Hello. My name is Jack, and this is my blog. I sell whistles. But not the whistles you would think. I sell whistles to boats. I’ve been working on my craft for years. When I was little, I would widdle holes into sticks and then find a way to turn it into a whistle. It wasn’t till I was a few years older that my mother, Taylor, told me how gross it was, and I stopped, for a time.
I’ve loved whistles all of my life. I set out to be a great whistle salesman where I’m from up in Wisconsin. But there’s not much use for them there. I make custom whistles, usually for coaches or factories. But once you’ve made them, you’ve made them all. My sister sells belts and between the automotive industry and men with increasing waistlines, she’s enjoyed bashing me at family events.
So after having years of being tormented by my mother and my sister, Jean. I decided to move away. I contacted Brosda & Bentley and had a house arranged for me. Small scale, for them, large scale for those not in the whistle industry. It might sound like I’m joking, but I spend a month creating the whistles that end up being the iconic sound for millions of peoples adventures. The time has to be right and yet unique. No two whistles can sound the same.
So I’m new in town down here, and I have no intent on going back to Wisconsin or the snow. I hate the snow, and I love the sand. I also love the heat, the way it feels on my face, the way it stings my hands when I’ve been working with the iron for too long. It’s been something I’ve dreamt of forever.
As for Miami itself, it’s alright. There are plenty of beautiful women here, but the drivers are awful. There are plenty of good places to eat, but very few things that agree with my stomach. I do like that there is plenty of time for sports and activities, but I don’t think I can enjoy the heat for that long.
Overall, I’m happy to be here. I may need some time to adjust to the permanent summer of Florida, but I prefer it. Let it become my season, let the sand become part of me, let the world surround me.
Let the ocean splash around me and let my body be taken from it. I want to be absorbed into this; I want who I am to erode in the dunes. I want my northern feet to be changed by the southern sun. I’m tired, and I’m filled with hate for where I came from. I have no intention of going back there or speaking to the people who have been there my whole life. I want them to fall into the snow; I want them to fall into the blizzards of the north and remain there because the winter is dead to me.