Key West, Florida A not-so-brief overview. Part 1

Key West, Florida  A not-so-brief overview.  Part 1



First an apology followed by an explanation

I’m sorry.

There. There’s my apology.

If you’ve read any of my previous posts, you know I have a tendency to ramble on a bit. In fact, to label what I do “rambling” would be like saying Louis Farrakhan occasionally has a problem with white people. It’s a bit of an understatement.

The truth is, these blogs can be a bit wordy and this particular one probably won’t be much better. In fact, I can almost guarantee it’s gonna be worse.

You see (and here’s the explanation part) I’ve thought long and hard (that’s right, long and hard) how best to write about Key West for a while now and I’ve decided to try to do it as an overview and then, over time, break it down into individual experiences.

The reason for that is two-fold.

First and foremost, Key West Florida is my favorite place. And when I use the word “place”, I don’t mean it as a destination. I mean that in the very literal, over-all sense of the word. It is simply my favorite place to be both physically and mentally. …and occasionally, erotically…but that’s another post for another blog…

Now, I’m sure you’re saying “Mentally?....what the hell kind of metaphorical faux-philosophical mumbo jumbo bullshit is that you overly pretentious cocksucker?”

…to which I reply, “let me explain”.

You know how every December you hear people talk about the “Christmas spirit”?

It’s that warm and fuzzy excited feeling you get around the holidays? The one that makes the taste of eggnog and the idea of being around your in-laws bearable? Well, technically speaking, that’s nothing more then a conditioned neurological response your brain triggers from years of training. It’s not some miracle brought on by festive wintery magic and Tim Allen movies.

 It’s a learned response. But it is very real, it’s very distinct and recognizable and it is emotional.

Well, for me, the same sentiment applies to being in Key West.

It’s much more then anticipation and excitement.

In fact, it’s the opposite.

It’s a serene level of contentment.

It’s the feeling of knowing where you belong. Almost like, you’re not alone.

I guess it’s how a Robert Smith fan feels when he or she first meets a Morrissey fan.

However in my case, it’s not a group of pasty white face downtrodden art fags rebelling against their parents for buying the wrong shampoo.

No. It’s more a feeling of being able to connect with an entire town and (most) of the people that live there. I must stress the word “live” in this instance because the last group of people I ever want to associate myself with would be gangsta rappers…and beyond that, it’s tourists.

God damn do I fucking hate tourists….and gangsta rappers….and people who dress up their cats….and Tim Allen.

Fuck Tim Allen….seriously, fuck him.

Fuck this guy

But I digress…

The vibe I get from Key West is very much one of “being home”.

It’s familiar and comforting. And even though, geographically speaking it’s not the most easily accessible place, the expedition is part of the romance.

And if you read my post about traveling, you’d know that’s saying a lot.

The second reason (remember, I was listing reasons…) is that I have been a frequent visitor to the Florida Keys and Key West for the better part of the last 2 decades.  I make it a point to get down there every year, sometimes 2 to 3 times a year if possible. And that being the case, it makes more sense to give an overview for my first Keys-themed post rather then a detailed breakdown of a particular trip.

Follow?

At some point, when I’m able to overcome the army of lazies that have forcibly occupied the Motivation Quadrant of my brain, I’ll start writing about my past adventures and exploits down in the southernmost city of the United States. And as much as I’d like to hype it up and play it off as a sordid drug-fueled road adventure, the truth of the matter is, it’s probably much less “Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas” 

and probably much more “Vegas Vacation”.

So there you have it. If you’ve stuck with this post this far, I’m hoping you’ll stick with it to the end.

You should.

I think you owe it yourself.

Plus, it’ll be fun and entertaining….well written with intriguing characters. There will be mystery, suspense, thrills and chills. Unfortunately in the end I will probably meander off topic or get bogged down in my own sub plots and the finale will be telegraphed and anti-climactic. Just like every Stephen King book since Salem’s Lot.

But I can promise that there’ll be explosions...car chases…gratuitous male nudity…random acts of tomfoolery…drag queens and conch fritters.

So read on dear reader…read on.

Key West:

I’m going to focus primarily on the town of Key West and leave the other Keys for another time. But, to be clear, if you’re looking for the full 7 layer-burrito experience of Key West, then driving through the upper and lower Keys is a must. Without it, you’re only getting half the soup and no salad. (Hmmm..two food references…I must be hungry)

It’s like Sherlock and no Watson…Gomez but no Morticia.

It’s like sex without foreplay. Sure it’s good, but you’ve missed out on half the fun.

At this point I’m assuming everyone reading this has at least heard something about Key West, Florida, right?

Well?...am I right?

And I’m guessing if you’ve never been there, you picture it as some kind of non-stop rum soaked party all set to a Jimmy Buffet soundtrack, right?

Well, if so, you’re correct. Kind of.

I say “kind of” because if that’s all you’re looking for then that’s all you’re going to find and in my opinion, you’ve missed the point entirely. Which, again, my opinion only, is good, because the town is already overrun with single-minded Coors Light chugging troglodytes all looking for their lost shaker of salt and people like that are one trick ponies at best. They only know of one thing –only looking for one thing and subsequently all hang out at one place. Leaving room enough for the rest of us.

