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.

Kate’s Lazy Meadow…Party Out of Bounds

Date: Random Weekend -July of 2010
Location: Mt Tremper, New York
Cast: Me, the Missus, Dee and Missus Dee

Ok, before I get started, let me just say I’m sorry if these posts are a little out of order….actually, I’m not really sorry about them being out of order. I am sorry if you’re trying to follow my out-of-control timeline.

We took the trip up to Kate’s Lazy Meadow in July of 2010 but I didn’t get around to posting anything about it until just now (October of 2011)

I guess Kate’s Meadow isn’t the only thing that’s lazy…

Anyway, enough babbling….on with the show.

The first thing you should know about Kate’s Lazy Meadow (from here on to be known simply as KLM…because I am L) is that it’s owned by Kate Pierson of the B-52’s. If you don’t know who Kate Pierson is, here’s a picture…

Kate watches you masturbate

If you don’t know who the B-52’s are, please just stop reading right now and go do something else. Anything else…I don’t care what.

KLM located on Rt. 28 in Mt Tremper New York, approximately 20 miles south of Hunter Mountain is half motel / half converted campground and all kinds of goofy awesome!

The hotel portion, known as the Meadow Suites is an old-fashioned ranch style strip motel featuring, I think, 10 or 11 rooms (I could research it, but again – L)

Each room is said to be decorated, in some capacity, by Kate Pierson herself. So knowing what you might know about her, you can imagine what these rooms look like. 

Meadow Suite #5

Each room is themed and wall to wall kitsch and tack. Think “70’s Yard Sale” and you’ll have a better idea what I mean.

And let’s be clear…in no way do I mean this in a bad way!

KLM is overflowing with style, charm and kooky retro greatness.

This is a place for people who like their fun like their fondue…warm, thick and cheesy. (reminds me of an old girlfriend)

If you need Egyptian cotton sheets, room service and a 24 hour concierge, this is not the place for you. However, if you like garden gnomes, pink flamingoes and peanut butter and banana sammich’s…well howdy fuckers..c’mon in!

Mister Dee relaxing hammockly

The lower part, and I mean that it terms of actual geography, not social hierarchy, of KLM is given over to the “converted” campground.

You won’t find any tents or modern RV’s here, but what you will get is your choice of vintage Airstream trailers (assuming you made reservations)

6 Airstreams to be exact. All appropriately named and decorated in the same classic kitsch and low country swank as the Meadow Suites.

We stayed in Airstream “Bubbles” while our friends, the Dee’s, stayed in Airstream “Hairstream”

…yes, “Hairstream”…you’ll see why in a bit.

All the Airstreams are on the same acre or so of ground but are far enough away from each other so that you’re not crammed in like, say your average trailer park.

They also each come with outdoor chairs, a BBQ grill, charcoal, a fire pit and some, like Bubbles, have a hammock. Not only that, but they’re all situated less then 100 feet from the Esopus Creek which is a popular area for rafting, tubing and fishing.

The mighty Esopus Creek

(Side note: when in town, take the 5 minute drive to the town of Phoenicia. Home of the Town Tube Tinker for a great tubing trip down the Esopus. BUT more importantly, stop into Brio’s restaurant and order the California Reuben. Good God Almighty...this sandwich was so good I immediately ordered a second one and proceeded to have sex with it right there in the restaurant. My wife was clearly annoyed, but not because of my comestible infidelity…but because she wanted a bite before I befouled that delicious hussy. When I was finished there was nothing left but a splattered mess of corned beef and Russian dressing….and I’m not referring to the sandwich…but I’ve probably said too much…moving on…

As for the Airstreams…

Well, again, just like the suites, if you’re looking for over the top comfort and 5 star pampering and nightly colonics, you probably shouldn’t be in upstate New York and you DEFINITELY should not choose to stay in the Airstreams.

However, if you’re looking for a unique sleeping experience and don’t mind a little crowding, then I fully recommend it.

I for one, loved it and was really bummed when I couldn’t make reservations to go back again this year.

As I mentioned, we stayed in Bubbles.

This, ladies and gentlemen, is Bubbles.

