That Was a Good Day

The doldrums.

I was just about to embark on a short piece about emotional doldrums, that ho-hum feeling of routine ennui that makes us feel listless and worse, inconsequential. I think it is worth a brief aside, however, to note that I just learned something new - assuming that we can trust the Wiki-Monkey responsible for the doldrums entry.

Until six minutes ago, I had zero clue that the Doldrums are an actual place. I always assumed it was simply the state of relentless calm at sea, not a proper noun. Here is what is written on Wikipedia regarding the Doldrums:

“The Doldrums (often capitalized when referring to the geographic region) is an area of the Atlantic Ocean, the Pacific Ocean and the Indian Ocean affected by the Intertropical Convergence Zone, a low-pressure area around the equator where the prevailing winds are calm. The low pressure is caused by the heat at the equator, which makes the air rise and travel north and south high in the atmosphere, until it subsides again in the horse latitudes. Some of that air returns to the Doldrums through the trade winds. This process can lead to light or variable winds and more severe weather, in the form of heavy squalls, thunderstorms and hurricanes.

This region is also noted for calm periods when the winds disappear altogether, or are light and shifting. Hurricanes originate in this region. Because of the unpredictable weather patterns, the Doldrums became notorious with sailors because this region's periods of deadly calm could trap ships for days or weeks on end as they waited for enough wind to power their sails.”

So there you have it. I’m not sure if this improves my disposition towards the concept of the ‘doldrums’ or not. My instinct is that this new knowledge of the Doldrums being a physical location, albeit generally, gives them a tangibility that can be reckoned with. If they can be found on a map and given a proximity, then it is possible to plot a course of action to avoid or at least anticipate the Doldrums. Perhaps this can be applied to the doldrums we carry with us on our modern journey.

When I find myself drifting aimlessly in my personal doldrums I often amuse myself with the following quote from Bill Murray’s character in Groundhog Day, Phil Connors, “I was in the Virgin Islands once. I met a girl. We ate lobster and drank pina coladas. At sunset we made love like sea otters. That was a good day. Why couldn't I get that day over and over and over?”

Naturally this leads one to crack open the door to the storage closest of good memories and dust a few days off. I have a number of ones I keep there to liven up the off days, but one of my favorites is not so much a powerful one, like the day I got married, or a day filled with wonder and beauty, but rather a whimsical one.

I’m going to guess the year was either 1998 or 1999 and it was the middle of the week in spring. Three gentlemen in their late 20s – myself, Pat and Ian – alighted from a slip in Jersey City on a modest sailboat belonging to Ian and heroically crossed the Hudson back to Manhattan. The three of us were all freelancers at the time and with nothing else on the docket that particular day we thought we would wile (pun intended) away the afternoon, taking in the sun and the spring river breeze. Armed with three bottles of cheap Chilean red wine, no food and a boombox, we anchored the Ian’s vessel just off the World Financial Center making sure that we were in full view of the working stiffs trapped inside. Cruel bastards, I know, but as Janis once sang, ‘freedom is just another word for nothing left to lose.’

We uncorked our plonk, turned up the tunes and lay about on the deck bullshitting one another in the way young men do. Some time passed, we worked our way through our liquid availables and our reverie was only interrupted by the fact that we realized we were being watched. We weren’t anchored right at the shore, but we were close enough that we could see people in the offices on the first couple of floors of the building. On the second floor, there were a couple of young ladies passing a pair of binoculars back and forth spying on our enviable position.

We waved. They waved back. It was a scene out of a bad 80’s romantic comedy.

As you would presume, there was a quick discussion amongst the lads as to our next move and how we might capitalize on this unexpected development. Cell phones were less prevalent in those days, but I happened to have one on me and it even got reception at our anchorage. I joked to the fellows that what we needed was a giant sign with the cell number on it. Ian went below deck and returned moments later with two pieces of white card and a giant magic marker. Understand that Ian’s boat, while equipped with all the basics, was not an elaborate conveyance. It was if we were stranded on a desert island, a crate of pasta washed ashore and I wistfully said aloud, “If only we had a strainer” to find moments later Ian producing a strainer from his go-bag.

Anyway, I proceeded to write my digits on the cards. We then waved back to the ladies and held the cards aloft for them to read. It was rather difficult because we were doubled over laughing at the insanity of it all. Sure enough, after the final four digits had been displayed, my phone rang.

I wish I could tell you that we made some amazing connection was made between us over the air between their cave of cubicles and our tiny cloud purposeful idleness. Unfortunately, I found not damsels in distress looking to be saved, but financial foot soldiers who couldn’t comprehend why we would waste a perfectly good working day drinking cheap wine and listening to music. The conversation mostly consisted of small talk along the lines of, “What are you guys doing?”
“Not much. Sailing. Drinking.”
“Don’t you guys work?”
“No. Not really.”

And so on. The conversation was cut short by the return of their boss, but I was less disappointed by this outcome than relieved. Not to mention I was friggin’ hungry. Moments after hanging up with the ladies, I turned to Pat and Ian and said something to the effect of “Well, that happened. If only we could get delivery out here. I could use a pizza.” Ian once again ducked below deck and returned with a menu book for Jersey City. One phone call and fifteen minutes later, we pulled back into his slip to find the pizza delivery guy holding our hot pepperoni pie.

That was a good day.