As I sit on an island soaking up 4th of July rays, I think of the quintessential summer holiday weekend movie: Jaws.
And I get fucking pissed.
Thanks to Steven Spielberg, I’ve been afraid to go into the water—even Lake Michigan—for nigh on 35 years. The image of that drunk broad holding onto the buoy as she gets munched on is forever imprinted in my landlubber brain. I don’t fancy becoming Bruce’s next amuse bouche.
To paraphrase Brody, I’m gonna need a bigger fist. Because as I learned from The Worst-Case Scenario Survival Handbook, punching a shark in the eye or gill is the best way to go. Or I could just not go into the water…
(photo: numpanglewat.files.wordpress.com)
Posts
5 comments:
OMG. I hate sharks. I tell people all the time that I have an irrational fear of them. And when people try to tell me that sharks are not an irrational fear, I point out that they are if you live on Lake Fuckin' Erie.
But I am absolutely convinced that some villainous mastermind will release some sort of fresh-water great white hybrid into the Great Lakes and that they will eat me.
I once did a story on a group of Lake Michigan surfers (yes, they actually exist). When asked why they don't surf in the ocean instead, they'll tell you it's because there's never been a documented shark attack in the Great Lakes.
I saw Jaws at the tender age of thirteen and was totally traumatized-of course that hasn't stopped me from watching it every time it's on cable. It has stopped me from being able to go into the ocean without being a nervous wreck though. If you get an opportunity to punch a shark in the eye, punch him again for me.
Post a Comment