It’s not a dig at Jimmy Buffet and his legion of Parrotheads per say. Nor am I critiquing the billion-dollar media empire he’s built around false hopes and crappy songs. To Jimmy, the man, I say congratulations. You done good. But if all you and you’re friends are looking for is a cheeseburger in paradise, might I recommend visiting a Margaritaville Café that is closer to home. There’s one in Las Vegas, Myrtle Beach, Panama City, Glendale Arizona, New Orleans, Connecticut, Cancun, Nashville, Chicago and of course, Orlando. You’ll have the exact same experience at any one of these locations as you would in the Keys…minus all that pesky art and culture that permeates Key West. And that is PRECISELY why using Jimmy Buffet as your motivating guide to experiencing the island is a bad idea.

Key West is a town unlike any other I’ve ever experienced.

Almost everything about it is wholly unique. The people, the atmosphere, the lifestyle…everything right down to the food. It’s a place like no other and in a very real sense, is an island unto itself.

So why would you ever use something as generic and mass-produced as “Son of a Sailor” to be your navigational beacon?  Sure it sounds like a good idea, but then again so did John Mayer and SuckerPunch…and we all remember how that turned out.

If you wanted to experience other countries and foreign cultures, you wouldn’t just go visit the different pavilions at Epcot, would you? Well, same theory applies here.

I know that in some people’s eyes, Key West is the “town that Jimmy Buffet” built, but the truth is, Jimmy Buffet is the Disneyfication of what Key West REALLY is and there probably isn’t a single Conch (a term applied to someone who was born in Key West) that would disagree with me.

But that’s not to say that the daydreams and ideals that Buffet and his trop-rock followers perpetuate and subscribe to do not exist. No. In fact, that glamorized, near fictitious Arcadia is very very real and so are its inhabitants. You just need allow yourself to see it.

As I mentioned, Key West is a town like no other. At least none that I’ve come across. Only 4 miles in length and 2 miles in width, it can literally be anything you need it to be at any time of day.

Looking for a flashy, expensive 4 star night out on the town, just head over to the Café Maquesa on Flemming Street (try the Scallop Lasagnetta!).

How about a younger party scene? Grab your bathing suit and head over to Dante’s. The only restaurant with a swimming pool.

Want something more low-key and casual? Head over to B.O.’s Fish Wagon. Literally built of spare parts and held together by duct tape and luck, it simply can’t get any more casual then this.

Parked on the corner of William and Caroline, you can’t miss it.  Just look for the truck!

There is literally a “place for everyone” in Key West and that’s a tremendous part of it’s appeal and charm. But it’s more then that, the island itself is a living, breathing sentient life form that needs to be experienced to be truly appreciated. It can see…it can hear and it can talk. And sometimes it won’t shut the fuck up.

And like any other living creature it has a heart (the nightlife), a brain (it’s history) and a soul (the locals). And it’s this soul that gives it such a diverse and multifaceted personality. And make no mistake; Key West has personality out the ass!

Whenever anyone asks me what he or she should do in Key West, my answer is always the same. As a first timer, there are 5 “Musts”. You can do these in any order but they all must be completed, otherwise, you’ve had a less then successful visit.

1. Go to the top of La Concha to see the sunset

2. Hit the Rum Bar and have Bahama Bob mix you a Goombay Smash

3. Go to Schooner Wharf and catch a set by Michael McCloud

4. The Green Parrot at night

5. MEET THE LOCALS.

That last one is imperative and it’s important that you do it on every subsequent visit as well. Just like the town, the (true) locals are a breed all their own. And each hand I’ve shaken was unique. A combination of quirky and down-to-earth…sophisticated and crass…genial and cantankerous….artistic and salty…suave and cynical….cordial, courteous and kind yet jaded, inappropriate and lewd. They are some of the most interesting and real people I have ever had the pleasure of meeting.

And sure, not everyone you meet will be friendly or interested in sharing a story with you, but by and large, Key West has the most fascinating cast of characters you’re ever likely to find.

I know I’m making it sound like the locals are part of a circus sideshow, lined up to be gawked at and photographed, but that’s not really what I’m getting at.

By no means am I suggesting you walk around, poking them with a stick while insisting they dance for nickels. Although, I’d like to see you try it. Lets see you get past a TSA agent with a poking stick lodged up your ass and a Conch republic flag arc welded to your back.

Everything I say, I say with total respect. Key West is an amazing place to visit, but a  very tough place to live. Sure it’s all rum and sunsets to you and I, but we don’t have to make a living there. The average local works 3 jobs and if they’re lucky, gets one day off every 5 weeks. That’s a legitimate statistic that I just made up…so you know it’s true. Most of the people I’ve met there over the years understand that the town runs on the almighty tourist dollar. They know they have to appease the fat smellies from the cruise ships if they want to make their mortgage payment and they’re happy to do so. But they also know that Key West belongs to them. You’re a guest in their house and you damn well better wipe your feet before you come in. This isn’t Disney World where it’s all plastic smiles all the time for anyone that paid their admission fee. This is the Florida Keys and if you got a smile it’s because you earned it, not because you think you deserve it.

So they do their best to straddle that thin line of gently coddling and catering to tourists while maintaining their individuality and integrity and they do this better then anyone. Warm, welcoming and hospitable…but don’t come in acting like you own the joint. They don’t call it “Bone Island” for nothing. Just ask Robert Matherson, the guy who used to own the Oak Beach Inn.

