The Monkeyface News

That's What Uncles Are For

So I was talking to big John Akina down at the baitshop and I mentioned that my sister and 7-year old nephew, Julian, were in town.  John asked if my nephew was "into fishing."  I said, "He sure seems to be when he gets the chance, but he lives in Manhattan, and his parents aren't particularly fish-centric."

Big John reflected on this and smiled. "Don't worry," he said. "That's what uncles are for."

Here's the accompanying video...

And if you can't say "awwww that's cute" to this, you are one hard-ass, jaded, sour puss, M.F. (monkey face).  Anyway... here's 2 minutes of Julian and his crazy uncle Kirk catching fringeheads and sand dabs on Fort Point Pier.  Oh... and by the way, this footage was shot a week ago.  I've been back twice since.  The dabs appear to be gone.  

BTW the "thumbnail" below was randomly selected by Youtube but I think it pretty much says it all... have at...

King Of Bait Fishes

(Warning, the video at the bottom of this page will not make much sense unless you read at least the last half of this post)

  

How in the hell did white croakers get re-christened "kingfish."  Seems odd.  Like calling VW Bug a Cadillac.  Evidently, someone at some point thought very highly of this species (as do I), and nick-named it accordingly.  One thing I think I can state for a fact--he was no wasi'chu.

Strangely expressive, the kingfish. 



  

Happy Happy

 

What can I say?  I want to post pictures. I want to write great epic haikus. I want to scream out and dance with joy.  I saw so many things today that thrilled me and made me want to live forever.  First there was one boat.  All morning waiting for one boat.  I expected sturgeon.  Check that. I mean I expected no sturgeon. They came roiling in at 2pm.  And what did they have?  I'll tell you.  29 kingfish (nine over limit for two anglers). The neanderthals out there scoff at the mention of this fish. This wormy, slimy, sea bass wannabe. This semi carp-mouthed bottom feeder nematode magnet. But think about it. They started disappearing five years ago. Seriously. How many people in the last 2 years have caught 29 kingfish in 4 hours of fishing.  I don't care if you hate king fish, think they're not worthy of consideration or whatever, regardless... the bay should be loaded with them.  And it's not.  Or I should say it hasn't been.  Not for a long time.  These were all beautiful fish (see above). The Chinese call them "wong fa" (yellow flower fish?) The Koreans call them "chogies." The Vietnamese call them something I am unable to pronounce, (my ancestors having barely raised themselves out of the bogs of Ireland 10 centuries ago, when the Vietnamese were perfecting their tonal, half-sung language). I'm on a roll.  Big beautiful kingfish.  A species so worm-ridden I could never actually bring myself to eat one, but nevertheless, I pose a question (to myself).  Do I love the kingfish?  Yes I do. There I said it. I love the kingfish, (aka: white croaker, squid pecker, worm farm, mucous fish, however you wanna put it). Maybe they're coming back. Fingers crossed on this. If the ecosystem is healthy enough to support a robust white croaker population it's healthy enough for a lot of other fishies. Like these, for instance:

    Now in the bay:  The Pacific sand dab (as far as finding them goes you're on your own buddy)
 
 

Dabbling in Dabs
 

And then sand dabs.  First time in four years I'm seeing sand dabs in the bay.  Still looking for a way to perfect the cooking of these guys.  Mine always end up rather soft.  My friend Loren suggests salting them first.  At least that's what the old Chinese lady at the market told him to do.  Sand dabs are served at some of the best restaurants in the city:  Tadich Grill, Zuni Cafe etc.  I think Chez Panisse has even dabbled in dabs.  So they must be better than I am at cooking them.

  

Night Fish!

 

                              Smell the cucumber! Filled this bucket to the brim X 1.5 


  

And then on top of all these happy developments, the night smelt ran last night and I was there with MFN operatives Todd Curtis, Loren Wilson and my trusty A-frame net, "Smelt Hammer," to put a dent in the population (not). Afterwards handed some off to new friend and chef, Matt, to see if he is interested in maybe serving these in his restaurant some day--he wanted to eat a few himself, first. All told we bagged 60 pounds for three anglers in just over an hour. Had we wanted to we could have filled a barn with night smelt. The video of this happy event will be available shortly. There really is no other fishery like this. Something about wresting fish from the roiling surf... the sparkle of the smelt as the sand filters out of the net, the feeling of them bumping into your feet, into the frame, into the net, the mist lingering over the sea at night, star light, the rush of the waves all around you, the simple perfection of the A-frame, the fog horn, the cucumber scent of the bucket, the... okay, time for another Monkeyface haiku...

