h/t to the Internet Caretaker.
Van the Man was awesome. Incomparable and peerless, relaxed and . . . awesome.
The VWA venue in Alpharetta sucked canal water. Seriously. It was a lousy venue for the likes of Van and his promotions team should be canned for it. I do hope they made loads of money off of sardine-cramming as many people as possible into the most uncomfortable arrangements since the Black Hole of Calcutta.
Plus, the sound team couldn't get the sound up and balanced, or keep it from feedback until about halfway through the 90-minute concert.
Van had it dialed up to 11. Maybe I shouldn't blame mere mortal Union thug stage hands for not understanding that kind of genius.
like untamed horses
should remain in the corral
for some reason
i like to
let them run
and watch the truth unfold
from flashing hooves
and shaking heads
i call out after them
but it's too late
never looking back
spoken and wild
when tired and hungry
Yes, somebody had had a long day and was dreaming of beer o'clock. Or someone's spouse was seeking ammo for another round of, drinking already? But it amused me no end to see a Google Search hit for "when does the sun cross the yardarm?"
You know, technically, if you're reading this pirate blog after the sun has crossed the yardarm, I don't care where you live, it's officially okay to bend the ol' elbow and slow life down to an idle.
what noise does
the ocean make
except to slap
against a wooden hull
or break upon
a silent shore?
left to itself
it rolls and runs
keeping a thousand
only when stirred
by a wind or a sail
a silent sea
but yields up treasures
as quietly as she takes them
and yields up pleasures
as joyfully as she makes them
Son Chef made us a mean, spicy batch of Thai Red Curry. It burns us, precious! Yum.
pale from winter's
in closed corridors
early budding spores
secluded and sniffling
awaiting the freedom
of a well-borne breeze
and warm insinuations
from the Yucatan
whisper in the
faint hope of
And trying to accept what I can't change. Like the header border. Blogger is so stilted.
The new header pic is one I snapped while driving my car along the river's edge on the way to work; back when I lived in a satellite bedroom community of The Big City. Since I now have moved back to the Big City (it's a relative term), it seemed time to change up the place a bit.
Anyhoo, it's a picture that perfectly captures the serenity of life near ancient waters, even if they do flow North. I may keep it for a while. The other, with its directional marker, doesn't fit my psyche right now. I've no where to go, no money to get there. Might as well watch the moss float in the soft breezes of an October morning.
See what I mean about bloggers who give way too much information? It's the deuce, I tell you, living in Florida. We never get a break from the need for neatly grooming our beautiful tanned legs and painted tootsie toes.
Other good deeds today included finding a nice Sprint phone on the beach and being able to return it to its owner later, after calling "home" "mom" "dad" and finally, "Uncle Rob". Folks, I'm hoping you know your husband or wife's name and are smart enough to make your entries for phone numbers easily identifiable as did this young man. Husband. Wife. Brother, whatever. How about an entry for, "Did you find me?"
Speaking of electronic necessities, this has got to be the best eulogy ever offered for a Blackberry. It certainly spoke to quite a few commenters. Dear Suzette! Write about Extremely Important Fashion News and ...hardly a peep. But a small farewell to a departed communicator and the whole world has something to say. The comments really are wonderful.
I also found yet another length of line and tackle, with weight, hook and bait still attached to the leader, embedded in the shallows where I was walking on the beach. I had the good fortune to see it before Pepper or I stepped on it. Not like the last time. I returned it to its owner who was quite grateful. I wonder what fish snapped that line? (Note to insurance providers: it really is an accident that happens on the beach-- it's the fourth leader-line I've found-- and not on some fishing boat or while working. I had to answer your Grand Inquistor repeatedly about the leader-pin stuck in my foot. Luckily I had pics of my sandy foot to show him. That finally shut him up.)
A heavy fog rolled in to within about 2 miles of the beach, and a rescue helicopter was busy guiding pleasure boats back to the inlet. They had likely wandered out earlier in the day only to find themselves lost within a few miles of land, without GPS or means to find their way back. The jetties are notorious for tearing up boats that wander out of the channel, so simple as it seems, even with a GPS it would be a bit tricky to navigate the narrows safely in a fog.