Originally when I first started writing this post, I had intended on including a brief history of Key West, going on to talk, probably at great length, about some of the famous and not so famous people that have helped to create and shape the island’s culture. But truthfully, I don’t think anyone reading this really cares and I’m not in the mood to dole out a history lesson right now. All of what I would tell you can probably be found on Wikipedia…so head over there if you’re really curious. In the meantime, here’s a quick visual reference guide of just a handful of people, past and present who either hail from or have helped contribute to the aesthetical architecture of the island.

I‘m going to end this segment here. According to the little counter at the bottom of my Microsoft Word page, I’m up to 2,273 words and I haven’t even really gotten into the “meat and potatoes” of it yet. So I’ll give my fingers and your attention span, a little rest. So feel free to get up, stretch your legs and grab a cup of coffee. Just remember- don’t feed the bears and abstain from using flash photography.

Ok, that’s all for now….Part II coming soon….the road is calling and it’s best not to keep her waiting.

Toodles.

Oh and one last thing….woman eating a banana.

Dogedun and St Pete

Aloha good people of the interwebs.

I realize my last post about East Norriton, Pennsylvania was on the south side of Lamesville so lets see if I can make it up to you with this one.

I just got back from St. Pete Florida recently and if you’re the kind of person that likes high-octane explosive action, werewolves and half naked lesbians slathered in oil, then let me recommend another blog. However, if you like to lay on the beach while sipping a rum cocktail and petting a dog, then stick around…you’re gonna want to hear this.

First, a little history lesson followed by a quick geography refresher.

11 years ago my dad moved from Queens, New York to a fictitious little town called Tierra Verde. I say “fictitious” because it’s essentially a made up place located in what is a basically a gated community in St Petersburg Florida. Imagine if everyone on your block got together and decided they wanted your street to be it’s own town but not have to go through the legalities of incorporating or being formally recognized by the United States…that’s Tierra Verde.

I try to go down and visit him twice or three times a year. And why the hell not? It’s beautiful down there. St Pete sits on the gulf side of Florida and is home to some of the most amazing beaches in the world. In fact, my dad lives within walking distance of Ft De Soto Park which is consistently rated in the top 5 of the Best Beaches in the United States.
http://www.americasbestonline.com/beaches.htm

Suck on that Jones Beach!

Plus, there’s so many great little towns all within an hour or so drive of St Petersburg.
 Take a look at this map.

The drive north on Gulf Blvd (699) is amazing. Almost every one of those towns…Treasure Island, Madeira Beach, Indian Shores, etc etc…have something worth seeing or exploring. And as most of you know, I sure do love me some exploring. So let’s explore.


ENTER PHASE 1:
One of my favorite places (not shown on that map) is a small town called “Dunedin”.  Located about 30 miles north of St Pete, Dunedin is small town charm and southern hospitality all rolled into one of the most dog-friendly cities on the planet. And if you’ve read any of my other posts, you know that means a lot to both my wife and myself. In fact, Dunedin is so dog-friendly, the locals have renamed it “Dogedin” and dangle that tag proudly from a collar around their neck.

 Almost every restaurant, every bar, every store, every warehouse, farmhouse, henhouse and outhouse is open to dogs. And Dunedin has A LOT of dogs. Which, if you’re a dog lover like us, is great. However, if you happen to be, say, a cat, I would not recommend it. But then again, if you are a cat, chances are you’re not reading this as it’s well known, cats are banned from blogspot.

The town of Dunedin covers a lot of area, most of it given over to residential housing. I wouldn’t necessarily call it a “suburb” as it’s not geographically laid out that way. Dunedin is split between the main highway that runs north and south along the water and an actual Main St that divides the town east and west.
And just like every other “Main St” in the United States, Main St Dunedin is where all the action is. It’s not a hustling hub of never ending lights and sound like say, Duval St in Key West or Freemont St in Las Vegas but it ain’t Mayberry either.

To the casual observer, Dunedin is a quiet non-assuming quaint kind of place, but look one layer deeper and you’ll find a town with a thriving artist community that is steeped in Scottish history. There’s no local pony show exaggerating the town’s virtues and history like you would find in a place like Salem, Massachusetts. Just the opposite. Dunedin and its residents, are very low key. Not in a dismissive manner. In fact, the people of Dunedin are some of the friendliest and most out-going of all Floridians…it just seems like they know they’re sitting on one of the best kept secrets and don’t want too many people in on it. I for one, don’t blame them. Large groups of people have a tendency to fuck up a good thing.

As I mentioned, Dunedin has a fairly impressive art scene for a small town. It’s the kind of art that I like to call “casual”.
I don’t mean this in a negative way…actually just the opposite.  All through High School and College I studied art history. At first, because I had to and later because I had taken a real interest in it. And while I have a deep appreciation for the “old masters” (yaaaaawn), the one thing I’ve found to be almost universally true, for me anyway, is that none of it is particularly welcoming. I don’t look at a Matisse or a Cézanne painting and feel like I know these people or even that I would want to. From a historical standpoint, it’s intriguing. From the social end, I can’t wait to get the fuck away from these people. And for me, that’s always been my argument in terms of what makes great art “great”.

Sure somebody can create a photo-realistic painting of a one-eyed pirate baby riding a furry rhinoceros, but if it doesn’t evoke any kind of visceral reaction then it’s a less then a successful artistic experience. Just because you put something in a gold leaf frame, doesn’t automatically make it art.