 

Haiku #278a

Spirinchus starksi

In the dark waters gleaming

You will soon be fried!



 
Monkeyface fishwife Camilladilla found this awesome photo of a Yurok Indian jumping smelt at the turn of the century.  As I have indicated before, (go here) the A-frame net is a Native-American fishing technology
    

Somebody once pointed out to me that night smelt can be bought at Asian markets for 79 cents a pound. This is, in fact, true.  However, the night smelt one sees in Asian markets are usually in sorry shape.  Not only do they reek, in the way only a poorly kept fish can reek, but they are mashed, beaten and abused like no other fish on the shelves.  Being that the night smelt is an extremely delicate little bugger, and the nets used to trawl him are huge, he tends to get smooshed.  Or I should say pulverized in these big industrial nets.  This is why, I very carefully dump my net out whenever the nipple has more than five pounds of fish in it (you will see me dumping out my net frequently in the video below).  I personally like my nighties in tip top condition.  But this all must sound rather vague and esoteric. If you are unfamiliar with night smelt dipping you should probably check out the video below...

But before we begin, I would like to offer this disclaimer:  I am well aware that my videos lack technical wizardry (personally, I think it's part of their charm).  I am many things, (cheapscate, mounteback, taster of fine whiskies, n'er do well, armchair geographer etc) but I am neither a gear-head nor a film director.  All the stuff you've seen so far on this blog was filmed with the video function on a non-water proof, $140, Sony still-camera. Which is about a step and a half removed from a cell phone camera. The footage you're about to see, as compromised as it may be, wouldn't exist at all if Todd hadn't shown up at the beach with a powerful flashlight and a flip cam.  I had already put my camera away after the sun disappeared, so I am personally thrilled that we got any footage at all... thank you, Todd.  And I will say this.  As unbelievable as it may be, this is the first ever footage of a nightsmelt run on Youtube.  And I think the only footage of A-frame dipping too.  (By all means tell me if I'm wrong).

  

Actually, even Bill is known to scream with joy occasionally! 

  


So without further adieu, here's the newest Monkeyface Production... also, I'd just like to say, there is a small cadre of individuals (like five out of 3 thousand viewers) out there who find my enthusiasm for fish, and my obvious eccentricity a great source of derision.  These people I take it, do not scream out with joy when they catch a few herring or smelt or dabs or crabs or anything.  And find it somehow insulting to their fleeting and unoriginal senses of manhood that I do.  And so, be forewarned, if you're one of these five guys there's a lot of me screaming out with joy in this one.  If that's going to prompt you to call me names and infect my burgeoning mind with sourness, please go away.  Here: I've got a great fishing site for you: It's called: Billy Dance Outdoors.  There you can learn all about the best products to buy and how to appropriately catch a fish. Oh yeah, and don't let the door hit you in the ass on the way out of the room.

A-hem...  Sorry for that. I guess that's the price of going public. (BTW I erase stupid comments before anyone else has the pleasure of seeing them).  One wonders why they read my blog if they're so smug and jaded and disturbed by a guy who loves fish.

Okay... I'm off my soap box.  

Wow, that was wonderfully therapeutic!  Think maybe I'll have another cup o' Joe!

Anyway here's the new video... first ever night smelt footage on You Tube!  Sorry for the technical probs. Thanks to Todd, a two fisted cinematographer (one hand held the flash light the other the camera!) if ever there was one.

 

Clam Man

Hi. If you're here for the clamming video, scroll down to the bottom of the page and press "play."

Otherwise:

 
Try Pots, of course, were used for rendering whale blubber. In the famous "Chowder" chapter of Moby Dick, Melville tells of a Nantucket chowder house that put try pots to a far better use.

