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.

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.