Here’s a perfect example…I have a friend who lives in Key West (not using her name here cos I’m not too sure she’d want to be associated with insane ramblings….she’s a professional and I am, lets face it, less then professional) She’s an artist whom, in my opinion, is able to capture the essence of Key West better then any other artist in that town and seeing as how Key West has more “artists” then LA has “actors”, that’s saying a lot. But she does it in a very welcoming, whimsical kind of way.

Now some might look at her paintings and think they look like cartoons and that’s ok. It’s a very limited way to look at it, but fine. To each his own. But to me, this is art. I can look at it and not only see the painting, but I can see the painter. I can understand what they painted and why. And most importantly, I can relate to it. I don’t feel like someone who should be standing behind a velvet rope admiring this painting in quiet reverence. I feel like I belong in that painting and that’s why it’s successful.

This is the kind of art that you find in Dunedin. It’s fun. It’s inviting. And like it’s people, it goes out of it’s way to make you feel at home. Some call it “outsider” art, some call it “folk” art and some call it “visionary art”...I just call it art and move on.

And speaking of moving on, let’s move on.

We spent the first half of our trip staying in Dunedin itself at a small mom and pop motel called The Seaside Artisan (see, I told you it was artsy).

The Seaside Artisan is a cute nine room little place located on Rt 19 about a block and a half away from the entrance to Main St. It’s small, it’s clean, it’s cheap, the owners are extremely gracious and welcoming and just like everything else, it’s pet friendly. If you’re not the type of person to be concerned with the extraneous particulars of life, then the Seaside Artisan is for you. It’s funky. It’s quirky. It’s got personality and it’s cash only. And at $65-$70 a night, you can’t possibly go wrong.

From our base at the Seaside Artisan, the wife and I took a couple of little side trips here and there, but the one I want to talk about most is our trip up to Weeki Wachee to check out the Weeki Wachee Springs State Park and it’s world-famous mermaid show.

Weeki Wachee Springs is a decades old Florida attraction and a living, breathing, swimming piece of roadside Americana. The park was first opened in 1947 by an ex-Navy seal (at the time called Frogman) and has been home to hundreds of performing mermaids. No, not real mermaids…don’t be a wisenheimer…women dressed as mermaids. Real women, dressed like real mermaids…not like that uncle that nobody wants to talk about.

The spring itself is the surfacing point of an underground river and is the deepest naturally occurring spring in the United States. Not all that impressive to read about, but amazing to witness for real. In addition to mermaids, the springs are also the winter home for manatees due to it’s constant 72 degree year round temperature.

Actual picture of manatees taken at the springs...not just some shit I dug up on Google

The park itself is a throw back to a simpler time. As far as I know, this is the only attraction of it’s kind still in operation. Places like these used to dot the Florida roadsides but as time went on, the American attention span became shorter and shorter and people expected a bigger entertainment whack, just in smaller bursts. So one by one these family oriented theme parks began to vanish. Places like Circus World, Cape Coral, Masterpiece Gardens, etc have all long since disappeared but Weeki Wachee remains. And while it does, I thought it was important to see.

The park itself is not all that big if you compare it to a place like Disney World or Six Flags but it’s clean and well maintained and feels like it’s a living entity instead of an automated machine. The people are real, the smiles are real and you don’t need to take a tram from your parking spot in Goofy to get to the front gates.

Aside from the underwater mermaid theater there’s also a small beach and Buccaneer Bay, the onsite waterpark. You can also take a river cruise (which we did) or take in one of the live animal shows (which we did not). You can also rent a canoe and explore the springs on your own. Something that I would love to do…while my wife went and did something else…something that didn’t involve being so close to nature…something that possibly included shoes and the purchasing of.

If you ever happen to be in or around Weeki Wachee, and honestly I can’t think of a single reason that you would be, stopping at the Springs State Park is a must. For more information check out http://www.weekiwachee.com and to see what the park was like in it’s glory days, take a gander at this…



END PHASE 1:

ENTER PHASE 2:

So after spending a few days bumming around Dunedin, we packed up our shit and headed south to St. Pete Beach and set up shop at The Post Card Inn. http://www.postcardinn.com/

“Hip, affordable and resolutely casual” is how Travel + Leisure describes it, and while that’s certainly true…depending on your definition of “affordable”…it’s also stylishly ultra modern yet retro while maintaining a shabby chic vibe. Sounds strange right? Well, to some degree it is.

The Post Card Inn is not the type of hotel you normally find in a place like St Pete Beach. It almost seems out of place. Like someone plucked a trendy boutique hotel out of South Beach. Shook out all the arrogance and pretension and dropped it down here just to see what would happen.  The Post Card Inn is almost a nurture versus nature experiment because the locals of St Pete, most of whom are blue collar salt-of-the-earth people, have adopted this place and made it their own. And nowhere is that more evident then at the PCI Beach Bar and Snack Shack located just steps from the sand. Fancy in it’s nothing fancy approach, the PCI Beach Bar looks like an old smoke house made from scraps of driftwood, Frankensteined together with nails and hot glue. It’s covered in both local and tourist graffiti, serves ice cold beer and is a perfect spot to watch the volleyball tournaments that take place less then 10 feet away.

The entire property is well designed and impeccably maintained with a vast open feel. The sleek modern lobby and the rooms form a U-shape around a well-manicured garden area that leads up to a gigantic swimming pool.

Just beyond that lies the bar, then the beach. Careful planning and care have been taken in every step of the redesign of this entire property with the exception of ….

