roaming iomi

www.roamingiomi.com

2005-12-06T22:35:00.000-10:00

Hey folks!

I've moved this party on over to www.roamingiomi.com (you can click the title above to link over there). I think most of you already had that URL and went there directly, but just in case i picked up some blogspot readers (or anyone who got the super old-school link from my parents), and I haven't scared you off by now, come on over and see the new site.

Homecoming

2005-11-12T00:26:00.000-10:00

It was finally time to return home. Back in the truck for more hours of driving. The drive from Colombus to Pensacola is pretty long, but after all the driving we'd done it was a breeze.

Along the way back I solidified a theory I'd been building on for years: the number of enormous "GOD" and "JESUS" billboards is directly proportionate to the number of "HOT XXX VIDEO ARCADE" and "TOPLESS BABES AHEAD." This ratio is easily seen on roadsides across our great country, most frequently in areas where there are few other billboards and long stretches of nothing. Then POP you see a huge angry sign on the horizon with a "direct quote" from God in huge all cap fonts and garish colors, followed closely by a huge ad for a strip club in the same colors and block print. It wouldn't seem like there's a direct correlation if they weren't so frequently positioned directly across a highway from each other and with no other signs for miles. I won't argue the chicken/egg fault for these things, but they are obviously connected somehow.

Along the road we saw some cool signs:

And lovely homemade truck designs:

And:

We finally made our way back to Floribama. It suddenly seemed very charming to me, probably because I knew I was leaving soon.

We hit up the go-kart track, which is rad and covered in baby powder so you can peel out and screech your way around all the turns. It smells and sounds and looks like lawnmower racing, but the baby powder takes the edge off the aroma somewhat. I wasn't complaining though, as it was really fun and I only just barely made it in anyway:

Thank you Floribama humidity for giving me the necessary big hair to meet the go-kart height requirement.

I also wanted to go to Reggie's one more time before I left.

Reggie's rocks. I mean a half-fish half-pig mascot? Who wouldn't want to eat a delicious creature like that? Plus, shortening the term "All-You-Can-Eat" to "AYCE" makes it sound slick. I imagine it's pronounced like "ace" but with a southern accent. Besides, it's got a wraparound porch for outside seating and a table pre-stocked with fixings like hot sauce and pickled peppers. Once you're seated they bring you a bucket of icewater as big as your head.

From the porch you can see the Blackwater River, which is all Florida swampy looking and you can just barely see gator noses poking out of the water as they lurk beneath the surface.

It looks desolate in this photo, but it's actually an interesting spot to watch for local culture. One time when we were there we saw a couple back up to the creek in a pickup with a flatbed trailer, grab a dead snake off the flatbed, and fling it in the water to the gators who were feeding there. The couple sported matching cutoff jean shorts, muscle shirts, and his n' hers matching mullets.

My last Floribama-style meal:

Fried okra and Texas toast are required eating, clearly. Anyone who hasn't had Texas toast: it's basically a thick slice of wonder style bread with no flavor "fried" on one side in fake "butter" and "cheese" food product. It really soaks up the palm oil flavor like a soggy yet crispy sponge. Any food that requires that many sarcastic quotes to describe is a-ok with me.

Inside the restaurant there are colorful signs with local sentiments about the recent bout of hurricanes:

And next week's menu:

Dumplin's, Fixin's, and Mullet. And that's just the food. I'll miss the south in certain ways.

All too soon it was time to say goodbye and head back to Hawai'i. Goodbye "palmetto bugs" (aka flying cockroaches), goodbye mullets (both food and hairdo), goodbye scary church signs.

Also goodbye to my sweetheart for a little while, which is incredibly sad.

My flight out of Floribama included a layover in Atlanta. At the airport I headed over to my Hawai'i flight and as I approached the terminal I heard an incredibly loud sound.

I didn't photoshop that, I swear. That genuinely is a Delta Airlines employee playing the steel drums at my gate. What steel drums are supposed to have to do with Hawai'i is anyone's guess, maybe they get a ukelele musician for their Jamaica flights. It's interesting that they have an employee designated to get you into a vacationey mood before you even get on your flight. On the bright side, it made me rethink all of the demeaning and humiliating jobs I've had in the past and they don't seem so bad anymore.

A few hours later, I was back on Oahu. Goodbye small town attitudes and fashion, hello modern urban sophistication.

Or not.

Oh well.

Ohiiio!

