commentary What the #@*! is going on?

I was heading home from a Giants game t’other day (that’s how Shakespeare would write ‘the other day’), sitting on the back of the ferry boat (or the stern of the ship as Shakespeare the sailor would have written). It was a lovely day. The sun was shining, the mist was refreshing, the Giants against all odds had won and the beer had given me a pleasant life-is-good-and-I-love-all-human-beings vibe.
But then I started gathering little sound bites from the gentleman (and I use the term veeerrrry loosely) standing near the railing. I noticed (well, how couldn’t I) that his ‘conversation’ was liberally sprinkled with such colorful words as ‘f_ _ _ _ _ _ g, a _ _ _ _ _ _ , b_ _ _ _ _ _t, g _ _ _ _ _ n, etc.’
I am not a prude. Not to be confused with Richard M. Nixon famously uttering, with a straight face no less, “I am not a crook.” When in fact, of course, he was. I get nostalgic for the old school political scandals, don’t you? In addition to Nixon’s amateur hour Watergate break-in, the sex scandals of the 70s were more along the lines of Wayne Hays and Elizabeth Ray or Wilbur Mills and Fanne Foxe. Fanne Foxe! You can’t make this stuff up. Well, you can but it’s not nearly as salacious. Today we make do with charmless smarm like Mayor McGrabby in San Diego, Governor Lying Pants in South Carolina and selfies of Mr. Weiner’s wiener. And that’s just the tip. Of the iceberg (sorry, couldn’t resist).
But I digress.
There were several interesting things about this maritime ‘conversation.’
One, Mr. Pott E. Mouth (pretty sure that was his name) felt passionately about everything he said, frequently accenting a point he was making with an actual point in the chest of his compadre, whom I dubbed The Quiet Man.
Two: Pott had quite a bit of ink on him, from something crawling up his right (or beer) hand to a circle of fire around his neck. The circle of fire tattoo was most intriguing. I assume he did that one to hide his inevitable turkey neck wrinkles.
Three: The Quiet Man said nothing. At first I thought it was because he found every Mouth utterance fascinating and riveting, but then I assumed it was because he was a) hammered, b) wearing earplugs, c) both.
Four: Within earshot, heck only about three feet away, was a young lad playing dangerously close to the area they warn small children to avoid.  This was disturbing; I mean, why wasn’t the kid in school? I couldn’t tell if he was actually hearing any of the cascade of curses spewing from Pott, but his mother certainly did, as she was even closer to Mr. Mouth.
Five: Either Mom was oblivious to the language, was indifferent, or simply didn’t want to take on a big burly tattooed dude in the middle of the bay.
I found myself in a quandary. I wanted to walk the five feet and ask the guy to tone it down a bit, but Hamlet like, I vacillated. There is such a thing as free speech right? On the other hand, while I love colorful vernacular, I also think that it’s more effective (and interesting) to choose one’s words with a little more style and panache. Not to mention having the sense and sensibility to understand you’re in a public place, not your living room, and not everyone is as thrilled and charmed as you are by your loud gratuitous cursing. And, keep that ball off my front yard, dagnabbit!
I got very creative with my swearing when my kids came along. You parents out there understand the direct correlation of the arrival of children and the desperate need to swear. But I tried to keep expletives out of my discourse with the little ones around and then, gradually, the PG versions just seeped into my regular conversation. It has served me well, as I have been fairly successful at saying things like, ‘What the what!?!’ (thanks to Liz Lemon in 30 Rock); ‘Son of a son of a sailor!’ (Jimmy Buffet); and ‘What a donut hole!’ (origins unknown).
Does it make my venting any less effective? Nope. Is it as satisfying as saying, m_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _r? Not really. Does it matter? Not so much. I have reached a place where I can quasi-curse like a semi-sailor; best of all, I can do it with children around.
Hmmm. Taken out of context that last sentence doesn’t sound so good. Oh well, what the what!?!