The rooms themselves aren’t necessarily “bad”…they just don’t live up to the rest of what the hotel is selling. When you first enter the building, you step into a spacious lobby that is contemporary to the point where it’s almost avant-garde. It’s very minimalist in it’s design, but conveys a modern sensibility. The rooms are also minimalist, but in a way that just comes off as lazy. It’s almost as if they ran of out money and interest.

The walls of our room were painted in flat contrasting colors and adorned with “inspirational” quotes that, again, came off as mainly uninspired.

It didn’t help that the entire room smelled like someone sprayed Lysol on an Elephant’s nutsack. But truthfully, you don’t come to a place like this to spend any extended period of time in your room.

This was our second time at The Post Card Inn and as chance would have it, the second time we’ve been there for their anniversary / holiday party / tree-lighting extravaganza. Not a big to-do or knock em’ back kind of hootenanny, but entertaining nonetheless. An impressive Christmas tree (yes, it’s a CHRISTMAS tree…not a Holiday tree) in their courtyard, children performing CHRISTMAS songs, free buffet appetizers and lots and lots of booze. What more could you ask for?

In short, a very cool place to hang out, but not necessarily the best choice in which to stay. The Post Card is located on Gulf Blvd and is literally surrounded by hundreds of other hotels. My advice, stay at the Howard Johnsons right next door for a fraction of the price and and hang out at the Post Card for as long as you can stand it. The rooms are probably nicer, they all share the same beach and the PCI Beach Bar and Snack Shack are open to the public anyway. Save some clams and spend it on booze.


Well peeps, that’s all for now. The road is calling and it’s best not to keep her waiting.
See you on the flip flop.

Oh, and one last thing….woman eating a banana.

East Norriton, PA

Hello all once again...
My original intention for this blog was to not only document my various comings and goings, but to help me become a more disciplined writer. I know that last part my seem silly as I tend to use words like "Nutsack" , "Clown College" and "Fuck" a lot and that's just not the way a well disciplined person should act...but whatever...

Anyway, one of the things I don't want to do, is write about every little non-event that takes me out of my house and out on to the open road. Otherwise, I'll end up filling this journal with tales from my local 7-11...and speaking of which, have you guys tried those new maple sausage pancake rollers?

Good God almighty what a tasty treat. I wouldn't actually classify it as a "food" item per say...more like a maple-infused punch to the taste buds. It's 9 grams of fat, 9 grams of protein and 270 calories of utter convenience store fuckery. I recommend getting two.
However, seeing as how this is a travel blog, I feel somewhat obligated to tell you a little something about the town of East Norriton, Pennsylvania as I recently traveled there this past Thanksgiving.

First, a little history about myself.
There are several things that I dislike immensely. One of them is cancer and the other is Pennsylvania. I know that’s a broad sweeping statement…I mean, honestly, how can anyone hate the entire state of Pennsylvania? Well, spend a fair amount of time in Pittsburgh and you will not only hate all of Pennsylvania, but pretty much anything that starts with the letter P.
When I was in my early 20’s, I was forced to live in Pittsburgh for a few years and I have never recovered from it. To call that city the “leaky asshole of the United States” is being kind. It’s a big box of pig shit slathered in rancid mayonnaise dropped into a cesspool while getting a perm. If that city had a face, I’d kick it in the balls.
And because of my experiences in Pittsburgh, I have absolutely no use for Pennsylvania. Besides, it’s the only state that I can think of that serves chicken wings at Japanese restaurants and forces you to go to a “package store” to buy beer. A package store!! I got your package right here Pennsylvania…
Sorry..I’m getting off topic…

So yea, back to the subject at hand.

East Norriton sits about 25 miles north …a Package Store???...Really….what the hell does that even mean??..”package store”…Jesus Christ…..sorry, sorry…as I was saying… East Norriton sits about 25 miles north  of Philadelphia…home of G. Love, Independence Hall and the most overrated sandwich in the world, the cheese steak. If I had to guess, I’d say there’s about 3000 people in the whole town and roughly 6000 different places to eat. You could live there your whole life and never eat at the same place twice. Drive 5 miles in either direction on Germantown Pike (the main road that cuts through the city) and you will see no less then 15 pizza places, 13 sushi restaurants, 10 Starbucks, 9 different fast food chains, 8 bakeries, 7 different diners, 4 high end Italian eateries, 4 steak joints, 3 French café’s, 2 WaWa’s and 1 7-11. What you won’t find are any Chinese restaurants which is odd considering that half the population is Asian.

Other then the food situation there’s really not much else to say about the city or it’s surrounding suburbs.  It’s not a particularly exciting town or an attractive city. I know of no famous people that hail from it and it’s not all that historically significant. Which begs the question, “Why even bother writing about it?” The answer to that is, “I don’t know…I honestly don’t know”.
Hmmmmmmm…..

Here’s a picture of a woman eating mayonnaise on the bus.

Halloween Devo

Howdy All,

I’d like to take some time out from travel blog to talk about something that really chews on my ass and it gets worse and worse with every passing year.

And that something is Halloween.

Or more accurately, what passes for Halloween in 2011…which, not coincidentally, just happens to be today.

Let me first start off my saying that, I love Halloween. I’m the biggest fan Halloween ever had. I love everything about it. I love the autumn colors, the brisk weather, the crispness in the air. I love horror movies and costumes…spooky organ music and the smell of a freshly cut pumpkin. As far as I’m concerned, it’s the “total package” in terms of holidays. In fact, the only thing I don’t like, is what’s happened to it.

