Wicked Tuna Recap: Tuna Beta Kappa

We’re back with another edition of KT’s Wicked Tuna Recap! If you’re not familiar with my recaps, I’m basically a person who knows nothing about fishing, so all I know is what I see on this show. Basically, a lot of yelling and reeling and dramatic music.

This episode starts off with another Gloucester-based boat taking on water at night and the Tuna.com closer to them than the Coast Guard. I’ll break from my usual sarcasm – that’s some scary ass shit. These guys are never wearing life jackets, it’s cold as hell, it’s pitch black out.

I'll take a plate of nope with a side of extra no way.

I’ll take the filet of horror with a side of shitting my pants.


Luckily, both waterlogged dudes get picked out of the water, so SNARK MODE ENGAGE, WE’RE BACK ON TRACK!

The next scene is shot at Zeke’s Delicious Breakfastorium, between Dave Marciano and one of the Stonerboat dudes.  I hope they order the coconut French toast because that ish is delish, or whatever the kids say. Stonerboat Captain has freshly shaven for this occasion (this is a lie). Apparently in an earlier episode that I did not watch, these two boats formed an alliance to catch more tuna somehow. My eyes just rolled out of my skull but I guess this is a reality show and that’s a thing you do on reality shows. Dave and Captain Probably Hungover decide that since they’re already losing money, they’re going to double or nothing and spend more money to go out to George’s Bank.


Good to see Dave diversifying his wardrobe.

Good to see Dave diversifying his wardrobe.


Meanwhile, the Miss Sambvca is already over at George’s Bank. True fact: As a kid growing up in another coastal town, I thought George’s Bank was an actual bank like where my parents had their mortgage. It wasn’t until after the No-Name Storm (aka Perfect Storm) that I actually figured it out. Anywho, on the Sambvca everybody appears to be back in high spirits even though they’ve caught the tuna equivalent of an old tire and handful of pebbles this season.


Don’t care, still fabulous.


Back on the Tuna.com, Dave gets a call from the Coast Guard, and it turns out the captain of the Terra Nova did not survive. Now, in hindsight, I remember this happening last fall and holy shit, how fucking AWFUL. Really, I snark on this show, but these guys work hard and it is a dangerous way to feed your family. The most danger I face on a daily basis in my job is drunk people knocking over bikes. And losing part of your finger in a chain, but that’s about it.

Over on George’s Bank, there’s a weird boat three-way between the Hard Merchandise, Pinwheel, and Sambvca. Stonerboat hooks one, and we’re back on the thing where one of these scruffy-haired gentlemen yells BOOST! about six thousand times. In describing the fish, the captain says “we have mega rod bend,” which if you guessed was my high school nickname, you’d be right. There’s some minor technical difficulties in getting their winch to actually haul the fish up, and the Sambvca has to bail them out.  They flake out on the Hard Merchandise to bring their fish home/use the celebratory tuna bong, which is kind of a dick move on their part because George’s Bank is in the fuck-all middle of nowhere.

However, the Sambvca is out of bait, and the Hard Merchandise has extra to give, leading Paul to exclaim, “I’m a little bait monger!” in a sing songy voice. Yep. This actually finally works for the boat and they catch a fish. I know, right?

He's just as surprised at the rest of us.

He’s just as surprised about this as the rest of us.

In the end, some tuna is brought in, weighed, sold, and there’s some high-fives all around, and then the episode ends and I finally go to bed. The end.

Disclaimer: Despite poking gentle fun at the captains and crew of this show, we actually admire them very much – not only for their hard work, but for helping Gloucester get on the map for something interesting. Please don’t slash our tires.


Amanda Cook, The Clam’s Poet Laureate

In an effort to broaden our literary horizons beyond fart jokes and yelling at the TV, we have brought on board the Gloucester Clam’s own Poet Laureate, Amanda Cook.


Poem for the Brad Delp Graffiti on Route 1
By Amanda Cook, formerly known as Amanda Porter.

I get sad when I see
The graffiti for Brad Delp
has been painted
Then I remember
the Mole Man graffiti
and that was painted over


Frank from Gloucester

By Amanda Cook, formerly known as Amanda Porter.

I usually see
Frank from Gloucester
on the bench
by Pallazola’s
but one time
I saw him
at the Bakery
at Market Basket.
I said
“Hi Frank”
and he looked at me
‘cuz he doesn’t know me.


Poem for WFNX
By Amanda Cook, formerly known as Amanda Porter.
I don’t know how
to change the stations
on my car radio.
So when WFNX
started playing
all that
night club shit
I was like
and I let it be.
Then the other day
they started playing
and calling themselves
The Bull.
I’m going to have to
sell my car.