Clean, cute and comfortable….well, as comfortable as a giant turquoise tuna fish can be, the Airstreams really are a great place to hang out for the weekend and commune with nature and wildlife all while getting to act out your white trashiest fantasies…of which I’m not ashamed to admit, I have many.

The only issue I had, and this has nothing to do with KLM, is that the “bathrooms” inside the Airstreams themselves are pretty much just for show.

In fact, upon first seeing them, I looked at it the same way most people look at a strangers baby. I thought to myself “Awww…how cute”..but was smart enough to keep my distance so as not to come in contact with any airborne bacteria.

I mean, they aren’t dirty or unsanitary or broken or anything like that. They do “work” in as much as gravity will allow, but let’s just say, you won’t be spending any prolonged amount of time in them. And in order to use the shower, you need to be part acrobat, part yoga instructor, part midget and part comfortable with bathing in the creek if you really want to get clean. Thankfully though, there is an outdoor common bathroom with actual plumbing located near the campers.

As previously stated, our friends, the Dee’s (of the world-famous “Dee’s Nuts” – Who’s nuts? Dee’s Nuts)  stayed in Hairstream.

Cute name, right? Well, for all intents and purposes, Hairstream is a cute trailer. It’s “theme” if you want to call it that, is “B-52’s” and I guess it’s meant to be a history of the band. It’s a little loud and overwhelming, design-wise for my tastes.

It looks like it was decorated by a hyper-obsessive fan. Possibly a stalker. There’s pictures and posters galore of the band throughout the years…signed tour memorabilia…show programs, maps of places they’ve played, etc, etc. etc.

…but then there’s this….

Did you see it?

Would you like to take a closer look?

That is exactly what it looks like.

It’s a wig on a string of lights hanging from the ceiling.

As if someone scalped a transvestite and were showing off their trophy.

Now given the fact that Kate Pierson owns this place and taking into account that she is known for wearing wildly outlandish wigs, it’s not that far of a leap to assume that this thing might have, at some point, been on Kate’s head…possibly while she was in concert…and sweating.

I don’t know about you, but that’s not exactly a selling point to me. And definitely something to leave out of the brochure.

Maybe it’s just me, but touching certain things that people wear on certain body parts just give me the pee shivers. I don’t like wearing anybody else’s hat much in the same way I don’t want to use somebody else’s toothbrush. But hats, caps wigs…as well as wearing or even handling other people’s shoes, socks, bathrobes, wetsuits, jockstraps or underwear is just not something I’m entirely comfortable with. If it’s on display, under glass, with say, a security rope barricade, ok fine. But a used wig hanging where I might bump into it or accidentally rub up against it…well, I don’t like it. I don’t like it one bit. No sir.

But really this was just small potatoes in the overall scheme of the place.

Like I said, we loved Kate’s and can’t wait to go back.

So if you’re looking for a totally unique vacation experience wherein you get to embrace your inner Billy Bob and want to spend some time “roughing it” while not actually giving up that many modern conveniences, do yourself a favor and check out Kate’s Lazy Meadow.

Tell em’ Vee sent ya.

They’ll have no idea what you’re talking about and that’s just fun for everybody.

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

Check you out on the flip-flop

Oh and one last thing…here’s a woman eating a banana.

Northwest Florida…The Panhandle…The Forgotten Coast…Hillbilly Heaven.

Kruster Fugg Nuggets Presents...
Northwest Florida…The Panhandle…The Forgotten Coast…Hillbilly Heaven.

PART 1

Date: September 22nd, 2011 – September 27th, 2011
Location: Northwest Florida
Cast: Me and the Missus

I know nobody is really reading this blog yet, and I can’t say I blame them. I created it well over a year ago as a way of documenting my comings and goings and travels and whatnot, yet this is only my second posting……and, more to the point, nobody knows this blog is even here. I figured I would get some posts up here first…ya know, kinda give people something to look at…then beg my friends to subscribe…because seriously, what’s the point of writing if nobody is going to read it?

Well?

What’s the point?

Who the hell am I talking to?
…Good God I gotta get back on the meds….

Anyway…what was I talking about?....oh, right…my recent trip to Florida.
Ok, let’s get on with it.