I don’t want to sound like a grumpy old curmudgeon ( I am grumpy old curmudgeon, I just don’t want to sound like one) but when I was growing up Halloween was the kid equivalent of fucking a room full of strippers on a bed made of pancakes.  Think about it. You’re young, in costume, with your friends, no supervision and you get to basically terrorize the neighborhood in search of candy. It’s like being a pirate, minus the rotgut and scurvy. 

If Halloween fell on a weekday, which it always seemed to do, my friends and I went to school in our costumes and would start trick or treating the second the last school bell rang. We would hit every single house in a 5 mile radius and wouldn’t come home till well past dark. Lugging a 15 pound sack of candy and covered in eggs and shaving cream from encounters with other like-minded pre-teen maniacs caught in the throws of a Snickers induced sugar frenzy. It was glorious.

Sure the costumes weren’t as sophisticated as they are today. They were mostly homemade, but they did the job and more importantly, the showed what kind of kid you were.

If you dressed up as the Wolfman, a Bank Robber or Gene Simmons, everyone knew you were not someone to be taken lightly.

However, if you went out dressed as a Clown, Casper the Friendly Ghost or Paul Stanley, 

Gay

you might as well have just politely handed your bag of candy over to the first kid you crossed paths with and asked him if he’d like a drink to wash it down with. There was no way you were gonna make it home with your loot. But at least you knew better for next year.

Today, everybody is the same store-bought piece of shit costume they got last minute at Party City. You could walk into any costume party in any city in any state and see at least 4 people dressed as Batman, 2 Jake Sully’s from Avatar and 4 dozen whores dressed as Sexy Witch or Sexy Vampire or Sexy Magilla Gorilla.

It’s pathetic, it’s homogenized and what’s worse, it’s uncreative. And that my friends goes against one of the fundamental principals of Halloween.

But my biggest problem comes from the overall pussification of Halloween.

The truth of the matter is, kids today have no idea what it means to celebrate Halloween! None…zero…nada.

Today kids go trick or treating with parents in tow or worse, to places like malls or indoor amusement areas like Chuck E. Cheese. And they go from store to store or station to station to get a roll of Smarties. Where’s the sense of adventure? The rush you got from being independent? Trick or Treating at the mall? Are you fucking kidding me?? You ever try to throw a rotten egg at the girl who works the register at Banana Republic? You get arrested for that shit!

Most of the time, I don’t give a shit that kids don’t get to be kids anymore.

I don’t have any children and I don’t plan on having any so the fact that they have to wear helmets when riding a bicycle or that every kid on every Little League team gets a trophy because “everyone’s a winner”.  Most of the time, I say tough shit..sucks for your generation.

Hey, in a perfect world, I would have been born early enough to enjoy the first half of the 1960’s…and preferably died just before the 1970’s. But we don’t get to choose and you make the most of what you’ve got.  Unfortunately kids today are holding a loosing hand in terms of creativity and fun. The combination of hyper-protective precautions and faux PC sentiments have destroyed what remained Halloween’s architecture and left us with a cheap façade covered in foam pads and bubble wrap.

And as I mentioned at the start of this, every year it just gets worse and worse.

Don’t believe me…then take a look at this shit…

http://www.cnn.com/2011/10/26/living/halloween-ethnic-costumes/index.html

It seems that students at Ohio State University have taken a stand, admittedly a somewhat limp-wristed noodley stand, against costumes that they consider to be racially insensitive. To which I reply, “Fuckery!”

I’m not saying that a costume of a brown mustachioed muchacho riding a donkey while drinking from a Tequila bottle is not, in and of itself, an overtly “stereotypical” image…it is…what I’m saying is simply this..Get the fuck over it. Seriously. Get over it. 

Is it a sterotype? Yes.

Is it inaccurate ? Maybe.

Does any of that matter? No.

This isn’t a civil war reenactment . We’re not teaching a history class. It’s a fucking costume meant to be worn on Halloween. It’s not like anybody is going to buy this and wear it to Acapulco in hopes of blending in with the locals. It’s a joke…a fucking joke people! How is dressing up in a feathered headdress and calling myself an Indian any more or less offensive then somebody wearing a pointed hat and crooked nose and calling themselves a witch? It’s a cartoon. A caricature. A parody.

If someone thinks that half of the roughly 127,076,183 people living in Japan look like Geisha’s all the time, then your little campaign isn’t going to sway them.

Look, I will admit that certain images can be considered insensitive. I won’t deny that. Dressing up as the Grand Wizard of the Klu Klux Klan will probably render you a well deserved ass kicking …but hey, you had to see that one coming. But I don’t believe in taking a stand against it or worse, banning the sales of KKK Kostumes  (see what I did there…with the extra K)...

Where is the line between acceptable and unacceptable?

When is it no longer a parody and it becomes an attack?

Should any of this really make a difference on Halloween?

Is it even worth getting upset over?

Do I ask too many questions?

And don’t give me that shit about “well times are different”.

I realize that.

But the fact is, times are ALWAYS different. Times are always changing, shifting and adjusting and it’s up to us as a civilized and theoretically intelligent society to keep up with those changes…not seek shelter from them.

Yes, you should be cautious. Yes you should be protective of your children. But you should also allow them to experience the world on their own terms even if that includes learning some of life’s harder lessons.

