Followers of my Facebook (what? You're not following Fox Doucette? What's wrong with you?) are doubtless puzzling over a reference I made in a recent post: "The Mystery Ship sails again Dec. 23." Allow me to elaborate because I'm in the mood to tell a few stories.
The original Mystery Ship was an apartment I had in Haverhill, Massachusetts, back in my early twenties. It was a two-bedroom in a truly dreadful neighborhood that I'd moved into after my first engagement broke off and served as a base for operations for my young twentysomething self to spend about two and a half years on what basically amounted to a vision quest trying to get laid.
With all that space (and with me spending 99% of it in about an eight-foot radius when not entertaining guests---my computer and PlayStation were, then as now, the center of my personal entertainment universe), it lent itself well to taking in roommates, stragglers, and friends who had fallen on hard times. Any girl who wanted to get away for awhile usually crashed with me, and since I figured that "no sense in lying to anyone", this made for some very interesting social dynamics---what happens when all your paramours know each other and all go bowling together with you? Maybe Tiger ought to give something like that a try.
The Mystery Ship (and me as captain) was a metaphor for my freedom-loving, commitment-phobic ways. Said my stepfather, in 2003 after my then-girlfriend left me: "You're probably better off as just a self-contained unit rather than trying to get mixed up with other people." If I'd heeded his advice, I probably wouldn't have spent the last five years trying to make a marriage work with a girl with whom ultimately I had nothing in common except a ravenous sex drive and an appreciation of watching shit blow up on Mythbusters.
My goal for 2010 and beyond (at least until I meet a girl who will be the mother of my children someday and settle down anew in order to devote myself to the task---let nobody here suggest that I'm looking to be some kind of perpetual-childhood type) is to get out there...meet some people...fuck some women...and remind myself that charm, charisma, and a knack for a good time are virtues that are actually worth something. I'm sailin' off to history...and I'll figure out where to put into port later.
Ahoy, mateys! Raise the anchor, it's time to sail. Soon as the ex-wife gets on that plane to Canada in ten days, it's fair winds and calm seas!