As of this post, I am 38 years old.
And in that 38 years, I have been to Florida roughly 3 and a half gazillion times.
I’ve even lived in Ft. Lauderdale for a brief period back in the 90’s.
Needless to say, it’s one of my favorite states. But oddly enough in all that time, I’ve never seen any of the Northwestern sections of Florida, collectively known as “The Panhandle”…because, well, it looks like the handle of a pan….I’m guessing.

So for my 38th birthday, my wife was nice enough to gift me with a trip.
Two tickets to Panama City Airport, a night in Grayton Beach and a stay in a hotel anywhere else of my choosing…within reason of course.
Pretty damn sweet deal.

So after some research, thought and debate, we worked out our itinerary.

First Stop – Destin, Florida.





Whenever I book a flight, I always book the first flight out in the morning and the last flight back at night. And I fly almost exclusively out of MacArthur Airport, located in Islip, Long Island. I avoid the bigger metro NY airports like the plague covered in herpes rolled in oat bran. JFK International Airport is the single biggest clusterfuck I have ever seen. It’s a vast conspiratorial spider web of nonsense that’s roughly the size of a small planet. In fact, it’s very much like being on Mars. It’s inhospitable, nobody speaks English and once you’re there, it’s impossible to get the fuck out.
Which is why I fly in and out of MacArthur.
Small, convenient, close to home and no aggressive TSA pat downs…unless you specifically request one…which, I occasionally do.

What does this all have to do with Destin, Florida, you might ask…well settle down, I’m getting to that.

I was supposed to be on a 6:30 am flight out of Islip, NY with a plane change in Baltimore and then continuing on to Panama City, Florida. However at 3:30 am I received a recorded voice message from Southwest stating that my flight to Baltimore was cancelled. Not delayed…cancelled. No further information was available.

My first thought was “Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck”
My second thought was “Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck”

I immediately called Southwest and after some reconfiguring they got me on a 1:30 pm flight to Orlando and a connecting flight into Panama City.
Basically we lost an entire day of the trip…which turned out to be not so terrible as that first day we were going to spend in Destin (see, I told you this was all related) and the best way to describe Destin is, Orlando’s younger less popular brother.

Destin is a straight line west from Panama City Airport on Highway 98.
There’s not much to see other then supermarkets, fast food restaurants and your typical every day shops. But once you reach the Destin city limits, 98 turns into a mini-copy of International Drive in Orlando. There’s all sorts of shit that tourists love. Water Parks, Mini Golf, Beach Stores, Gun Shops and Churches galore. If you have the need for a knickknack, a paddywhack, a tchotchke, a bauble or trinket with the words “Destin, Florida” on it, you won’t have to look any further then ‘right there”.

I’m not putting the city down. It’s just not for me.
That being said, the beaches are astounding.



White powder sand, turquoise blue water and beautiful big tittie women with southern drawls everywhere you look.
And I looked.
I looked a lot.
….sorry hun…

We finally arrived at out hotel, The Beachside Inn (http://www.destinbeachsideinn.com/) at about 7:30 pm.
Nice place. Clean. Right across the street from the beach. I can’t really say much about it as we were only there for a night.
Basically, we checked in, got cleaned up, had some dinner and called it a night.
The next morning, we were up early and on our way to our….

Second Stop - Grayton Beach.

Grayton Beach is a tiny little beachside town roughly 25 miles east of Destin.
There are no mega supermarkets, no souvenir shops, no all night dance clubs, no gas stations, no traffic and no Canadians.

Thank God there are no Canadians.

It’s got a convenience store and two restaurants.
“Shorties Surfside” – a dog friendly two-story restaurant with pretty good sushi and the world famous “Red Bar”. I say “world famous” because they told me it was world famous…even though I’ve never heard of it and I suspect neither have you.
But what Grayton lacks in the tourist trade, it makes up for in its complete and utter awesomeness.
First of all the beaches here, just as they were in Destin (same coastline) are white powdery sand, crystal blue water and big enough so you’re not tripping over anyone. In other words the complete OPPOSITE of every crappy shit-ass beach on Long Island.


Grayton Beach By Day

Robert Moses, Jones Beach, Sunken Meadow, etc. etc. etc.…all sewage filled toilets in their own right, but more so when compared to the beaches of the Gulf Coast. And what burns my ass the most, is that they are 100% FREE. Imagine that fellow New Yorkers…FREE BEACH ACCESS.