I’m not saying it’s ok for you to let your kids out into the street with a box of hand grenades, not unless you live in Roosevelt (In NY…Google it)..but maybe once a year, pry them away from their Xbox and let them go be a kid. Let them throw toilet paper through a tree…let them egg a car…let them steal the slow fat kids candy…he doesn’t need it anyway.

And for God’s sake, don’t let them dress up as Justin Bieber. Not even if you think it’s cute. Not even if it’s done as a joke. Bully’s don’t understand irony. All they know is a mopy haircut equals free candy.

Alright, enough bitching.

The road is calling and it’s not good to keep her waiting.

See ya on the flip flop.

 Oh, and one last thing…

 

Starvation and Thirst, Sleep Deprivation, Waterboarding, Forced Standing, Sweatboxes and Airline Travel

I travel with a fair amount of frequency. Not generally for work, mind. Mostly for fun. By no means am I a “world traveler” or “continent jumping adventurer”…but I do like to get out and travel when time and money permit.

Someone once said “The world is a book and by not traveling you’re only reading the first page”…or something to that extent…the point is, I wholeheartedly agree with that sentiment…regardless of how badly I might have mangled the actual quote.

…you get the point…

Anyway, the one thing I absolutely DESPISE about traveling is the actual traveling itself. In fact, “despise” doesn’t accurately describe my feelings toward the Z-grade dog and pony show that should be the relatively simple act of getting on and off an airplane in this country today.

And before I get started, let me just say that I know complaining about airlines is a well-worn cliché at this point. It’s a water cooler topic covered by everyone from bad stand up comedians to airline personnel themselves. But I really feel in terms of moral decay, we’ve officially reached critical mass. And I’m not even talking about the sky-rocketing cost of a plane ticket or the fact that you now have to pay extra to check your luggage or even the unexpected prostate exam the overzealous (and undertrained ) TSA agents feel you need...

…no…when I complain about traveling, I’m mainly talking about the other people….the festering mutant sub-species known as “The American Traveler”.

Simply put, these fucking chuds are the stains on the bottom rung of society’s evolutionary ladder. A congealed mass of fat smelly’s  that should be locked in bio-hazard containment tanks and beaten to death with hammers made of AIDS.

Oh I would love to travel…love it…if it weren’t for all the fucking inbred mongoloids I’m surrounded by every time I step foot in an airport.

I am fully convinced that people are at their worst when they  (a)-travel in herds and (b) get on an airplane. Never in my life have I seen such blatant disregards for acceptable societal behavior then when I’m stuck behind some 400 pound bean-bag shaped retard on a plane while he tries to cram his Volkswagon-sized carry on into the overhead compartment. It seems to happen every single fucking time and it never ceases to amaze me. It’s almost as if God insists on replaying the same scene for me, but just to keep things interesting, he recasts the role.

And as I watch these cretin’s struggle with the unbendable laws of physics, I always find myself asking the same question…how did this thing get off the Island of Doctor Moreau ?

But standing behind people trying to shove a square peg into a round hole is just half the fun. The excitement always starts at the gate. Usually before the pilot, co-pilot, stewardess and even the actual airplane, show up.

It’s a little something I like to call…

LEARN THE FUCKING ALPHABET YOU ASSHOLE!

…and it it goes like this….

I fly Southwest Airlines almost exclusively. It’s not that I have any deep love of the airline, it’s just that it has the cheapest rates, leaves from the airport closest to my house and usually flies within 100 miles of wherever I’m going. Simple arithmetic.

Southwest has an “open seating” policy and a “general boarding” procedure.

Basically what that means is there’s no set seat assignment. You get a ticket, you get on board, you find an open seat and sit your fat ass in it.

 

Easy Peezy.

They way they do this is by assigning alphabetical and numerical boarding groups and the way they decide who is in what group, is based on when you check in.

Here’s how it breaks down…

24 hours before your scheduled departure time, you can either call Southwest or check in online. So if your flight is 7am on Tuesday morning, at 7am Monday morning, you check in.  The trick is to do AS CLOSE to the EXACT time as possible to ensure an early boarding group letter. For instance, if you check in at PRECISELY the 24 hour mark, you’re very likely to get into the “A” Boarding group. If you check in an hour after that, more then likely you will be in the “B” Boarding group and if you wait till you get to the airport the day of your flight, your lazy ass will be in the “C” Boarding group.

The plane gets boarded alphabetically…the A group goes first, followed by the B group and then finally the C group…..still with me?

Now since the airlines are well aware that large groups of people are as mind-numbingly stupid as large groups of cattle..they break the process down even further by assigning chronological numbers to your alphabetical boarding group. So for instance, if your boarding pass says A-15, you get to board the plane before A-16.

ANNNNNND to make all this even easier…literally idiot proof…they tell you exactly where to stand while your lining up at the gate to board your plane.

There are big silver poles in every Southwest terminal with sequential numbers on them. Pole 1 might say 1-30. Guess who stands there? That’s right…the people who have a boarding pass that has a number on that falls somewhere in the 1 through 30 sequence. Then, right next to that pole, there’s another silver pole that says “31-40”…guess who gets to stand by that pole….

See how fucking easy this whole process is?

Monkeys could figure this out. Seriously. Monkeys. And not those smart Planet of the Apes monkeys…no, I mean your standard every day shit flinging monkeys.

But ironically enough you know who can not handle this entire concept?

People. That’s who.

Fucking people.

Completely baffled by the whole idea of boarding in an alphabetical group and lining up in a numerical order.

