Suggestion for improving food warning labels

BaconNathan “Doctor Bacon” Taylor waxes eloquently about his recent foray into pork belly incubation.

But that’s not the real story here.

The Food and Drug Administration requires nutrition fact information on all foods, and in most cases those labels also include pointers on proper preparation of said consumables. Considering the evening news almost always includes some tidbit about a group of citizens falling ill due to supposed manufacturer error, might I suggest the FDA begin taking their cues from Master Taylor:

… otherwise you’ll get some nasty bacteria and it will make you sick/kill you.

Now that will get consumers’ attention.

MG signing off (feeling extremely safe while dining at the Taylors’)

Get a laugh at my expense

YOURS TRULY: Are you still filming?

THE DIRTBAG: No.

Hard to believe this was recorded at the end of a profoundly life changing day, at least as far as angling life goes. We still pour over notes and flow charts and moon phase calendars, working towards praying for a repeat. That has yet to happen, so at least there’s the video.

Can’t wait for the Dirtbag to get his camera rolling on the golf course.

MG signing off (because it is fun to reminisce, even if the laugh is on you)

About exhausting that change in tactics

After absorbing the wisdom of his elders, the original dirtbag fly angler, Nate O’Taylor, proves perseverance can pay off on the urban South Platte…

taylorcarp

Master Taylor went five for seven. Yours truly? Zero for five (smallies don’t count in this game). Must have been the wine I gifted he and his new bride, or the massive supply of fly-tying materials I handed him when his better half wasn’t looking.

As a side note, the wedding was 100% bona fide off-the-rails. You can’t beat nuptials where the entire guest list lines up at the bar after dinner, grabs their drinks, and then moves directly to the back of the line once again. And again, and again.

We also spotted a hefty whitetail and a gonzo herd of fat turkeys, as well as signs (in the form of dispensed 12-gauge shells) that others know such creatures exist on this very public land. Which kinda sucks considering the original [extremely edible] wildlife discovery.

MG signing off (because sometimes you are on and sometimes you are off, but giving up is for sissies)

The Old and Bitter

YOURS TRULY: I need that signed document as soon as possible.

THE IMPETUOUS: I sent it two weeks ago via Priority Mail.

YOURS TRULY: Ok…thanks.

[two minutes eleven seconds later]

THE IMPETUOUS: Have you checked your mail in the last two weeks?!

YOURS TRULY: Uh…I’ve been fishing.

[nine seconds later]

THE IMPETUOUS: That’s what I thought.

YOURS TRULY: Hmm…almost sounds like nagging.

THE IMPETUOUS: I hereby declare that is precisely what it is.

[smiles]

The old and bitter hold steadfast on the shop floor, waxing irritably of bygone days i.e. before anglers wore Buffs on the rivers. Then claim they are the reason Buffs exist to begin with. The audience would rather choose their flies and GTFO. Sitting at the bench, mumbling to yet another derivation of the RS2, dreams of book contracts dance in their heads. Only five copies will ever sell. Damn that YouTube.

No time to sum up a fishing story. Because there isn’t one. Gas prices are too high, enthusiastic friends are few, and/or the lawn needed mowing.

THE OLD AND BITTER: You put in as much time as I have and you would be old and bitter too.

NOT SO INNOCENT BYSTANDER: Not a chance. Nobody is getting dragged into that grave you’re digging but yourself.

The rest are having the times of their lives, casually deferring the tales to those that can tell them better. Getting hassled for having so much fun, and finding fun in that too.

MG signing off (because Chupacabras exist, and so do old, bitter fly anglers)

A fishing story for boys and girls

Here is a boy brown trout. During autumn, boy brown trout show their flashy colors to attract the ladies. Not their Platinum American Express Card or German sports car…just colors. And the brighter the better, because boy brown trout have lots of competition for their girlfriends. I know it’s hard to fathom, but if a boy brown trout gets a fly stuck in his mouth, he goes from being randy to being really pissed off. Even the teen-aged boy brown trout are easily distracted by this.

This boy brown trout got very angry today. As did all his buddies.

Then there’s the girl brown trout. No two are exactly alike, but she is generally charming and pretty and has a lot of charming and pretty friends. Except she’s not always nice when she’s looking for a boyfriend. In the autumn she puts on a show of her own, chasing away the ugly boys while waiting for her prince. Which invariably arrives. Interestingly, she also gets a little irritated when a fly happens upon her lip. Kind of like a bad hair day, only fun.

We aggravated this girl brown trout and all of her lovely friends today. Every last one of them.

MG signing off (so the fish can go back to being happy boys and girls)

EDITOR’S NOTE: Of course, with every fly-fishing story comes the bloopers reel, compliments of Nate O’ Taylor. Or maybe the outtakes are the reality, and the story above is just a fairy tale.

Youthful disrespect

Nate O’Taylor was none too happy to get conned into entering Carp Slam 2011, only to be rebuffed thereafter when inquiring about potential fishing outings together. I’m up to my nostrils in work, and trying to get prepped for the main event myself. But yoots will be yoots – Nate lashed out, exclaiming conspiracy. And vowed to take me to the cleaners, after selling my soul at the charity auction.

So what does a mild mannered chap such as myself do when confronted with this flagrant disregard for propriety amongst the quiet sport set?

carp on the fly

Nate O' throws down the gauntlet

Photoshop a carp into his hands. After landing it for him, of course.

MG signing off (awaiting the moment when the kid eats his words…and buys me that beer)