Famous Vincent met us with his boat at the little dock behind Burger King, right where the ocean meets the river. It was just me and Keith, along with Vincent and Roger. The ocean was nice and smooth. Keith nearly speared a three-foot reef shark, but as usual he missed! It started to rain hard after about 45 minutes, so we called it a day.

Keith took all the fish home for Rasta. As we were leaving, I told him, "Yeah, Keith, tell 'em you speared all these fish yourself, everyone will be impressed." He looked at me sideways: "I can't do that, Gerry, that's a lie."

A couple of days later, he nudged me as we sat together on his porch: "Oh by the way, Gerry, I DID tell 'em I speared those fish. And you're right, everyone WAS impressed!" Little white lie, but Keith's soul is intact, I promise, lol.

Later, I went to Rick's for the sunset. I particularly enjoy the Jerk chicken from a barrel guy just outside Ricks -- Season to the Bone or SLice to the Bone is his name -- but the higglers were unstoppable. One of them was pushing CDs, and as I tried to eat, I blurted out: "Just please stop talking to me." The guy did NOT like that. He then went into a spiel of how this was HIS country, and he can say whatever he wants to whomever he wants, and that I should never say "stop talking" to a "real Rasta."

It took all my self-control not to reply with something like: "Well, you may be a real Rasta, but I'm a real Jew in the music industry in Hollywood, and if you knew that, believe me you wouldn't be talkin' to me like this because of all these tourists you badger, I'm one who can help make your dreams come true!"

But, alas, I kept my mouth closed, except for the chewing and the jerk sauce drippin' down my chin. God I love Jamaica.