2005-10-26T08:17:00.000-10:00

After the gun store, it was onward to lovely Columbus, Ohio. Definitely more mellow. I've been there a few times over the years, and it's very sweet there. Very community-ey. I know that's not a word, but it should be. There are sweet little art events every time I go. This time it was sidewalk art.

Different local groups and companies were allotted squares and chalk and they went to work. Here's one almost done:

Here's a kooky theme one by a bar:

Parked nearby were these cool art cars:

See? Community-ey. And very sweet.

Does it seem like I am trying to butter you up on how arty and cultured Columbus is so I can cushion the blow of something less so? Because I totally am. Try to think of all of your stereotypes about Ohio. I am going to blow them out of the water.

Or not.

Yes, that's really a Wonderbread Factory. You can smell the sweet scent from a few blocks away.

Who remembers this gem?

If you know what a White Castle is, you're already grinning. Sacks of tiny square burgers with grilled onions on top. That's about all you need to know. I was sorry to see that they'd been taken in by the newfangled fast food combo-trend, but then again I was just reading in some book how the big castles in Europe back in the day used to have their own built-in church. So this corporate merger was actually kind of inevitable.

Here's a classic:

I've always liked Dairy Queens, because they remind me of the midwest. More precisely, they remind me of the imagined midwest I created in my head as a california child listening to my father's stories. It was a fuzzy dull colored place, like the photos from the 70's he'd brought with him when he came out west. The midwest of my imagination was always sunny with golden wheat fields and beige bellbottoms and then sudden insane blizzards and twelve foot snowdrifts out of nowhere that usually cropped up when I was complaining about my long (but sunny) walk to school. When I actually went to the midwest as a teenager, I was surprised there were still Dairy Queens present- it seemed like a quaint artifact.

Dairy Queens are cool, but the name doesn't make any sense at all. Who the heck is a Dairy Queen? And what in the world about that name makes you want to eat ice cream?

This is basically a 7-11 with gas. But it's called United Dairy Farmers. Clearly there was some kind of political shift from the Dairy Monarchy to a Dairy Farmer's Union. The secret lives of milk cartons are not for us to question or understand.

Ack! Will it ever end? What is it with these people! How much milk could they possibly be drinking?!?

You can't fool me! Spell it wrong all you want, I still know what you're trying to say! You all HATE vegans! I get it!

Moving right along.

Ohioans clearly love dairy, they also LOOOOVE their Ohio State football team, the Buckeyes. They love a team of sweaty college students who are on a team named after... a nut. A nut that grows on a local tree and just so happens to be poisonous. Go Buckeyes!

Folks all over town have these flags depicting said poisonous nut:

And also the the T-shirts, bumper stickers, mugs... everything. On game day, the campus area is FULL of red t-shirts. It's hard to picture a town so gung ho about other poisonous things, you never hear thousands chanting, "GO ARSENIC!" but these Ohioans make the best of every situation. They've transformed their deadly mascot into a nutty treat:

That's the version done by one of the town's gourmet chocolatiers, with organic ingredients and everything. Looks fancy, right? It's basically a homemade peanut butter cup, but a little bit rounder. They are delicious. (Note the unnecessary butter in the ingredient list, looks like the Dairy mafia got to them, too.)

More chocolate! Columbus is a jewel of the midwest, with amazing cultural delights.

Or, Fine "Dinning" if you prefer:

Let's see, that takes care of food and sports, what else... oh right! You may have heard that Ohio has some percentage of churches that have a conservative bent. But see here, they are actually totally open:

Seriously, I have no idea what that church is thinking. Is this supposed to be marketing? If I wanted to join their church and I walked in the first day and they were all REALLY nice would I suddenly feel self conscious? That particular sign was across the street from where we stayed, so each morning I'd have a wave of wanting to go up and walk in with like caked dirt in my hair and cuss words flying out of my mouth and tell them that I loved them too, and I'd be staying for dinner. Somehow I never quite got to it.

Speaking of kooky churches:

I felt I had to display this sign here in Iomi's Computer Written Chok Full of Bad Jokes Blog of Fire and Mirth of California, Hawaii, and Some Other Places.

That name too esoteric? Here's your straightforward:

Smoke n' Page! Brilliant! I had always hoped someone besides street vendors would corner that market on items that are in that grey zone between "solidly out of style" and "quite a few years left until it's retro." Smoking and Pagers. I love it. Do they have those spray painted denim "dress-up" overalls in there with a bedazzled picture of a sunset and Debbie Gibson's face on the back? They even accept checks. They are so cornering that market.