For those who don’t know, Long Island is in fact, an island..and it’s long…hence the name. We are surrounded by water on all four sides yet for some unfathomable reason, you have to pay to get on the beaches. Almost every beach has a toll. And every toll has an attendant and every attendant expects you to pay them in some fashion. You know the old saying, “Ass, Gas or Grass, Nobody Rides For Free”?
Same holds true for New York beaches.
And if by chance there’s no actual fee, it’s probably because you have to be a town resident. Which basically means your “fee”, is paid for by your taxes.

But not so in most parts of Florida and definitely not true in Grayton.

Walk on the beach…walk off…come back later…come back at night….whatever, whenever, wherever with whomever. And again, these beaches are beautiful. On par with anything I’ve ever experienced in Mexico or the Caribbean.


Grayton Beach By Night


My wife, through her tireless and extensive research of the area, stumbled upon the Hibiscus Coffee and Guesthouse (http://hibiscusflorida.com/)

If you ever find yourself traveling to Grayton Beach or anywhere near Grayton Beach or think you’d like to visit Grayton Beach…Grayton Beach Grayton Beach Grayton Beach…you MUST stay at the Hibiscus Coffee and Guesthouse.

I don’t mean “must” as in “you really should”…oh no…I mean “MUST” as in “YOU’D BE A DROOLING HALFWIT TO EVEN CONSIDER THE POSSIBILITY OF MAYBE STAYING ANYWHERE ELSE”.

I easily list the Hibiscus in my top 3 places I’ve ever stayed….and that includes the house I grew up in. The owner Cherie could possibly be the nicest person ever to walk the face of the Earth. Seriously. She gave both my wife and I a hug when we checked in. And not one of those weird uncomfortable hugs that ends up with my balls being grabbed or my wallet lifted. No. This was just a friendly person giving us a friendly “hello and welcome” hug.

All the rooms at the Hibiscus are tastefully appointed in a comfortable, but not overwhelming, country aesthetic



and each adorned with a theme. For example, we chose to stay in the “Old Florida” room, which was decorated with various Florida memorabilia from days long gone by.





Connected to the hotel is the Garden of Love with a quaint café where breakfast is served daily. I can’t say anything about the food as we never actually ate here, but it looked cute and always drew a pretty sizeable crowd of locals.
If I had anything negative to say about the Hibiscus..and I don’t…but if I did, it would be that we only stayed 2 nights. I could spend a week sitting on the Adirondack chairs on the oversized deck connected to our room petting the hotels cats.
And I don’t find Adirondack chairs to be all that comfortable.
And I fucking hate cats.

Ok, I’m gonna stop typing for a bit now….I’ll finish all this up a little later.
But here for your amusement, is a woman eating a banana.



See ya in a bit....



Kruster Fugg Nuggets Presents...
Northwest Florida…The Panhandle…The Forgotten Coast…Hillbilly Heaven.

PART 2

Ok, I’m back…didja miss me?

See, that’s one of the great things about writing this blog. I can disappear for hours or days…or in the case of my first ever post, a full year… and you’d never even realize it. To you the reader it’s as if no time has passed at all. But since posting the first half of this blog, I went out, ran some errands, got a sandwich and took part in all manner of ass-scratchery.
Ahhh good times…

Now, where did we leave off?
Oh right, I was telling you about Grayton Beach.

Small, quaint beachside community and it’s super dog friendly which is a huge plus when it comes to deciding on travel destinations. As my lovely and super observant wife recently pointed out to me, I am, officially, a crazy dog person.
Not a “dog lover” or an “animal admirer”. No…I’ve gone past that and dove head first into the twisted world of being a “crazy dog person”.
If I see a dog I have to pet it. No matter what I might be doing or where I might be or whatever is going on around me…if I see a dog, my single focus is to pet it. Even if that means chasing it (and it’s owner) down the street waving a biscuit in my hand screaming “Puuuuuuuupppy!”…..yes, that actually happened.

Anyway, Grayton’s unofficial slogan is “Grayton Beach: Nice Dogs, Weird People”. That’s what I call, my kind of place.