 

I think my favorite food scene in all of literature is when Ishmael steps inside Mr. Hosea Hussey's The Try Pots at the beginning of Moby Dick. He's hungry, tired, and cold.  The Proprietress asks him what appears to be a simple question: Clam or Cod? He has no idea what in the hell she's talking about. Then he remembers. The Try Pots is all about chowder. Clam and Cod. Here, we'll go ahead and hand things over to Herman Melville for a moment:

 

    

"Fishiest of all fishy places was the Try Pots, which well deserved its name; for the pots there were always boiling chowders. Chowder for breakfast, and chowder for dinner, and chowder for supper, till you began to look for fish-bones coming through your clothes. The area before the house was paved with clam-shells. Mrs. Hussey wore a polished necklace of codfish vertebra; and Hosea Hussey had his account books bound in superior old shark-skin. There was a fishy flavor to the milk, too, which I could not at all account for, till one morning happening to take a stroll along the beach among some fishermen's boats, I saw Hosea's brindled cow feeding on fish remnants, and marching along the sand with each foot in a cod's decapitated head, looking very slip-shod, I assure ye."
 

Sorry... I just had to put that paragraph in.  It had a profound effect on me years ago (what can I say? I was an impressionable youth). Shortly after reading it I began wearing a necklace of polished eel jaw bones... (only two people on earth know I'm not lying about this).  And then, about a year after that, I began writing the first print edition of The Monkeyface News. Fashioning the bindings of each cover from the tanned hides of the eels that I caught and ate. Don't believe me?  Here's a picture of my hand made prickleback skin-bound books:

Look closely at the bindings.  That's prickleback skin: dried, tanned, glued and pressed to binder's cloth. Does a damned good job holding the voluminous early print editions of the Monkeyface News together, I might add.  

 

Anyhoohow, let's get back to the Melville...

hmmm... where was he?  Oh right...

 

"However, a warm savory steam from the kitchen served to belie the apparently cheerless prospect before us. But when that smoking chowder came in, the mystery was delightfully explained. Oh, sweet friends! hearken to me. It was made of small juicy clams, scarcely bigger than hazel nuts, mixed with pounded ship biscuit, and salted pork cut up into little flakes; the whole enriched with butter, and plentifully seasoned with pepper and salt."

  

The Good The Bad And The Ugly

  

  "The Good" (Swann's Boston chowder)    "The Bad" (Fisherman's Barf-I mean wharf-chowder)

 
    "The Ugly" (though not Melville's "hazel nut" cherry stones, gapers make a fine chowder)

Oh Herman, talk dirty to me! I mean really, is there anything better than a good clam chowder? Unfortunately, in San Francisco there are only two places that seem to understand this. At least in my price range. The Tadich Grill and Swann's Oyster Depot. Two of the oldest restaurants in the city (I should say, in the state). You ask the guys behind the counter at Swann's where the clams came from and they'll tell you, same thing at Tadich. You're eating Tomales Bay littlenecks (and manillas) at those two joints.  Plain and simple... you're eating local clams. Anyone eating a bowl of chowder at Fisherman's Wharf, is paying 6 bucks for half a can of Campbell's. And what's worse, the clams all come from Vietnam. I mean, damn, what's the half-life of a napalm molecule I wonder?  We think we have it bad, imagine for a moment what Vietnamese toxic runoff must be like... 

 

Can't tell you folks how many times I have gotten wretchedly ill from canned clams.  But this has yet to happen in all these years of digging gapers, mussels and little necks. Anyway... I've covered all this fairly exhaustively over the last few months.  If you are starved for info on our abundant and delicious California bivalve resources go here: Clam.  Otherwise, check out the new Monkeyface Production below... all this writing was simply put here by way of introduction. I wanted it to be clear that I am a (self proclaimed) aficionado of the clam. And that yes, I do scream and thump my chest and get a tad over excited when I catch a big one.  In fact, I tend to do this (as you all have undoubtedly noticed) when I catch anything. What can I say, it's who I am.  So here's the latest:  Hope its worth a laugh or two... anyhoo, have at...


  

Okay... time to hit the sack... oh yes... right... yawn... from deep down in the muck where large invertebrates frolic... this is Lombard Of The (Muddy) Intertidal, signing out.