If any of the things I've shown you are driving you to drink:

A drive through liquor store. You drive up to a vinyl-sided warehouse looking thing, and then drive right in and that's what you see. Workers run up to your window and ask what you want and then hand it through your window as you palm them the cash. Maybe it's the Oakland girl in me, but it really felt like we were driving up to buy stolen VCRs or something instead of a sixer of Tecate. But look there, they have chips and candy, so you know it's legit.

All in all, we had a great time in Ohio. One last thing: my friend told me about this pate she'd eaten at a party. She said it was delicious and I know you don't know her, but trust me, she has good taste. I was interested in the story because she was obviously going to share the recipe with me. She giggled and explained that she had been impressed that this other partygoer was responding to compliments by explaining that she'd made the "Chateau Blanc" pate at home... fancy. Then, in secret, she revealed this regional recipe with my friend, which I will now share with you lucky readers:

CHATEAU BLANC PATE:

1 bag White Castle burgers, wrappers and bag removed, pickles, onions, and buns included
1/2 bottle affordable white wine

Place all ingredients in a blender or food processor, blend until smooth. Shape on a serving platter and serve with crackers.

Serves: everyone who doesn't know the recipe.

Viva Ohio!

Road Trip III: Hunterrific!

2005-10-14T19:23:00.000-10:00

Let me tell you, Pennsylvania is a loooong state. We (much to my chagrin) didn't have time to visit the Hershey Chocolate factory this time, but we passed the Nestle Factory. Those Pennsylvanians sure must live the good life with all those chocolate factories everywhere.

Then I saw this:

It's for an Army surplus store, but they talk about something I'd never heard of- a gun library. Is this a real thing?

We stopped in the middle of nowhere to get our chariot worked on (the truck needed an oil change) and had just enough time to visit this:

A huge "outdoor supply" store called Cabela's. Those of you who know what this is maybe chuckling already, but for those who don't, I'll give you a little tour.

First things first, a close up on the enormous statue in front of the enormous store:

As you can see here, outdoorsy types of yore worked in harmony and split the work evenly. The Native Americans did the rowing, and the white guy has to sit up front and point the way with a huge gun. That's exhausting work. Notice how the white fellow here is paying close attention to how the Native American man is rowing, clearly he is keen on learning. And the Native American man is obviously happy to help.

The statue begins to give you an idea of what may be going on inside, but I still didn't know what to expect. It looks way bigger than even the extra huge behemoth super Wal-Mart stores that dot the country, and yet I'd never heard of this place. I rushed inside for a closer look.

It. Goes. On. Forever. In this photo if you squint your eyes and peer toward the upper right corner above that white part, you can see small lights dotting the ceiling. That mezzanine area up there alone is the size of a grocery store. The whole thing: 250,000 square feet. About dead center you can see some kind of huge fake mountain thing with animals on it.

It only takes a moment inside the doorway to realize that "outdoor" means hunting. And lots of it.

Rack after rack of camo, for summer:

Fall:

And winter:

Just like all the other high fashion department stores.

And there's something for the whole family!

Why yes, that's a camo jumpsuit for a tiny little girl. Complete with tiny ribbons and bits of lace for the pocket. Awww... how cute. And the brand name: Daddy's Little Deer. Isn't that sweet.

So there are probably times when the woods are full of families in full camo, blending so well that they might be mistaken for a leaf, and armed with these:

If you find that thought at all scary, you may want to bring a set of these along for when you need a pit stop:

There are all kinds of weird equipment in the store, including laundry detergent to get the persony smell off of your person:

Also available in mouth spray, deodorant, and general all-over spray:

I have to say, I think these people are missing a large market here. That breath spray is probably a good thing to keep in the glove box for interviews and dates and stuff.

But Cabela's isn't just out to make a buck. The company claims that this is "an educational and entertainment attractions (sic), featuring a décor of museum-quality animal displays, huge aquariums and trophy animals interacting in realistic re-creations of their natural habitats."

Lemme show you some of that décor:

Whoops, looks like I got my date's forehead in the shot. He looks kind of worried, doesn't he? I know I was. But I guess it's pretty cool that I kept with the theme of decorative heads by getting his head in the shot.

