Call Me E.

Call Me E.
all stories and essays by Sean Rein

My New Hobby

I, like many other people my age, sometimes feel like we have no purpose in life. I see other men in their mid-30s who are more successful and seem to have more money than I do. That does not bother me at all. What bothers me is that they all seem to have one passion in life that fills their free time.

For some it's golf. You've seen these jokers in their horrible shirts heading to the golf course with their $800 golf clubs to pay $100 or more in greens fees because they think that they are the next tournament pro.

I quit playing golf eight years ago because I cannot afford it and I refuse to dress myself like that.

Other guys fill the void with running. You know the dorks I'm talking about. They have the $200 Nike shoes, the tight icky spandexy shirts (if they even wear a shirt while they are running), and they are so skinny that it looks like the wind might blow them over.

My body was not built for running.

Some fellas are into the Harley Davidson lifestyle. You know, the $20,000 bike that they put on a trailer and tow to Sturgis, South Dakota, where they pretend that they are Hell's Angels and that their wives are their bitches. I always assume that most of the hardcore biker guys laugh at these guys because their leathers aren't scuffed up and they have no idea how to work on their own bikes.

I am not allowed to get a motorcycle because my wife had to take me to the emergency room after I tipped over on a motor scooter doing 30 miles an hour and wearing shorts and no helmet.

About eight years ago I felt like I really had found my niche. I bought an old fishing boat and spent every possible weekend and vacation day fishing on a Minnesota lake. I have to admit that I am obsessed with it. I have spent countless hundreds of dollars on rods, reels, tackle, etc., putting me in the same company as any other compulsive hobbyist I know.

I know several people who spend way too much money on comic books. I know people who have vast music libraries that must have cost a fortune. I even know a guy who is obsessed with strip clubs. He's the guy up against the glass with the other creeps who give all their money to the dancers. If I'm spending $100-plus on a girl, I want more that a peek at her breasts.

So like every other person out there, I spend money on my obsession. In fact, I just spent $16,000 on a brand new fishing boat. It's in my garage right now if you want to take a look at it. It has a fuel-injected outboard motor, two live wells for bait and all the fish I catch, and four comfortable seats for me and whoever goes with me. It's quite the rig and the monthly payment is similar to a car payment for an automobile of a similar price.

Everything was great until I read the Sunday paper last week. In Germany there was a competition called "The International German Beard Championships."

How cool are these guys? Forget fishing, I want to get into competitive beard growing! Not as a bearded man though, I want to be the guy who dresses the beards. I couldn't grow a thick beard if I had four years and an endless supply of Rogaine.

My friend Tony, who has a five o' clock shadow at 9 a.m., is growing out his beard for the sole purpose of my practice. What a great friend.

If anybody reading this has himself (or herself) a good, full, rugged beard, please get in contact with me. We could win next year's competition! I have a design already planned out. It's called Amish ZZ Top. Just wait 'til you see it!

Oh yeah, I also have a boat for sale.