Yeah, don't hate me cuz I went to the beach with Pepper Dog today. Me and about a hundred other folks had the same idea. I didn't spend a dime on this Black Friday, and I know that's so selfish of me, what with the economy languishing like it is. But when I have the top down on the Miata, the sunshine and salt air and a wonderful wonder-dog, it's hard to imagine anything else I might need.
Ever since the unfortunate business back in July, when my then-boss came to work with a hacking cough and fever and I had to spend the day cooped up with her in a small van, and then I got a roaring case of the flu and she denied it was her fault, and coupled with the overwork conditions and my near-extreme anemia and just hitting the wall, emotionally and physically-- ever since that day I walked away from full-time work, or work with tourists, I have not had the first sniffle or hint of a cold or flu.
My short stint with the real estate office was also very secluded, had my own little office with a door I could close. No germs allowed! No human interaction!
Way too many bloggers have been flu-blogging this past week. But since I am no longer employed anywhere, I am enjoying good health, so far. More workplaces should insist on making their employees work from home, sez I.
I don't go to church anywhere. I should, I know. However, that whole communion cup and "sign of peace" business is surely a test of one's faith in divine healing.
I don't have grandkids, or any neighbor kids to infect me, dragging home microbes by the billions from day care or school, although it would be a fair trade off.
Know what doesn't make you sick? Blogging. I think the whole key to staying healthy is to become a hermit. Which is easier these days, what with the Intartubes and all. Just gotta be vigilant about keeping the cookie crumbs from getting into the keyboard.
Why yes, I am feeling better, thanks for asking. I've been sick for a month, left a job because of it (I'd only been there four months, long enough to remind myself why I left the non-profit scene before), and have only now in the last 5 days felt like a human being again.
I smiled at a some stranger, I refrained from ramming a tourist with my car (didn't keep me from cursing them mildly, however), I only flipped off one tourist that was tailgating my little Miata in their obscenely large, visible-from-outer-space SUV.
Energy crisis? Can't tell it in Florida. I putter around at a sedate 78mph and let the huge motor homes towing Toyota Tundras with golf carts in the bed and a grill in the golf cart just flow around me. I wish I'd gotten a pic of that, but he was flying by me doing at least 90 mph and 5mpg.
They're headed back to New Jersey, thank Gott. I'm sorry, but I am so sick of NJ-ites coming here and ruining the place with rudeness. (It rubs off on the locals, see 2nd paragraph.) And bad fashion sense. And cluelessness. (It's a marsh, it's supposed to smell salty and fishy. It's Artesian water, it's supposed to smell like rotten eggs. It's good for you.) And obnoxiously loud voices in restaurants. This is the South, dammit! Be civilized, restrained, and polite. Like Jimbo. He knows how, and I'm sure Suzette would never embarrass herself in that way. So who are these low-lifes with the Jersey attitude and accent? Yo, dawgs, save all the crap for your neighbors back home, up North. Hey Jersey: It's Florida. It's supposed to be hot. We like breathing our air through a straw. Grow some gills, wouldja?
I can't understand it. I'd rather put up with the French.
While I'm feeling nice, allow me to shout out to Ted on the occasion of his 40th Birthday. Have a wonderful day, Ted. No need to rant today, I've gotcha covered! Glad you were born! Too bad it's in August.
No, August is the month to stay home, hunker down with a glass of lemonade by the pool and wait for school to start. It's just not safe out there.
Speaking of pools, allow me to digress further into the ennui of The Slack. Our pool here at the condos just opened for the season two weeks ago. The pool actually sits down into the marshy marsh, so it needs to be maintained carefully, and resurfaced every few years... something that should only take a week to do. The contractor hired in early February played it along for weeks and months, finished just 6 weeks ago, only to have the pool closed again as salt water intruded once more. Contractor gone.