The Night We Pretended We Were A Hipster Paradise

photo 3


Last week, I had posted about Barcade’s first-ever Brewery Takeover, in which they brought a truckload of vintage arcade games up our way to Cape Ann Brewery just for Friday night.

While overall it seemed like adding a few of the more recognizable games could have knocked the event out of the park, the Brewery was a perfect setting for videogameapalooza, since it’s spacious, already has a foosball table, and has plenty of wall space.


photo 4

Speed Buggy!

Among one of the first games I tried out was Speed Buggy, which I don’t think I’ve ever played before, and I sucked buckets of ass at it. I couldn’t get the hang of trying to jump over stuff, and I bashed into about twenty 8-bit obstacles before the game ended. It was kind of fun to play the early prototype of all those awful loud Dave and Buster type car-driving games. Now the next time I see one I can roll my eyes, finger my handlebar moustache, and say “Man, you haven’t lived until you’ve played Speed Buggy. I was into arcade driving games before they were cool.”

Another notable game was Swimmer. I had never played Swimmer, nor even heard of it (It came out before I was born, when dinosaurs roamed the earth). It was kind of like Frogger, except your dude was in the water, had to avoid logs and weird bugs, and got extra bonus points for eating fruit along the way. I’m not sure it’s such a great idea to eat bananas floating on top of a river with bugs in it, but I guess I’m too picky with my food sources.

Fun Fact: Babies are naturally good at NBA Jam.

Fun Fact: Babies are naturally good at NBA Jam.


NBA Jam was another popular offering of the evening, but since playing would have involved kicking an adorable baby off the machine, I skipped it. I remember it as one of the more entertaining games of my youth – dude, four people can play one game? Unreal. Next you’ll tell me you can get internet on phones.


Ironic use of black and white filter, naturally.

Ironic use of black and white filter, naturally.


Pitfighter is not my cup of booze, so I skipped that one. Ms. Pacman is more my style – literally, since another of my side projects is making Pacman jewelry on Etsy that no one buys (That was an incredibly shameless plug, and I apologize). However, my secret is that I also really suck at Ms. Pacman.  Just ungodly awful. Like I can kinda get through one screen of dot-eating before I get eaten by friggin’ Inky or Blinky and it’s game over. So I played that one early, before anyone got in line behind me and judged my shitty gameplay.

The night’s entertainment also offered up Rampage World Tour (a super fun game from the mid-90’s where you pretty much destroy the world as a giant reptile), as well as heavyweights such as Tapper and Centipede.

Barcade was a one-time thing (although it’s likely they’ll put a location in Boston in the next 5 years – I vote Allston), but these are the kinds of things this city should continue to seek out. We need things that draw 21 to 35 year olds to Gloucester and let the spend their discretionary income.  I’ve seen the hordes of BU kids come up on weekends – it’s my job, after all, and I’ve marketed to ’em – and they love to hit up bars as part of their visit.

Heck, honestly, the Brewery should just invest some money in vintage arcade games and pinball machines. Get a skeeball machine, and people’s kids will drop quarters in it like pink polka dotted panties dropping at a One Direction concert. The adults will blow their money on Galaga and Duck Hunt. The Brewery is already right on the harborwalk, a few arcade games would be a natural next step to making us a trendy place to go.

See? I’m a business genius.




No Snark Sunday- When a Kitten Flaps Its Wings…

Around this time of year we sometimes get cranky. Every non-work moment is taken up with some kind of community activity. There are end of season picnics, there are playoff games in effing Byfield which is apparently a place or something, the inbox fills up with invites complete with requests to bring a nut and gluten free dessert. It always seems like there are ten more things happening every day than we’d previously heard about. “We’re going to the end-of-season flaming hula hoop demonstration set to the music of Brahms. It’s in someplace called ‘Arkham’ and I volunteered you for the oboe solo, so you’ll need to learn how to play one. Also we have to carve an eagle out of yak ghee.”

It's pot luck. Can you bring this?

It’s pot luck. Can you bring this?

This year has been particularly insane and has culminated with your clameditor down in NY at a somewhat massive close-family Jewish/Hindu wedding. It’s been no small undertaking and last night we were in a post-driving/overtaxed/culture shock haze at the Sangeet, which is sort of like a rehearsal dinner, but with elaborate dancing and food so spicy the caterer can’t drive over major bridges without special permits. After a few hours of this were ready to crawl back out to the minivan and curl up into fetal position when we got to chatting with a lovely older Indian couple who’d flown here from Sri Lanka to be at the wedding. They asked about Gloucester where we and the bride’s family are from and we sort of rambly described it through the lens of the seven beers we drank in an attempt to get our intestinal tract back out of the plasma state it had entered because of the shrimp curry.

This IS medium spicy, sir.