New Dogs of Grayton Mural

The other really cool aspect of Grayton Beach is that it sits right in the middle of the famed 30A drive.
For those that don’t know (I didn’t until taking this trip) 30A is a stretch of scenic highway that runs east to west along the gulf. If you head West from Grayton you’ll cross over Alligator Lake into the hamlet of Blue Mountain. Nice drive but not much to see other then Stinky’s Fish Camp Restaurant. But, about 5 miles East from Grayton on 30A is the hidden city of Watercolor. I call it “hidden” because upon driving up to it, I felt like I had discovered something that most people never see...even though there were thousands of people walking around.

Watercolor Beach

Watercolor is not a naturally evolved town. It doesn’t look or feel like it’s been there for years eventually growing into what it is now. Just the opposite. It looks as if nothing existed there until a real estate developer with a metric fuck ton of money decided he was going to go balls to the wall and build en entire multi-billion dollar town. Complete with restaurants, shops, a school, post office, it’s own police force, resorts, condos, townhomes and beach houses that you couldn’t afford to touch even if you had a ten foot pole made out of hundred dollar bills. The town is beautiful and like everything else in the area, sits right on those amazing blue waters of the gulf…but jumpin’ Jesus on a pogo stick is it spendy. Just as an example, we stopped at Bud and Alley’s Taco Stand (Bud and Alley own 3 out of the 5 main restaurants in Watercolor)…now mind you, this was nothing more then a glorified snack bar. Not a high end, sit down, linen napkin, table service restaurant with French speaking waiters and solid gold bidets…this was a snack bar. 4 very small flavorless tacos later and one sangria made from a mixture of Hawaiian Punch and Mad Dog 20/20 and I was out almost $60 bucks! That’s not a misprint….$60 American Dollars for 4 tiny tacos and a plastic cup of Sangria.
PLUS, as the dozens of signs clearly state, a 15% gratuity is automatically added to anything you buy. Yes, anything.
That little experience was the only downside…but everything else… Semplicemente incredibile!

So after two days bumming around Grayton and all towns therein, we said a fond farewell to the Hibiscus Inn, packed up shop and headed south to our…


Last Stop – Apalachicola

If you’ve never heard of Apalachicola, don’t fret none…most people haven’t. It’s not at all touristy and it’s what you might call, “off the beaten path”. In fact, the Official Florida Tourism Board refers to Apalachicola as “The Land that Time Forgot”.
And while this is certainly true, a more apt description might be “The Land that Time Couldn’t Fucking Find”.

Apalachicola (pronounced “App-ah-latch-ah-cola”…or as I like to call it “I’ll-Pack-A-Cokeacola” ) is about 100 miles southeast of Grayton and bloody hell, what a drive…and I don’t mean that in a good way.
First, you get to drive through the asshole of North Florida, Panama City.
Leave it to college Spring Breakers to choose a town so devoid of character and cultural significance in which to drunkenly fist fuck each other each year. Panama City Beach is ugly. There’s no other way to put it. It’s an ugly, unwelcoming town that, I shit you not, has at least one Waffle House for every two street corners. That’s not even a joke. In fact, Waffle Houses, various low rent Fried Chicken dives and Pawn Shops make up about 90% of the business in Panama City. Simply put, it’s a shit hole, don’t go there, fuck you Panama City, I hope the earth swallows you whole.

After you finally get out of the Panama City limits you get thrust straight into an endless stretch of highway that’s owned, operated and patrolled by the Tyndall Air Force Base. Make no mistake, when I say “endless” I mean it never fucking ends. In fact, I’m pretty sure I’m still on it. If I were a religious man, I’d say that if Panama City were Hell, Tyndall is Limbo. It’s approximately 30 straight miles of nothing. Literally nothing. And when you do finally make your way back to civilization, you end up in the bizzaro twilight zone land of Mexico Beach, Florida.

I’m not exactly sure how to describe Mexico Beach as I’m not 100% sure it’s a real place or just something I hallucinated along the way.
By all accounts, Mexico Beach SHOULD be the kind of place you’d like to visit.
It’s another one of these small beachfront communities complete with it’s own colorfully tacky Bar and Grill..in this case Toucan’s…but man, something is just not right with this place.