One last thought:  nothing against Boudin Bakery, the maker of the bread bowls that unhappily contain that starchy canned stuff referred to by the name of "chowder."  They (Boudin) make a fine San Francisco sourdough.  Our suggestion: dump out the Campbells and eat the bread.

Rock City Bullheads

 
The greatest band sticker of them all. Though I think only an SF Bay fisherman could really grasp the utter coolness of it. 


   

Okay.  Camilladilla and her bandmates saw the above sticker on a pay phone at their practice studio: the infamous "Rock City, where 75% of SF's bands go to practice. (For the Cheetah's On The Moon stadium-friendly and soon-to-be-classic rock n' roll ode to this legendary rehearsal space go here--and listen to the whole song or you will miss out on the epic quality of it:01 City so bright_Rock City)

Anyway, somebody in Cheetahs On The Moon (was it note-quest guitar man, "Claw?") snapped a photo and sent it along to MFN H.Q.  The sub title on the sticker (above) pretty much says it all. The fact that their Myspace page shows these three stalwart Fillipino rockers posing beneath a band logo which, sadly, depicts the head of a bull, and not the "bullhead" (Pacific staghorn sculpin) of bait fishing lore, is (in our piscatorially prejudiced opine), a deep error in judgment.

If they would just change the logo to an actual bullhead (Pacific staghorn sculpin, Lepicottus armatus). Every fisherman in the bay area would want their CD.  An I right or am I right? Anyhoo, they seem like a cool bunch of rockers... so go here, and support your local Fillipino Punk Rock Outfit, http://www.myspace.com/bullheads

 

The Monkeyface News is planning a sit down with the Bullhead management team to discuss a new logo (and where we go from there).  Strange that they decided to be so literal.  Could it be that they are ignorant of the rugged, long lasting, impossible to kill bullhead, Lepticottus armatus?  No way.  I simply refuse to believe that there could be three self respecting Fillipino men in the entire Bay Area who do not know what a bullhead is.  But why the mammalian-centric logo?  Yeah... I need to call their P.R. team. This is obviously what is holding them back.  Maybe I'll have my secretary do it.  Or maybe I'll just have my people talk to their people...

Only I have no people... oh yeah... except these guys...

 
Cheetahs On The Moon (Author's wife, Camilladilla on "flanjo").  I realize, of course, that I've used this photo before.  What can I say?  The Cheetah's are stingy with their promo materials.

Clam Man

  

        The bluffs just west and north of the soon to be closed MLPA clam beds


  
  
Off to the soon to be closed MLPA clamming beds. Wah!  This is my last chance to dig clams at a certain location that will be closed forever in 14 days.  I have been longing to dig clams in this spot for years but have never gotten around to it.  (It's a two mile trek from the parking area). Today... even though it is not a minus tide (0.0) I am going there.  I will park in the lot and walk 2.5 miles down the beach to a deserted bend in a certain Estero.  I will then shove my clam tube into the foul muck, and wrest from the bowels of the earth a giant horseneck clam... and guess what?  There will be a brand new Monkeyface video featured tomorrow to prove it! 

Until then... this is Lombard of the Intertidal, high above Rock City, signing out.

Spikes On Your Bait Cage

 

 
 "Put spikes on your bait cage and you don't get it back."

 

Haiku #234b

 

Not much to report

Although calicoes are here

(perch that is) piles too.

 

Sittin' Pretty In Ocean City

 

Forgive me Tlaloc for I have sinned.  It has been 5 days since my last blog entry.  I keep waiting for something momentous to occur and it keeps not happening.

Broke out my brand new (old) Ocean City 1600 just arrived from e-bay-land.  Check this out... it came in the original box, circa 1950:  

 


      Caught two pile perch with this sucker today... on the original line (pictured!)  

 

The original warrantee says the minimum charge for repairs is 25 cents.  Think they'll still honor it? Wait... does Ocean City Mfg. Co., even exist?  A cursory perusal of the infernets shows us that Ocean City Mfg. Co., went out of business in 1963--after a productive 40 year run. Their big-game reels are evidently highly coveted, but their bait-casters... not so much. Let's face it anything that sells for $2.75 on E-bay ain't highly coveted. Not sure why this is. Thing works like a charm.  Caught two pile perch on it today. 