I can’t tell you how many times the Southwest gate agent has called Boarding Group A, numbers 1-30 to get on the airplane only to come to a screeching halt because some jerk-off with family in tow is trying to jump the line with a C ticket because he DOESN’T UNDERSTAND THE ORDER OF THE ALPHABET.

These are the mulligans that need to be thrown off airplanes. Not the morbidly obese..not the kissing lesbians…not the saggy pants people….no…the fucking inbred mental defectives that can’t understand why A comes before C and why 12 comes before 42.

But wait, there’s more…

You would think that once you and whomever you’re traveling with get on the plane, store your luggage and take your seat, the shenanigans would come to an end…right? If someone has gotten to this point, one might assume that they’ve figured out the mechanics of the system…but no…oh no…not so. After all, this is gen-pop humanity we’re talking about. The bullshit continues. Inevitably there will be somebody walking up and down the cramped aisle of the airplane, holding his boarding pass in his hand, searching in vain, for seat A-25 or B-11 or C-64 or whatever his boarding pass says…even though to even get to this point, he has been told many times that there are NO assigned seats and that it’s open seating. So now, through his own ignorance, he’s forced into the worst possible place….the dreaded middle seat. The airlines version of the car with the hump in the middle (anyone remember those)

But I digress….or do I?

Moving on…

Now all of this is just the preliminary irritations you have to deal with just to get on the plane. At this point, we’re all still on the tarmac waiting for take off.

I’m not going to get in to the screaming babies, loud talkers, seat kickers, sleeveless shirt wearing hillbillies or that half-dried puddle of what I hope is Jergins lotion on my seat. As far as I’m concerned that’s all par for the course and at this point, should be expected with budget airlines. I’m not saying it’s right…just that, hey, you get what you pay for. After all, I can’t walk into a country bar and complain about them playing too much country music.

But basic things like civility, common courtesy and gentility have gone right out the fucking window. It’s as if being stuck in a flying tube gives people the right to act like complete animals. Untrained animals. Untrained animals with learning disabilities. Untrained animals with learning disabilities and an obnoxious sense of self-entitlement.

People get on an airplane and immediately forget that they are surrounded by other people. Some of the behavior I’ve personally witnessed runs the gamut from repugnant to criminal. And it’s all because people are rude, inconsiderate, self-centered shitstains.

Is it so hard to just get in your seat, put in your headphones or open a book and spend the rest of the flight in a quiet state of the shutthefuckupedness?

• Why do I have to look over and watch a woman putting on deodorant?

• Did you really need to bring an entire pizza on a two hour flight?

• Singing out loud to the music on your iPod is not only annoying, it automatically makes you a douchebag.

• And speaking of douchebags, being a Jersey Shore-wannabe is not something you should strive for and no matter how fucking charming you think you’re being, the stewardess hates your orange tanned face. Stop annoying her.

• If you change your baby’s diaper at your seat, I’m going to strangle you with the cord from the overhead oxygen mask.

• It’s an airplane, not a high altitude keggar. Stop shouting to your buddies sitting five rows behind you. There is nothing you have to say that can’t wait till you land. We get it…you have friends that are also on the plane…now by default, they’re assholes too.

• If you stand up to get something out of the overhead compartment directly over my seat, please be aware that your balls are now at the same level as my face. Conversely, if it’s the overhead compartment directly opposite my seat, it’s now your ass that’s eye-level. The point is, be fucking quick about it.

• Black people should never be allowed to sit together. Sorry. I don’t care how racist that sounds.  It’s the truth. Fly out of Detroit or Atlanta and then see if you disagree with me.

Have you ever seen footage of a bus in some in some broken down country like Pakistan or Uzbekistan or Ihatespamistan…any of those istan-istan countries and it’s like 2,000 people and a barnyard’s worth of livestock all crammed in and on and under and around an old beat up bus traveling down some dusty rock-laden road?

Yea well that makes some of the flights I’ve been on look like a stretch limo filled with high priced escorts.

Can you imagine, that not too long ago, getting on an airplane and flying to a particular destination was part of the vacation experience in and of itself?

It’s true. Ask your parents.

Flying used to be a civilized event. Something people looked forward to.

Men would show up to the airport dressed in suits instead of hockey jerseys and pajama pants. Flight attendants were polite, helpful and courteous instead of snippy and drunk. The planes themselves were polished and clean…inside and out.

Now if you’re able to find a seat that hasn’t been peed in, consider yourself lucky.

The whole system is broken.

The infrastructure has decayed and the foundation has crumbled. We’ve come to a point that when we book a flight, we not only accept that we’ll have to eat shit, but we pay for seconds. It’s a disgrace and speaks more about the current state of American humanity that I care to get into right now. (This is a travel blog, not a critique on society) But I guess that’s just the way things are for now. I’d love to say that I have faith that one day the act of traveling will return to it’s long since faded glory days, but I don’t. It’s a thing of the past. Like dinosaurs, the Ford Pinto or Dennis Miller.

I guess in the grand scheme of things, this is really all just small potatoes. I mean, as long as the plane takes off and lands safely, I should consider myself lucky. And I do. It’s just that when the person sitting next to you on a six hour red-eye to Vegas won’t stop talking and smells like egg salad, it’s tough to remain chipper.

Know what I’m saying?

Well that’s all for now kids…. the road is calling and it’s not good to keep her waiting.

Thanks for reading ….and one last thing…woman eating a banana.