

You can't but feel like the man as the gondolier in Central Park. You are the alpha boat. Your boat is bigger and blacker than anyone else's, and tourists' cameras eat you up like the second coming of James Dean. You are in the center of the biggest city in the world. Grandeur illudes you quickly. You are pushing around your own private Manhattan, longer than it is wide.

But on a more animal scale, you are the black swan in sea of ugly ducklings. Paddle boats part left and right as you make your way through. It is you, the Gondolier! You're the experienced rower, deftly maneuvering in and out with a series of delicate nautical tacks. (For those of you who haven't experienced it, the movement of a boat--especially a gondola--is unlike anything.) Felt great. Ladies were audibly hollering, the sun was beaming, important people in their fancy apartments were invariably overlooking the park with awe.

(You are also, keep in mind, wearing a funny-ass costume.)

Then comes docking. I learned several things in my time as a gondolier (again: now is not about backstory!). One of them is that docking is the hardest part. Another is that Italian dudes, not surprisingly, like to think of the boat as their wang. One of the maxims underlying this crude sketch, is that the tip of the boat, a metal ornament called the 'ferro,' is like the head of the wang. Most sensitive. Don't jam it whatever you do. Be kind. It's what God gave you to make other people. Got it.

So I start to dock, prow forward, at an angle that smacks of imminent danger (which is customary in gondoliering), and turn quickly at the last second, and I. f---ing. nail. the landing. Perfect. Not a scratch, nothing. Great. Even the people watching are sharing my personal victory. Applause, with nodding frowny faces--but the good frowny faces with impressed eyebrows. Awesome. Kudos for Judas. Then Andres shows up--turns out he missed the landing--and asks me to head out again, and redock, to show I know how. Of course I know how! I'm the man! I'm the black swan, personal Manhattan, ferryman of summer anti-fun.

Now the thing about the gondola on The Lake is that it belongs to the restaurant, The Boathouse. The Boathouse is not just for boats. It is also for people. People who like to eat, and have a pleasant view of The Lake. But for some reason, at this time, while pushing off the dock, I seem to have forgotten about the restaurant. If someone hadn't put that damn boathouse there, this would have been the perfect undocking. But because someone did, I run directly--DIRECTLY--into the restaurant wall. Fine. Not a problem. Boathouse wall. Cool, whatever. No dammage or anything. I can just back out, and it won't be a... Ah. Oh.

It was at that point that I dragged the boat backward, ripping out a light, leaving it hanging just inches above the waterline by its wires. Wincing, I notice that in the process I had completely dismantled the ferro. It was left hanging by a thread. I not only took out a light, but banged my Italian wang in the worst way possible. And all the while, the Boathouse was a perfect theater to my ineptitude; employees and customers all in house seats to what they were schadenfreudenly smitten to tell me was the worst gondola accident in 15 years. There's no spinning this story.

I'll try: As I was undocking from what is a COMPETELY illogical spot on the lake (never ever dock oarside!), I slipped on the boat--it was wet with rain from the night before--and had too much momentum going right at The Boathouse. The only way to turn left is with speed, so I sped up. And that's how it happened. Also, there is no way to account for whether or not a miniature hurricane from Mexico blew me into the wall. Right? RIGHT?! Ok, so I definitely just f---ed up.

One of the chefs had to come out on a row boat with me to fix the light with duct tape. Apologies ran from me like the Amazon; he was dry as the Rio Grande. Duly mad. (I called my mother soon after work to check if I had life insurance.) I later heard word that fixing the light might cost in the neighborhood of $500. No, there has never has been a more ominous first day in the history of the Central Park Gondoliers. It stirred me so much that after work I immediately took to the streets and started methodically knocking off people's hats.

And tonight, doubtlessly, two and two there will float into my inmost soul endless processions of 37' leviathans, and midmost of them all, one grand duct-tape hooded phantom, attached to a $500 white light in the air.