Ran into Mr. L. at work yesterday after not seeing him for several months.  He had just lost his home made crab trap (fashioned expertly from an old bicycle rim and a piece of scrounged netting) to the notorious bull sea lion who frequents the downtown piers. I've seen this same sea lion do this before.  I'm not sure why he hates crab traps with such unbridled fury, but I suspect that he only destroys the traps he is unable to steal bait from. Kind of a spiteful type of thing... Mr L.'s trap is an impregnable anti-sea lion fortress.  It has barbs and spikes all over it (to keep sea lions from tearing at his bait cage). I guess the big bull was trying to make a point:  put spikes on your bait cage and you don't get it back.

Anyway, as per usual, here's a shot of Mr. L.'s home made tackle.  This time a totally un-ecofriendly, recycled sinker.  You thought lead was bad for the environment?  What would the Monterey Bay Aquarium Al Eco-Qaeda folks have to say about this? 

Not the most eco-friendly sinker, but effective nonetheless. 

When I questioned Mr L. about the advisability of using batteries for sinkers he said: 

    "Ha! Ha!  This water very dirty Kirk.  Battery is the best thing in it."

A salient point if ever there was one.  Spoken by a man who commonly catches his dinner here.

Calico Perch

                  The noble calico surf perch, Amphistichus koelzi
   

On the cleaner side of the perch spectrum... lots of big, sparkling calico perch in the waters off the San Mateo County beaches--or I should say the sandy areas adjoining rocky out-croppings at the north and south ends of those beaches. Big ones too! Nice fish. Saw quite a few at Pescadero this weekend.  Be advised:  if you are casting more than 20 feet from the rock you are standing on you will not catch a calico perch. This is the same advice I will now offer to those who may find themselves, against all reason, pursuing pile perch in the bay. If you are casting more than 12 feet from shore you are casting too far.  The pile perch (aka: split tail) are in close to the rocks. (Yikes, who am I the Brian Hoffman of surf perch?)  

Okay.  Time to scram.

From high above those turbid waters teaming with minor game fish species, this is Lombard Of The Intertidal... signing out.Pile perch, Rhacochilus vacca (doesn't vacca mean cow? If so, shouldn't we be calling this thing a cow perch?)

The Roar Of The Grease Paint The Smell Of The Crowd

After a brutal bidding war... I got the Ocean City 1600 from E-bay. I beat out some other obsessive miser, no doubt.  He countered my original $1.75 with a stiff $2.25. After which I broke him with a surgical, $2.75. So the shipping is twice the cost of the reel. That's okay. Ten bucks is a reasonable penalty for losing an Ocean City. That's the way I look at it. Evidently no one wants this reel but me and some dude in Kaibab Arizona--where there has never been a pond containing more than 19 gallons of water--let alone a fish. Actually, I may buy some more Ocean Cities, learn how to repair them and set up a shop. I can call "C. Jebson" in Kaibab and see if he's game. Although I half think he's a little kid--if the "99" on his e-mail address indicates his date of birth. Anyway, who else tries to win an auction with a $2.25 bid? (other than me I mean). Repair shop or no repair shop, I think I'm going to start collecting Ocean Cities... Jeez, look at these old reels and tell me they aren't things of profound beauty.

 

 

Installment #1

 

And Now, in collaboration with MFN Productions, The Monkeyface News is proud to introduce our first weekly installment by artist in residence, Mark "Finesmell" Feinthel (no he doesn't actually live here, I just call him that).  Mark and I have been collaborating for quite a few years now. In addition to illustrating the print edition of the MFN, he has also provided artwork for the Armchair Geographers, and cover art for Rube Waddell's seminal album: Stink Bait.  His multi-panel illustrations of Mack The Knife and Mawson's Will have been a key element of Rube Waddell's live performances for many years. Anyway... Mark will be providing a four panel comic strip every Friday, from here on in. Here's the first... 

Bidding Wars

  

 

No more fishing related writing today...  Sorry, not feeling up to it... get back to me tomorrow--or maybe the next day... or perhaps the day after that. I'm night smelt dipping Friday (if anyone wants to tag along) and will document this year's first dip, with my all-volunteer camera crew (otherwise known as my left hand).  