It’s still pretty and picturesque, but something is just a little off.
First of all, the place is a desolate ghost town. It seems almost as if it tried to be something but failed. Kind of like the Salton Sea. Then, everywhere you look, there’s children, but almost no parents.
We stopped in Toucan’s to get a quick drink and I’m positive our waitress was no more then 9 years old. Then if you head over to the gift shop, there’s a guy selling custom made airbrush t-shirts. No joke! You buy a plain white shirt from the gift shop counter, then hand it to this guy and he’ll airbrush whatever you’d like on it. But judging from the examples he has hanging all over his booth, he’s both colorblind and highly dyslexic. Oh, and he has no idea how to use an airbrush. It was all a little too surreal for my tastes and I’m a big David Lynch fan, so that’s saying a lot.

Anyway, about 25 miles down the road, around the bend and up Franklin County’s ass, you finally reach Apalachicola.

Small in size but big on character, Apalachicola is “Old Florida” at it’s finest. In fact, back in 2007 Southern Living Magazine described the town perfectly… “Morning comes gently to Apalachicola. Oyster boats and shrimpboats begin their daily pilgrimages into the seafood-rich bay as the sun rises on the Northwest Florida coast. The lights twinkle on in this fishing village, its residents ready for another day in unspoiled paradise. If you ever wondered if such a place still exists, yes, old Florida lives here. A lone blinking yellow light directs the downtown traffic. Come and stay awhile in this wonderful, walkable, watery hamlet. Try the pace on for size.”

View of the Apalachicola River from Caroline's

Fishing accounts for a HUGE part of the industry here. 90% of that is probably oyster farming. In fact, I dare you to find a spot in Apalachicola that doesn’t sell oysters, shuck oysters, talk about oysters or reference oysters in one way or another. This is a town literally PAVED with oysters (not literally)
Every restaurant, every café, every roadside stand offers “the freshest oysters in town”. And they don’t just serve them raw from the shell. No ma’am. They steam them, they char-grill them, they fry them, they bake them, they serve them in soups and stews, sandwiches and po’ boys, salad’s, casseroles, omelets and pies.
The whole fucking town is like Forrest Gump’s pal Bubba..only instead of rambling on about the merits of shrimp, it’s oysters....only not really because they also do shrimp here too.

Aside from the lack of dental work from some of it’s citizens, we loved everything about Apalachicola.
In fact, the second I drove into town, I knew we were going to enjoy our stay.
I am a sucker for old Florida charm and it flourishes here in abundance.
Not only was the town itself amazing to look at and wander through, but Apalachicola and points beyond has some of the friendliest people we have ever come across.
I know that sounds kind of strange, but I have a feeling that unless you’re from New York, specifically Long Island, you take kindness from strangers for granted.
If you were to walk down a street in New York and say hello to a passing stranger, you’re more likely to end up with a cigarette butt in your eye then a friendly “How ya doin?’” in return.
In fact, as a native New Yorker, I automatically become suspicious when someone I don’t know says “hello” to me. It’s not because I’m cynical and jaded…that’s not to say I’m not cynical and jaded..I am…it’s just that I’ve been programmed to treat all strangers as bomb-toting terrorists.
That’s just how we roll in the 11789.

But most of Florida, specifically the areas we were in, this is simply not the case.
People couldn’t have been nicer or more welcoming. Even the one’s that look like convicts…just overall genuinely nice people.

Once in town, we checked into our hotel.
The Apalachicola River Inn (http://www.apalachicolariverinn.com/)…and just like the Hibiscus House, this is one of those MUST STAY places. Standing in the parking lot, looking at the front of the building you would never in a million years expect this to be any more then a glorified Howard Johnsons. But once you open the door to your room…well, it must be how the kids felt upon first seeing the edible room in Willy Wonka’s Chocolate Factory. At least that’s how I felt…but then again, I don’t like chocolate…so I can’t be certain.
The room itself was nice. Not opulent or 5 star…clean and maybe 3 ½ stars..but good God almighty the view from our deck was worth the trip in and of itself.
Outside our patio doors was a small 4x8 balcony (we were on the second floor -Room 20) that literally hung over the Apalachicola River. Seriously, if you leaned forward too far, you were going for a swim.
In fact, when I opened the door to the room, this was the very first thing I saw…

Needless to say, I can’t recommend this place enough.

