Speaking American

The American language, as Webster called our brand of English, is fun and, at times, a little confusing. Our everyday language changes just about every day and it's not everyone who can keep up. I once stood and listened to a black kid in a newly integrated school tell her instructor that she was “the baddest artist in this class” which, naturally, was misinterpreted. Of course, in my peer group, bad is just, “bad”, and “baddest” is just poor grammar but that doesn’t make it any less descriptive for those for whom baddest is goodest.

Another term which has changed while I watched is “badass”. When I was a lad, "badass" meant an aggressive individual who was a formidable fighter, usually of the street and bar variety_ not what my associate, Jo, had in mind when she referred to the sexy granny as, “badass”. That lucky woman is “badass” in part because she rides her own bike (in any weather), is capable and skilled and pretty much marches to her own beat.

One of the things she thinks makes my missus look badass is her badass chaps. Jo thinks those chaps look so badass that nothing would do but she find some for herself. Now, both women wear badass chaps even though, in my personal opinion, they are “good ass” chaps: tomato, tomato.

Even before Jo picked up her badass chaps, she came across, and acquired, the now-famous “Killer Pussy” helmet sticker. Yeah, that one threatened to set me back on my heels; killer pussy, what a horrifying concept! It read like the title of a scary movie from the 1950s. I recall, however, a recent incident wherein a young man came by the bandstand during a break and told me, “Sir, your music is killer!” Killer music, killer pussy_ OK, I get it.

Now, about Killer Whales: I think it’s time they were renamed.

Winter Diversion

When you trust the National Weather Service to forecast accurately, you sometimes sit out a cold sunny Saturday and ride on a cold gray Sunday. This particular cold gray Sunday, the ladies and I ended up at a small nature park on the outskirts of Rockport, TX that is one of many bird watching hot spots in our
part of the world.

The area was soggy and the trail through it was partly submerged. Abundant standing water means the birds aren’t flying around looking for it so bird watching gets pretty slow. Mid-forties for temperatures probably wasn't stimulating them none, either.

Easing through the brush, following bird noises is part of the adventure, though, so ease we did. Jill got excited over some tiny bird I had never heard of and, in fact, have still never seen. Looking like a couple of misplaced urban guerrillas, she and Jo went stealthing among the brambles till they spotted the thing.

Jo found and collected the shell of a Lightening Whelk. The park's hand crafted birth bath was a handy place to clean the sand out of it.

Birds watched, shell collected, participants thoroughly chilled, we decided lunch was entirely called for. We rode back into Aransas Pass and dined at Taqueria Guadalajara before wending our way back to the warmth of our respective hearths. A cool time was had by all.