The Producer



The dust has settled.  It was very strange what those two videos did to my viewership. Yikes. Thousands of hits.  Woo hoo.  Lots of "You gotta do more videos, man," type e-mails.  All I can say is:  who the hell are these people and how in the name of Tlaloc do they get my e-mail address?  

One thing is clear.  Most people would rather watch than read.  This is a slight problem for me as, you may have noticed, I tend to be a tad... verbose.

A hem.  

That is why I continually try to hone down and condense my thoughts into haiku--the least Lombardian (in the Broadway sense) of all poetic forms.  We Lombards, are, as a people, more iambic than haikuic and more Merrick than either.  David Merrick that is...

    Florence Henderson, David Merrick and Carol Channing 


  

(Okay that was a phonetic stretch... but its done and I am not going back)..... In mentioning David Merrick I am of course alluding to the fact that I come from a Broadway family.  Oh right, I tend to forget that people like David Merrick (namely, New York show biz personalities) are virtually unknown to my current social group consisting, as it does, of toothless pogey fishermen, mad kayakers, herring aficiondados, Taiwanese city college students, marine biologists, the occasional and greatly welcome Dane, starving underground hipster puppeteers, under appreciated ureter-challenged geniuses, and the odd baseball fan. But David Merrick is a name any cultivated and red blooded American should have tatooed over his heart. David Merrick was a Broadway producer.  But to say that is like saying that Jesus (if he had actually existed) was just some guy. Look, even if you desperately hate America, the American Musical Comedy (sorry but to hate one is to hate the other), and anything involving what many mistakenly see as the crass materialism and vapidity of musical comedy production, a quick perusal of David Merrick's resume... forget the resume... here's just his Tonies and Drama Desks:

Wait... I'm not quite ready for the colon (and not quite sure I like the way that sounds).

I remember a story someone told me about David Merrick.  And really this was all I ever knew about him for years.  This and the fact that my parents used his name repeatedly--and even, I think, as a lyric in one of the songs they wrote for their aptly titled Musical Comedy:  "Musical Comedy."  (Really, what else could it be named?)

Okay the story someone told me about David Merrick was that he had this stinker show, Subways Are For Sleeping that was opening after 6 somnambulant weeks in Cleveland. The show was destined to flop. Merrick knew this and figured he'd have to come up with some kind of gimmick to keep the show open long enough to make back some money on it.  So he gets this plan. He busts out a phonebook and he starts feverishly looking up names. He's sitting in a room with a friend of his, Gower Champion or somebody. Gower says, "David, who are you looking for?"  

Merrick continues rifling through the pages.  "I'm looking for Walter Kerr," he says.  

"I've got news for you David," says Gower Champion, "you aren't going to find Walter Kerr in a Brooklyn phone book."

Merrick pauses, looks the younger man in the eye.  "Wanna bet?" he says.

Merrick then proceeds to look up not only Walter Kerr, but every other person in the book who happens to have the same name as a famous New York theater critic.  Having then located dozens of these potential understudies, he selects only the most--shall we say--maleable. These he plies with food and drink, sexy dates, door to door limousine service and front row seats to opening night of his miserable play.

Ethel Merman, David Merrick and Anna Maria Alberghetti 

By the time the curtain goes up these simple pedestrians have been treated to the greatest night of their lives.  When the curtain falls after the dismal final act, Merrick suddenly appears in the empty seats behind his hand picked "theater critics."  

"How'd you like the show?" Asks the kindly benefactor who treated these grateful plebians to such a grand evening. 

"It was the best show I've ever seen," said Walter Kerr, of Bensonhurst.

"It was absolutely stupendous," said Robert Coleman, of Bedford Stuyvesant

"I'm speechless... what a night to remember!" said Howard Taubman, of Canarsie. 

The rest, of course, is history. 

The next day, David Merrick took out a full page ad in the The New York Herrald Tribune and printed the following: 

 "7 out of 7 are raving about Subways Are For Sleeping:"  

Walter Kerr says:  "It was the best show I've ever seen,"

Robert Coleman says:  "It was absolutely stupendous."

Howard Taubman says: "I'm speechless... what a night to remember!"

        etc...
 

(See bottom of this page for the original ad)

The plan worked to a tee. Although the reviews couldn't keep the show from eventually closing, Subways Are For Sleeping had a six month run that never would have happened without Merrick's ballsy scheme.