You gotta love a pirate town. The New Jerseyites on the Condo Board were flabbergasted and amazed that a contractor might not be licensed, or capable, or a keeper of his word. Oh, how they whinged about it and were amazed when someone else (besides me!) told them what I have learned since living here: everything will have to be done twice, if you hire a local. Should we sue the other guy? C'mon! He has nothing, and has likely moved his pirate ass to some other apartment project around here. Or under some bridge. Or is skulking out on Fish Island.
The Pool is lovely now. Except.
Except for the fact that we no longer have kiddie pools anywhere anymore. How much nicer it was to let the diaper set and toddlers swim in a fetid swamp of baby water and Gerber-poo. Why have they disappeared? Now kids are all allowed to contaminate the main pool. Sweet young moms saying things out loud like, "are you sure you don't have to go potty? You can't potty in the pool!"
Y'know, when you've been saying that for an hour, it's long past time to take your apple-juice-swilling spawn to the bathroom. And no, that extra-cling huggie diaper is not making me feel any better about all this. It's not the beach, lady. It's a pool, with a limited number of gallons of water and chlorine. Buy a blow-up pool and bring it along with you and let the child scamper in his own pee-soaked universe. But you're not kidding me or anyone else. Unless that child has been heat-fused in some sort of Seal-a-Meal diaper, I don't want to see your darling in my pool.
And now, if every smoker could just learn to use a frickin' ash tray. "It's biodegradable!" is the latest defense for turning the lawns and beaches into a personal ash tray. Well, my dog's poo is biodegradable too. But if I let her ceremoniously unload on your doorstep day and night, awaiting the next 5 rainy days to help melt it into the grass, I think you'd be pretty upset with me, too. Will some smoker who does toss their butts without a thought (none of my readers would, I know) please get back to me and tell me how long it takes a butt to biodegrade? Cuz I'm still waiting for the last, oh, 5,000 of them to disappear.
It's a mindset I simply do.not.get.
The Volvo-driving Obama-voting liberal bumper sticker set and Save the Planet hippies from the local Lib-Arts college all roll down their windows and toss the butts out. Haven't seen one of them roll up the window after a smoke without having first heaved the butt out into the general populace. Nice. Oh, those Florida wildfires along I-95? Nice.
A'ight. Halfway through August. I think I'll make it.
Sorry for the crappy cell-phone quality. Just a couple of pics of Pepper's favorite beach this morning:
The Magic Beach Motel is still standing, or at least, it's been painted again, which is likely all that's holding it together. Pepper ignores the camera, while she concentrates on being an excellent driver:
If you live a really good life, in the next one, you get to be a happy dog, chasing birds, swimming, puking and pooping all over the beach. It's probably an acquired taste, but it seems to make her pretty happy. God help you if you don't have enough humanity in you to just make sure that your critters are happy.
"The righteous man regardeth the life of his beast," as the Good Book says.
The whole of the blogosphere is suffering from the Summertime Blues. The becalmed winds and slack sails are just enough to make bloggers want to start tossing the oaters over the gunnels; pitching and yawing toward the ill currents of a national election that no one is excited about.
Just this week I know of more than three bloggers whining about their readership going down. One even quit outright. (Okay, he didn't exactly quit...) Heck, everyone's hits are going down. If they tell you different, they're either lying or they're posting pics of girls in summer bikinis to keep 50% of the hits at least.
Meh. In the long days of summer, it's too tempting to be outside and carpe the damn diem. Once back inside, the temptation is strong to sit back and be entertained by someone else's writing while one sips tasty vodka novelties. Problem is, everyone's got the same idea: why write?
It's dead, Jim.
Millions of bloggers in sync with the drag of nature's annual Global Warming: Summer.
So, being lazier than a bluetick hound on a Tennessee porch, I decided to just steal a meme that's not too taxing. El Capitan stole it from someone else, so I'm just gonna ape the Baboon Pirate and go with it. I may even be too lazy to put in my own answers on each question, so I'll leave you to wonder...