More lovely décor:

This one has to be my favorite. This is the way back of the store, upstairs on the mezzanine level. It's the entrance to the Shooting Gallery, where you can pretend shoot things in the comfort of the store. Anytime someone walks by, motion sensors trigger this charming display: the mounted deer heads on either side of the sign come to animatronic life and talk in wacky voices about how scared they are of the big bad hunters who are going to come into the gallery and shoot them. Charming.

And how about those trophy animals interacting in the realistic recreations of their natural habitats?

I don't know how many of you have had the chance to see big game in Africa, but I know at least one of my readers was with me, and... hey Jamie, remember when we were in that wildlife reserve in Tanzania and we saw the zebras? Those are the exact same handrails and floodlights and painted background, am I right? And remember how all the animals clumped together like that? Yeah! It brings it all rushing right back.

What happened? Am I outside? It's just so real!

Scary! But what's that little plaque there?

Each animal has it's own little sign telling you what it is, who shot it, when they shot it, and where they shot it. All of the pertinent info. That must be the "educational" part.

Trust me, this is only a very small portion of the educational and decorative content available in the store.I kept wandering around, stunned. Then I saw it:

A GUN LIBRARY! Just like the kind you can make at home with all your savings from the Army surplus store.
What happens in there? Obviously something more manly than what happens at my local library, you can tell by the big tusks. Do you think they have story hour in there?

Whatever goes on, I am sure that safety is their number one concern.

ACK!

So, big tough hunters are big and tough. This is what I have learned. But you know, people are more complex than that.

Their bum-bums get cold, just like us.

So you know, you really shouldn't assume that they're all gruff and uncultured. They like to have marinated meat out in the field:

After skinning elk and tanning hide for days on end, it really helps to save a few minutes on the marination step. I get that. But "flavoristas"??? I think a line has been crossed here. It's hard to picture.

*****Opening day of hunting season******
Wife: "Where you goin', Earl?"
Earl: "Jest out. Be back in a few days."
Wife: "You goin' huntin' again?"
Earl: "Me an' the other flavoristas been waiting all year for this! Leave me be! Can't a flavorista marinate in the woods in peace anymore?"
Wife: "Fine!"
*******

Other hunterly ways to save time on hunterly food:

Correct me if I'm wrong here, but aren't s'mores kind of famous for being easy to make?

If all of that rigamarole is too complicated, Cabelas again has you covered:

It doesn't get much more straightforward than that. Except that it's a candy bar, not a dried chunk of caribou.

I guess I'd seen enough of Cabela's. On the way out I spotted these plaques:

Why, it's Ye Olde Wall of Extremely Obscure Plaques! They must be proud. They are so unlimited.

Outside, there was a great little spot for the kiddies:

I can see that they're trying to get an early start on getting kids interested in the "outdoors" but not one of those flavors sounds delicious. Nor do they make any sense.

It was a very interesting and educational stop. Plus we got to take home these classy his-n-hers beer cozies as souvenirs, so we can remember our trip to Cabela's forever:

Road Trip II: Nor'east

2005-10-09T08:09:00.000-10:00

Word to the wise: if you leave Atlanta around noon and plan to stop at a hotel somewhere around New Jersey, do not expect a lot of vacancy if your trip happens to coincide with Fashion Week, UN Week, and CMJ music festival. There will be no room at the Inn, and no one will offer you a manger. You will keep on driving until you get to Providence, which will happen around 6:30 in the morning. Luckily, Providence will have real actual proper coffee shops open at this hour, which will make it all worthwhile.

Providence is adorable, and has a very different attitude than Floribama. It's hard to put into words exactly, so I'll show you some photos.

In a bar, which raised their prices from $1.50 to $2 for a pint:

On a shirt someone at said bar was wearing:

On a wall around town:

Which is a very poignant sentiment despite the spelling error.

There's a giant bug on the side of the road as you enter the city:

Even the street signs are so... New Englandy:

Some things, however, like poor marketing decisions, don't seem limited to one region or another:

From Providence we moved on to Boston. If you've never been to Boston, here it is in a nutshell:

Dunkin' Donuts:

Brick:

And Brick Dunkin' Donuts:

That's the general aesthetic.

The pastime is most definitely baseball. The city's official shirt/hat/bumper sticker/keychain/baby blanket/conversation is: Red Sox. You watch the game for hours, then talk about it for hours, then play the baseball video game, then talk about it some more.

They start the indoctrination really young:

This game was really cute. The player-to-coach ratio was like 2 to 1. While watching the game I chanced to overhear this most adorable conversation :

Player: (with finger in front of mouth) "mmphhpmmmmppffff"
Coach: "Hey buddy, I know it's tempting don't pull that out too quick. Wait till you get home, your mom can help you put it under your pillow and maybe get some money for it."