 

Oh and by the way... I don't really care if I got the details right or wrong.  If you really need the "correct" versions of things you shouldn't be here anyway.  Fish tales folks.  That's what we do here at the Monkeyface News, capiche?

Okay now I'm ready for the colon:

David Merrick's Awards and nominations

1986 Tony Award for Best Reproduction (Loot, nominee) 1986 Drama Desk Award for Outstanding Revival (Loot, nominee) 1981 Tony Award for Best Musical (42nd Street, winner) 1981 Drama Desk Award for Outstanding Musical (42nd Street, nominee) 1976 Tony Award for Best Play (Travesties, winner) 1976 Drama Desk Award for Outstanding Revival (Very Good Eddie, nominee) 1975 Tony Award for Best Musical (Mack & Mabel, nominee) 1973 Tony Award for Best Musical (Sugar, nominee) 1972 Tony Award for Best Play (Vivat! Vivat Regina!, nominee) 1971 Tony Award for Best Play (The Philanthropist, nominee) 1970 Tony Award for Best Play (Child's Play, nominee) 1969 Tony Award for Best Musical (Promises, Promises, nominee) 1968 Tony Award for Best Musical (How Now, Dow Jones, nominee) 1968 Tony Award for Best Musical (The Happy Time, nominee) 1968 Tony Award for Best Play (Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead, winner) 1968 Tony Award for Best Producer of a Play (Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead,winner) 1968 Special Tony Award (winner) 1967 Tony Award for Best Musical (I Do! I Do!, nominee) 1966 Tony Award for Best Play (Marat/Sade, winner) 1966 Tony Award for Best Play (Philadelphia, Here I Come!, nominee) 1966 Tony Award for Best Play (Inadmissible Evidence, nominee)

1965 Tony Award for Best Musical (Oh, What a Lovely War!, nominee) 1965 Tony Award for Best Producer of a Musical (The Roar of the Greasepaint - The Smell of the Crowd, nominee) 1964 Tony Award for Best Musical (Hello, Dolly!, winner) 1964 Tony Award for Best Play (Luther, winner) 1964 Tony Award for Best Producer (Musical) (Hello, Dolly!, winner) 1963 Tony Award for Best Musical (Stop the World - I Want to Get Off, nominee) 1963 Tony Award for Best Musical (Oliver!, nominee) 1963 Tony Award for Best Producer of a Musical (Oliver!, nominee) 1962 Tony Award for Best Musical (Carnival, nominee) 1962 Tony Award for Best Producer of a Musical (Carnival, nominee) 1962 Tony Award for Best Producer of a Play (Ross, nominee) 1961 Tony Award for Best Musical (Irma La Douce, nominee) 1961 Tony Award for Best Musical (Do Re Mi, nominee) 1961 Tony Award for Best Play (Becket, winner) 1961 Special Tony Award (winner) 1960 Tony Award for Best Musical (Take Me Along, nominee) 1959 Tony Award for Best Musical (La Plume de Ma Tante, nominee) 1959 Tony Award for Best Play (Epitaph for George Dillon, nominee) 1958 Tony Award for Best Musical (Jamaica, nominee) 1958 Tony Award for Best Play (Look Back in Anger, nominee) 1958 Tony Award for Best Play (Romanoff and Juliet, nominee)

It's a bit overwhelming... I mean I haven't even caught as many fish as this guy had Tony nominations... Anyway... time to crash... gettin' tired...

From deep deep in the heart that wondrous land of vintage fishing reels, cartoonists in residence, and musical comedy men, this is Lombard Of The Intertidal, signing out. 

PS: I found the original Herald Tribune ad for Subways Are For Sleeping. And although I got the quotes wrong, at least I was in the ball park... anyway here it is:

 

Waaaaaahhhh!

 
  Gone But Not Forgotten

 


Haiku # 237: 

Left My Beloved Ocean City 1600 On Muir Beach

Gone now forever

Ocean City Bait Caster

Heartbroken right now.

 

 

Left it sitting there on the beach, Sunday, after I packed my kayak in the dark. Ugh. I can't express how much I had come to love this reel; in fact I had just recently named it: Ghetto Master.  How sad and miserable I am right now.  Was really looking forward to rubberlips and pogies... and now its gone.  