The Apalachicola River Inn belongs to a “community” called “OysterTown”.
Basically it’s a fake town consisting of the inn, the restaurant it’s connected to called Caroline’s, a small bar just above Caroline’s called the “Spoonbill Lounge” and another (again, supposedly World Famous) restaurant called Boss Oyster.

We decided to have a lite lunch and some drinks over at Boss Oyster as it was more of a casual outdoor, on-the-water kind of place.
As you can probably imagine, oysters feature heavily on the menu. In fact if the entire menu has 12 items, 14 of them are some kind of oyster.






I ordered the “Oyster Japonoise” which looked like this…

My wife, who does not eat seafood, made a face that looked like this….

*My wife is forcing me to inform you that this is not in fact a picture of her

The place was pretty cool. Not over the top amazing, but a relaxing place to grab a beer outside and watch the shrimp boats go by. If you’re thinking of going, and you do want to sit outside, just keep in mind that the place sits on the river and serves lots of seafood…so by default, it’s gonna have a lot of seagulls.
A LOT of seagulls.
And they will land on your table.
And they will do what seagulls do.

But don’t take my word for it….here’s an excerpt of a review of Boss Oyster…and quite possibly the funniest thing anyone has ever written… by someone posting as “ChefWhitiker” out of Chattanooga, Tennessee on Trip Advisor (read the entire review here: http://www.tripadvisor.com/ShowUserReviews-g29168-d517022-r117298652-Boss_Oyster-Apalachicola_Florida.html#REVIEWS)

“Horrible, I would have to be CRAZY to eat at Boss Oyster again. Please Avoid at all cost!! Last visit in 2011, and I mean LAST, included ant covered tables, birds attacking us, dried bird poop on tables, a bird pooped on my meal after it was delivered to table. Let me repeat! A BIRD POOPED ON MY MEAL!! Not once, BUT TWICE, second one splattered of wifes arm! When I asked for help I Was treated like I had done something wrong by everyone except one employee.

I guess we were charged more for the BIRD POOP!! And it was with cold shrimp and ants all over plate... and bird poop. BIRD POOP!!! Ants were everywhere, one the plates, in the drinks, table, silverware, spices, ON THE FOOD!!! BIRD POOP AND ANTS ON THE FOOD!!”

Thankfully that was not our experience, but I can see how it could happen.

Ok, I’m gonna take another little break…be back in a bit.
As always, for your entertainment, here’s a picture of a woman eating a banana.
Enjoy!

  

Kruster Fugg Nuggets Presents...
Northwest Florida…The Panhandle…The Forgotten Coast…Hillbilly Heaven.

PART 3

From our base in Apalachicola, we spent the next day and a half exploring some of the surrounding areas. The first being St. George Island.

Just like Mexico Beach, this is an area that by all accounts, I should love…but again, something about this town, well, it just ain’t right.

St. George Island is just that. It’s a remote island that’s roughly 14 miles from Apalachicola. In order to get there you have to drive over two very long expansive bridges, both of which feature their own set of unique features.

The first is the 5 mile long John Gorrie Bridge….or as I called it, The Northern Florida Butterfly Massacre Bridge. This bridge is an anomaly the likes of which I’ve never seen. About ¼ mile into it there are suddenly hundreds and hundreds of butterflies all hovering windshield level ready to be splattered by oncoming cars. I have no idea where they are coming from but I do know that they have a life expectancy of about 7 seconds. As far as I could tell the bridge is actually made of butterfly corpses.

The John Gorrie Butterfly Massacre Bridge

The second bridge is the Bryant Patton.

No suicidal Lepidoptera’s, but the bridge arcs at like an 80 degree angle, so if you happen to be crossing it that right time, it looks like you’re driving up the last hill that leads to the sun. Pretty amazing actually.

As for St George Island itself, it’s about 11 miles long but only a few blocks wide and smack in the of the Gulf of Mexico so once again you have those great beaches. You also have million dollar beach house’s that line the water. The problem is, the “town” seems a little dilapidated and the worse for wear. As if it’s seen better days. As far as I could tell there were only 3 restaurants on the island, two of which seemed like abandoned cartoon criminal hide-outs.

