Shark attack

I got a call tonight from S in Santa Cruz. Her husband M's old surfing buddy, P, was attacked by a shark today. He's okay. He just lost a lot of blood and a chunk of his leg.

First, these are the folks I went camping with (Cold snap, Another day, flashback #1.) Second: surfing alone is a bad idea. Here's what (evidently) happened.

P is surfing alone on Drake's beach in Point Reyes. He's loafing in the water, his feet dangilng over the end of his board (which makes him look just like a seal -- sharks' favorite food -- from below). A shark comes up and takes a bite out of his leg. Evidently this hurt alot, because P turns around and screams at the shark. Something like, "Get the hell off me you goddamn shark." He also thwacks the shark on the head as hard as he can, which is exactly the right thing to do if a shark is biting you. Sharks are cartilaginous fish, as opposed to bony fish, which means their skeletons are composed primarily of cartilage. This is why dolphins can chase off sharks by bumping them. If you ever get attacked by a shark, pop it on the nose. They have all sorts of sensitive equipment there. Don't ask what; I have no idea. (Maybe someone can write in and let us all know.)

Anyway, P hit the shark hard enough that he scared him/her off. The shark turns away sharply, and cuts P with its dorsal fin. So now P's got a chunk out of his leg and a gash on his head that's bleeding like crazy. He is chum. (Not chunder, as I thought, or chowder, as S, my Scrabble nemesis, thought. Chum.) A wave comes. He catches it, surfs to shore, walks the 200 feet to his stuff, and uses his cell phone to call 911. Soon, helicopters arrive and he is airlifted to the hospital. He's going to be fine. And dang, does he ever have a cocktail party story for all time. Lucky guy. Sortof.

I've been remiss in chronicling my parents' visit two weeks ago. Two things:

1. We walked around Noe Valley and looked at houses for sale. Median real estate price is a half million dollars. My dad promised if he wins the lottery, he will help me buy a place. I cheered. "Yay! It's a team effort." I need a bigger team.
2. Favorite moment: we're playing gin rummy 500 on Saturday afternoon at my apartment. It is a very small apartment, so my parents went to a hotel and then stayed at my place for two nights. I got a room at the Zen Center.

So we're in the last hand, two draws from the end of the game. My dad and I each have more than 500 points, so the winner will be decided by who has the higher score. He is 5 points ahead. He is deeply thoughtful, counting cards (because he has a photographic memory and can do that) and strategizing. Then he grins. "If I give mother what she needs to go out, you won't get my points or hers, and I will win," he says. He's right. But I can't take this sort of talk lying down. "Yes, but I get to go before she does, and the probability is 50-50 that one of the remaining cards will put me out, giving me your points and mother's points, and the higher score." He smirks. I smirk. He does that bobbing hand thing he does with his discard that is vaguely threatening. The tension mounts. My mom can't take it anymore. She reaches forward, and picks up the next card on the deck. It is not her turn. My dad and I stare, aghast. She giggles. "I just couldn't wait to see who would win," she says. We all laugh for about 5 minutes. She puts the card back. I take my turn, go out, and win. But somehow it wasn't quite the same. It was a nice visit.