About two-thirds of the time, I do my running at the gym. (I confess, I like treadmills. Actually, I like the little digital readout on the treadmills. I like knowing exactly how fast I’m going, how far I’ve gone, how many calories I’ve burned. Yeah, it’s a little like being a hamster on a wheel, a hamster on a wheel with a laptop, a speedometer and a heart rate monitor. But I digress.)

The gym isn’t that far away, so I walk. And it’s a pleasant walk. The whole way is right along the marina. So I stroll along looking at all the sailboats that cost more than most people's homes. I watch the ducks. I smell the salt air. It’s a good gig if you can get it. And that was exactly what I was doing Sunday when I spotted a jellyfish in the water. I’ve lived right here in this very spot, walked the very same route along the very same water for two years now, and I’d never before seen a jellyfish in the marina.

Huh, I thought, a jellyfish. Must be lost.

So I watched it for awhile and then went about my day. One out-of-place jellyfish, an anomaly. Interesting. Worthy of note, maybe. A “huh” moment.

Today, I once again headed to the gym. And there they were. NINE jellyfish. NINE. No jellyfish for two years and all the sudden nine. What the heck is going on out there in the big blue that’s causing a jellyfish convention to be held in my marina? They’re going to seminars, having drinks in the bar. Before you know it – jellyfish strippers. It’s chaos. A jellyfish Tailhook.

Also, possibly a sign of the apocalypse. I’m buying canned goods.