We chose to hang out at the only good one. A small roadside place called Eddy Teach’s. Named after famed pirate, Edward Teach aka BlackBeard.

NOT an attempt at irony

Eddy Teach’s is the epitome of “nothing fancy”. It’s an old wooden building situated in a gravel parking lot, 50 feet off the road. It’s surrounded by burnt-out overgrown landscaping and rusted metal decorations. But it’s got cold beer, great prices and personality out the ass. And, just like everywhere else, lots of friendly people.

Oh, and yes, it’s dog friendly….and we all know how I feel about that.

Curb appeal? We don't need no stinkin curb appeal!

Just outside the front door there’s this big plywood makeshift stage with a blue industrial tarp that forms the the far wall/ “backstage” area. Seriously, the whole thing looks like a first year wood shop project. Anyway, the craziest experience we had while there, was when we saw a couple of burly biker looking type guys loading equipment onto the stage. By all accounts I thought these guys were going to play a mix of Steppenwolf songs and anti-semetic remarks, but just after welcoming the crowd they broke into a near perfect rendition of “Girl from Ipanema” and followed that with a medley of Bossa Nova classics. They turned out to be a pretty damn great jazz band.

In addition to checking out St. George Island, we also took a mini-road trip over to Wakulla, Florida. Home of Wakulla Springs Park, which as we all know is where the original Creature from the Black Lagoon was filmed.

We all know that, right?

Well suck it…I knew that…and that’s why I wanted to see it.

Wakulla Springs is a small town.

In fact, it’s less then a small town. To call it a “One Horse Town” would imply that it actually has a horse, which as far as I could tell, it does not.

In fact I’m not sure Wakulla has anything.

Be that horse, stores, people or any viable atmosphere.

All it really has is the Wakulla Springs.

Oh and it’s on the middle of fucking nowhere. Seriously. When I put the address into my GPS, it replied “Good Luck” and proceeded to hop off my dashboard and wander off. I haven’t seen it since.

Anyway, Wakulla is roughly and hour and 15 minutes southeast from Apalachicola.

Half the drive hugs the coast along the St. George Sound and is very scenic.

Overlooking the St. George Sound

The second half drives you through backwoods sodomy country. Straight through the lovely hamlet of Sopchoppy. No, that’s not a misprint. The town is called Sopchoppy. In fact, the road you take to drive through Sopchoppy is the Sopchoppy highway. Google that shit if you don’t believe me.

Sopchoppy is so redneck and hillbilly I thought it was a stage set for a Ron White concert. Sopchoppy’s national anthem is Ned Beatty squealing and I’m pretty sure we passed a statue of the KKK choking out Malcolm X.

If this is what they mean when they say “The South Will Rise Again”, then we northerners have nothing to worry about. The only thing rising in Sopchoppy is the illiteracy rate.

Wakulla Springs Park is very peaceful and “old-timey”. There’s not much to see other then the springs themselves, but for me, that was enough.

The best, and I’m assuming the only way, to see the springs is to plunk down $8 bucks for the boat tour. Which of course, we did.

Now, when I take a vacation, the last thing I want to do, is learn stuff. In fact, part of the reason I go away is to forget things I already know. But I have to say, the boat ride at Wakulla is not only entertaining, but **shudders** educational.

Lasting only about 45 minutes or so, the boat slowly moves up and back down the clear blue water of the springs while the ship’s captain/tour guide tells you all you’ve ever needed to know about the ecology of the area while pointing out all the local flora and fauna.

We saw it all…alligators…manatees…turtles…mullets (the fish, not the haircut)…herons…ducks…polar bears…skunk apes and compassionate conservatives. All living as one, in perfect harmony, ebony and ivory, so on and so forth.

Oh The Humanatee!

Thar be gators here

All in all, not a bad way to spend the afternoon..although I’im sure my wife disagrees. But I thank her for indulging my nerdy outdoorsy nature. She’s a trooper like that.

Well, that about sums up this past trip to Northern Florida. Thanks for reading.

If you have any questions, please put it in writing and feel free to send them along in a self addressed stamped envelope. Make sure to include $1.95 per question, plus .53 cents processing fee (non refundable)

That’s all for now.
The road is calling and it’s not good to keep her waiting.

Oh and one last thing…