The Superman and the Sea

I must be on a bit of a Hemmingway kick―he says wondering what a full-blown case of Hemmingway-itis would look like. Maybe…

(Around the breakfast table)

Me: Have you eaten enough?

Child #1: Lamentably no. My gastronomic rapacity knows no satiety.

Me: If I've told you once, I've told you twice, don't use ten-dollar words. There are older and simpler and better words.

Or perhaps just a desire to rub hair tonic into one's balding pate. (As reported of Hemmingway by Roald Dahl, who was wondering what was taking the old guy so long.)

Okay, I got off track there. This post was supposed to be a brag about the fish I caught in Denmark (the town, not the country), and a speculation about the reason for this marine feat.

First, the brag. Here's the fish. It's a whiting, but I'm not sure if its of the king george or yellow-fin variety (yes, I'm aware it has yellow fins). You can call me Ishmael.

Second, the speculation. A day before we travelled to Denmark I had a little-performed blood test that involved the drawing, irradiation, and re-injection of blood. I haven't received the results, but isn't it obvious? Blood plus radiation can have only one outcome: super powers. To wit, the fish. I have obtained some kind of fish mastery.

PS: The hand captured in the photo above belongs to a very tall native of Denmark (the country, not the town), who goes by the name of Ruprecht. He has a hand-span the size of a hubcap.