This IS medium spicy, sir.

“You seem to have a very strong community there,” she said which was sort of shocking because I thought I’d been talking about harbors and the fishing industry and such.

She then related an Indian fable we’d never heard about a man who was sick of people so he went up into the Himalayas. There he lived, alone mediating until one day a lost kitten wandered into his hut. He was welcome for the company, but the kitten needed milk so he had to get a cow. Then the cow needed grass so he had to build a farm. The farm needed keeping so he got a wife and they had children who needed teaching and you can see where this goes. Because of his cat he’d founded a village.

It was the Himalayas so we assume this was the cat, right?

It was the Himalayas so we assume this was the cat, right?

OK, neat. Didn’t think about it much till this morning when we got a note on social media  reminding everyone that now that school is out some kids have lost their only sense of stability. For some its the only decent meal and healthy social interaction they get all day. No one is sending them to camps, signing them up for summer soccer or Spindrift. Nobody is packing sandwiches to take them to the beach. This person reminded us to keep an eye out for kids who need extra support during the summer. This was not a social worker, by the way. It was just another Gloucester mom who cares.

It reminded us that there are a lot of lost kittens out there. And it further reminded us that it’s sort of all or nothing when you live in a community like ours. We thought back to the guy-in-the-hut story. What wisdom was that dude really going to get out in the mountains thinking about stuff all up in his own head? His real wisdom was more likely to come fixing the cow fence for the five thousandth time, stepping in crap, cursing the sky and then looking down to find the kitten rubbing up against his leg.

In the end, we are who we are in our relationships to others.

Oh shit, is that my phone buzzing? Always right when you've almost reached moksha..

Oh shit, is that my phone buzzing? Always right when you’ve almost reached moksha..

Anyway, Namastov or Mazelte or whatever to all.

The Clam’s Tournament of Shitty Parking Lots: Day 4

Annnd we’re back yet again to finish up the quarterfinals of The Clam’s Tournament of Shitty Parking Lots! Our last few teams involve commerce and churches. Let’s get down to business and find out whose prayers are answered in today’s battle! bracketnew Our Lady of Good Voyage vs Temple Ahavat Achim

Our Lady of Good Voyage

Our Lady of Good Voyage isn’t the worst lot in town, by far. But what makes this one unique is the veritable obstacle course contained therein. To start, there’s two different levels of parking, one a few feet higher than the other, and both have individual tiny exits flanked by fencing. The spaces are angled oddly requiring a 5 point turn to accurately park. The aisles are mirror-scrapingly narrow, and the lot appears to only cover 10% of the parish’s parking needs. The whole lot sits on a blind curve, so you will face the angry spectre of death every time you try to turn left, partially because parishioners have parked halfway on the sidewalk on both sides of the street and you can’t see a thing.

Temple Ahavat Achim (made Jim take this one)

As a creative twist, the parking at Cape Ann’s only Temple is terrible more for what it’s not than what it is. What it’s not is a functional parking lot, it’s really just a few spaces mostly reserved for older folks leaving everyone else to wander in the desert of the parking situation that is downtown. What makes this lot truly magic on the terrible court are the random people who think that it’s totes fine to park there and go use the Y. Picture this: People are trying to get in for a funeral service before sundown on Friday and 87 year old uncle Joe who’s just flown in from Ft. Meyers can’t park his rental because there are three nonmember minivans parked side by side taking up all the spots. Further imagine that once the driver realizes her car has been towed that she starts yelling at congregants as they emerge. Put her in pajamas and flip flops. Got it? Good.

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Family Dollar vs. Gloucester Crossing

Family Dollar

This lot is like one of those Super Mario levels where you have to dodge the fire-flowers on top and bottom. People will back up quickly on either side of the lot, honk, get out of the car, and gesticulate wildly at the other driver, and you’re just trying to get across the lot to get to McDonalds before they stop serving McMuffins for the day. People don’t understand geometry and will park at a 30 degree angle from the lines. Semi-trucks are often rumbling through on deliveries and will suddenly stop and block the way. Oh look, a train. Guess you’re never leaving.

Gloucester Crossing

For fuck’s sake, the stupid fake rotary? Whose idea was that? Maim that person. It’s too small, no one understands how to yield before throwing themselves into the circle of pain, and it’s like oddly partially fake cobblestone for some reason.

Other amazing features of this gigantic mega crap-lot include idiots who drive diagonally through rows of spaces without looking, people who try to drive through the lot at 88mph (probably to get back to 1985 when beer was cheaper) and the random islands that make dead ends of whichever way you assumed was the damn exit. There’s a stupid four way stop that no one can correctly maneuver, and you probably just took 128 the wrong way not paying attention because the kids are rifling through the Basket bags looking for the ripple chips.

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