In a Word:
1. Where is your cell phone? purse
2. Your significant other? gloating
3. Your hair? fabulous
4. Your mother? valhallah
5. Your father? lamentable
6. Your favorite time of day? Night
7. Your dream last night? sleep
8. Your favorite drink? tall
9. Your dream goal? attainable
10. The room you’re in? colorful
11. Your ex? nonexistent
12. Your fear? conquerable
13. Where do you want to be in 6 years? content
14. What you are not? finished
15. Your Favourite meal? shared
16. One of your wish list items? This
17. The last thing you did? typed
18. Where you grew up? barn
19. What are you wearing? smile
20. Your TV is? Dead
21. Your pets? goofy
22. Your computer? bitchin'
23. Your life? surprising
24. Your mood? mellow
25. Missing someone? Paul
26. Your car? Jetta
27. Something you’re not wearing? out
28. Favourite store? Dollar
29. Your summer? mahvehlous!
30. Your favourite colour? Red
31. When is the last time you laughed? today
32. When is the last time you cried? hellifIknow
33. Your health? comfy
34. Your children? talented
35. Your future? inevitable
36. Your beliefs? mine
37. Young or old? young
38. Your image? unsalvageable
39. Your appearance? summoned
40. Would you live your life over again knowing what you know? differently
You can always count on certain things washing ashore after winds from the northeast. Large piers and planks always make me dream of playing "Survivor" on this beautiful beach and building myself a righteous palapa; several bits of coquina blocks, and bricks and the occasional gold ring arrive at my feet. Yes, this would do nicely.
But last evening was the most dismaying thing to wash ashore, oh, since the last EveryDay here in Florida:
A strange, beached creature, we wondered what it could be, so we circled to see more of it:
Another farookin' Honda. Where could this one be from? Hmmm... Click the pic to read the license plate.
Like we don't have enough of these peeps down here. Only one peep, maybe two, from Brooklyn that would be a welcome sight, here. Sorry guys, really do wish you were here to enjoy this beautiful Spring!
It's a tough assignment, but somebody's gotta go find The Slack and bring it back to you poor slobs. Herewith:
No sand dollars today but I did spy this little guy:
I remembered this picture from March 1st, that I forgot to share, it's my favorite schooner taking tourists out for an afternoon cruise:
Dr. Helen is asking if your car reflects your personality, and Glenn reminds us not to be smug.
Well, it used to be you could look up the word, "smug" and see pics of Volvo owners. But this pic I took a few days ago kinda dissipates the Volvo Smug Cloud, and also says something about the car's owner:
(For the record, I think Volvo owners should be allowed to live, I just don't want to be behind them at a red light.)
The Jolly Roger and his brother, Dangerous Dan teamed up for the 22nd Annual Florida's Iron Man contest. As you can see, it is a grueling 24 hours of five events: Bowling, Darts, Billiards, Golf and Horseshoes.
Training is intense for some, but for most it's a once-a-year chance to try and not be the Horse's Ass. It's the most perfect Slacker event I can think of.
Oh. You see, if you win, your prize is a bit of cash and your trophy is The Horse's Hindquarters. The object is to NOT win!
The Jolly Roger did his part for the bowling rounds.
He's killer on darts, but they lost anyway. Way to go!
This morning they played golf and Dangerous Dan did his part and the two of them, overall, made par. Overachievers. No golf pics. No girls allowed on the golf course during the game.
You can see how stressful it is to be so near the bar while trying to compete.
Oh. There's only ONE RULE for the whole 24 hours. When the game master sounds the whistle, you can't be more than 5 seconds from your drink. Even if you are playing horseshoes.
Today Pepper Dog and I went to catch up with the golfers after the game. They were still having dart and billiard competitions. Pepper just loved all the attention.
In fact, she's been quite full of herself ever since!
The Jolly Roger is snoring away on the couch, now. He and Dangerous Dan never came close to winning, so I know they had a great time.
If you're ever in Florida the week after Bike Week, test your Slacker Mettle and see if you have what it takes to be non-competitive in five sports in 24 hours.