The park is called Boston Commons, which is lovely although I don't really know what it means. It was in the commons that I discovered that, contrary to popular belief, one does not have to rely solely on San Francisco's Golden Gate park to experience really bad music in an urban park environment:

There's also a lovely pond in the middle:

But, lo! What is this watercraft that heads our way?

Why, it's a swan boat, of course! Tourists have the opportunity to view 360 degrees of the three foot deep aquatic algae pond. They needn't feel limited to viewing it from shore.

How is such a magical vehicle powered, you ask?

Why, it's a two-legpower engine! Also known as the buff-legs Boston summer job, also known as Boston's answer to the rickshaw, except that it doesn't actually take you anywhere but in a slow, shallow circle.

How do the actual swans that live in the pond feel about the swan boats? They must be proud to be immortalized in such grandeur.

Nope. They hide their heads in shame each time the boat passes by. I can't say I blame them.

Boston also has great shopping, including this store made just for me:

And this:

Nothing like a GIANT inflatable padlock to make me feel like a storage unit is safe.

I was lucky enough to take ride around Boston Harbor (pronounced Bahstahn Hahbah) in a boat. It was wicked fun.

I don't get to go in boats that often but I learned a couple of things.
Boats have gas stations, too.

And for anyone who feels weird about gas prices and SUVs, check this:

And a boat gets around two miles to the gallon. So you have to have... let's see... like 10-15 times as much fun per hour on a boat to make it worth it. Which we did.
We saw this boat which seems so Bostoney to me:

Just slap a brick Dunkin' Donuts and a Red Sox sticker on there and you're set.

From a boat, you get to go right under the flight path for Logan Airport and these huge jetliners fly right over your head. There are all of these cool tiny islands to zip around and check out, and it's really beautiful.

Our Bostonian boat tour guides explained that this island has brick barracks on it that have been designated as housing for homeless Bostonians:

There's a bridge that connects it to the city and apparently it has pretty tight security- only residents are allowed in.

There was another island that used to be a landfill/dump and then was converted into a park that people could visit by boat. They had planned to put an amusement park on it, but that didn't work out. It was recently shut down because it is burping up toxic sludge and slowly sinking into the water.

There was another one that was a smallpox quarantine island a loooong time ago. It was accessible to the public until recently, when it was discovered that the shoreline was eroding and- how should I say this?- seeping diseasiness. There are big signs up now saying that it's best not to dock there for a visit.

On a lighter note, but not really, there's this:

Which is a big thingie off of which they would hang convicted pirates as a warning to other pirates. That's a pretty direct crime deterrent system as well as a precursor to the modern billboard, I'd say. You don't even have to translate into different languages. People just get it.

Maybe this is sounding like a creepy boat trip, but it wasn't, it was really nice. We got to see the sunset over the city:

And then an orange moonrise as we walked from the dock to dinner:

Dinner was an awesome event, with crab legs and fried clam baskets and buckets of seafood-eating tools:

I put on the bib that came with the meal, you know, just to fit in with the locals. Of which, exactly zero were wearing their bibs.

It was a good thing I did, too, because it was covered in crab bits by the time I was done.

The restaurant also gave us these space age tools for cracking open the crab legs:

Yes, that's a rock. Yes, you are supposed to bonk your way to dinner. Just like our forefathers' forefathers' forefathers did.

Walking around the super fancy part of the docks downtown, you can't help but see this:

The photo does it no justice, but it's stinkin huge, and really shiny and super duper fancy. It's the yacht that belongs to the owner of the Red Sox, and everybody knows it. It's no secret what's popular and makes lots of money around here. There wasn't a Dunkin' Donuts yacht, so maybe it's a franchise.

Bars in Boston are pretty cool. We found one that had my favorite beer from when I lived in Kenya:

And I spotted this super tall guy and just had to tell him how rad his shirt/hat combo is:

And- lo and behold!- he was part of Cindy Sheehan's traveling party. They were all on their way up to DC for the big rally. She was in the same bar, I guess I'd been so obsessed with my Tusker beer that I didn't see her walk right past me through the narrow bar. We got to meet her and say hello. If you don't believe me, here's a dark, blurry photo of the back of her head, which as anyone who has read a tabloid knows is irrefutable proof of anything:

As our Boston trip was coming to a close, we took a day trip out to Walden Pond, which was really cool.