 AAAAAAggghhh!!!!

... kind of hard to write a primal scream. This is my second lost reel this year. The last one was a bit more painful (financially I mean). Don't remember?  Let's dig way, way back in the Monkeyface archives to see how history repeats itself... (click here).

  

This Just In

              Maybe It's Time To Splurge
 

  

Okay, I'm the high bidder on a .99 cent Ocean City 1600 on E-bay... $1.75  was my bid. We'll see what happens.  

Hmmmm there's a brand new one up there for 35 bucks.  I mean, never used, right out of the box it was packed in in 1951.  Okay maybe I'll splurge.  That's the penalty I deserve for losing the Ghetto Master.

Ugh.

Time to go...

Double ugh.

From high above Ocean City.  This is a very sad Lombard Of The Intertidal, for the MFN.  Signing out.  

 

Me, Myself And The Monkeyface Eel

I'm getting a lot of hits lately from people who have not actually seen my poke poling video... so if you are one of the unlucky few, have at:
 

 
 

If you've seen it already, sorry.  But I got three thousand new hits in the last few days (largely because of my recent videos on urban fishing--scroll down a few days if you haven't seen 'em) and I wanted to put it up so new folks will stop asking me why the blog is called The Monkeyface News.  

I always refer to it as mine but the video was actually shot by the good folks at Wholphin. I should point out that this project was a spur of the moment kind of thing. I got a call from a total stranger who wanted to shoot a film about poke poling.  It was high tide and I tried to beg out gracefully, but he talked me into it (when it involves performing and fishing I'm an easy mark).  So when you see me dodging waves and whatnot, rest assured this is not what I usually do out there in the intertidal.  Also, I have gotten a fair amount of teasing over the size of the monkeyface eel in this video.  I would challenge any poke poler in California to go out to Rockaway on a rough day, at high tide, (with cameras rolling, mind you) and do better!  And anyway, I do not lack for eel confidence (see below).

  

Lombard Of The Intertidal with the current state record monkeyface. Sorry to report you're all going to be seeing a lot of this picture in the next 12 months.  (When March rolls around you'll understand what I mean).

  

Yeah. Yeah. I know. You've caught bigger eels than this. Right. You do it all the time. Fort Baker Jetty. Carmel by the Sea. Agate Beach. Bean Hollow. Whatever. I got an e-mail the other day from a guy who will, no doubt, be the next CA record holder (his monkeyface evidently tipped the scales at a jaw dropping 9.6 pounds).  But thanks to the glacial speed of Fish and Game sport fishing records dept., I get to hold on to my record for at least 6 more months.  Call me a lame-duck prickleback champ, I don't care!  I think it's safe to say five years was a pretty good run.  

 

Feeling Crabby (in a good way)


 
Unofficial Emblem of the BKM. By MFN resident cartoonist, Mark "Finesmell" Feinthel, whose Monkeyface News-related comic strips will be featured every monday.
 

Well, the Boer Kayak Mafia was back in action today... or I should say, half of the Boer Kayak Mafia was back in action today--the non-Boer half. (How you can be South African with a last name that starts with "Von" and somehow not be a Boer is beyond me). Anyway, despite lacking the Boer element we picked up a few extra hands and pounded through some ugly surf.  

Strike Force 1, Mosley Cove CA., 2010 (from left to right:  Rockin Reuben, Niko Von Sharky, Guitarzan, MFN Fishwife Camilladilla)

Despite our lowest dungie totals for the year, in the end we prevailed. And although prevailing in this case may have involved eating red rock crabs and California mussels the day was, for all involved, a resounding success--culminating, as all such wonderfully exhausting days must, with frosty mugs of beer at Ye Olde Pelican Inn.
   

    The arthropod that saved the day

FYI: for all those arthropod snobs out there, the decision was unanimous: big red rock crabs are delicious.  Even the aforementioned Niko Non Sharky had to concede this.  In fact, he pointed out that on a slow dungie outing rock crabs can quite literally "save the day."  

Anyway...

From high above the bounteous shores of the Pacific Ocean, this is Lombard of the Intertidal, signing out.