I think they're spoiled for bodies of water in the northeast, because in California we'd call something an eighth that size a lake, and a pond is something that forms in your driveway when it rains.

It's really lovely there, a wonderful place to go with your sweetheart.

There are rocks and leaves and and a nice path around the "pond." There are also these scary trees that look like they're eating the fence.
Nibble nibble:

CHOMP!

Here's a replica of Thoreau's cabin:

It's 10'x15'. They put the replica there so that you can marvel at how simply he was living, but a private studio like that with a yard would be worth like $3,000 per month in New York. This Thoreau guy built it for just over 28 bucks.

There's a pretty rad sign next to the pile of rocks that marks where his actual cabin used to be:

There was this sign pointing up the path:

Which is clearly not in reference to his house, because all of the other signs call it a "cabin."

As we progressed along the path we figured it out. It had just been a misspelling of what was clearly Thoreau's Hat:

Leaving Walden Pond is kind of an adventure. We'd gotten a bit turned around on the way in and asked directions, but oddly enough the people at the gas station less than two miles away had no idea what we were talking about. Fine, we figured, even though there is not one single other world famous landmark public park in the area. On the way out, we asked for directions back to the highway back to Boston. The folks at the second gas station had absolutely no clue. They live half an hour from a major world-class metropolis and they had not one clue how to get to there. The gas station employee whipped out a map and it all started to make sense- the map was for like four square miles. It's an interesting way to think about spatial relations. Four miles. We obtained another, much larger map that included the fabled lost city called BOSTON and made our way back.

On our way out the following day, we hit up Dunkie's one last time:

Lookie! Boston is rewarded for their loyalty with their very own donut flavor. But "Kreme"? Mother nature must be cringing. What is this Kreme? Does it have any relationship whatsoever with cream? Or even any dairy in it? If it were spelled "creme" or "kream" would that signify a closer relationship with an actual food product? How far away does it have to be to be spelled "kreme"? I went ahead and didn't try it.

Next stop: New York City!

I've flown over and driven through New York a lot of times over the years, and every single time it strikes me how it just goes on... forever.

Driving through NY, we saw a few of these:

The sign says, "This vehicle has been checked for sleeping children."

Something bad must have happened, like children waking up at night alone in bus yards. But it really gives someone on a quick passing-through trip the sense that it's a scary scary place to be a kid.

We also saw this awesome BAM! sign, which about sums up how it feels to drive into New York after hours of small towns and fields:

BAM! You're in New York.

I always wonder how the graffiti artists in urban areas are so much more motivated and resourceful in big cities. How do they get up there? Why are people in Pensacola happy with scribbling on bathroom walls and New Yorkers perform acrobatic feats?

What do they do, go up on the roof and then paint the whole thing upside down? Someone should give these people a medal for bravery.

Speaking of bravery, here's a thing I only see in New York:

What is this, safety last? That guy has no goggles and he's practically standing in traffic. At least he had an orange cone, unlike this brave fellow:

He's just dead center of the intersection, no cones, with huge saw.

Cars just speed on by like it's nothing.

Slice, slice, slice. Just slicing up the street with a huge saw. No need to block either street off or even ask people to slow down.

We only stayed in the city long enough to have dinner and sleep, but it was great fun, and as always it made me wish I had lots of time and money to really appreciate it.

On our way out in the morning, we watched the skyline recede and the trees at the side of the road became thicker and greener. We hopped on the Jersey Turnpike, which must be the most expensive of the roads in this country:

Maybe the garden state uses all that money for... gardening or something.

On the road, it feels like a really quick transition from super urban to pretty rural. We started seeing things like this pretty quckly:

Goodbye, New York. Next stop: The midwest!

Road Trip!

2005-10-05T05:28:00.000-10:00

We begin out story in Hotlanta, a few hours drive from Floribama.

We stayed at a friend's house in Midtown, which is a lovely area of town. We had this view from her porch on the seventh floor, a little urban rooftop getaway across the street:

In the morning, we walked to a breakfast spot and got a taste of the neighborhood. What are some of the things you can find in a diverse, urban area stuck in the middle of the south?

Gay neighbors get their own sign telling you what's up.

When you cross the street, you get the normal "ped x-ing" guy and then there's also this weird eyeball thing going on:

The pupils flash and go back and forth as you cross the street, I assume to remind you that as you walk, big brother is watching. At least that's what it seems like.

Luckily, there's a great salon nearby where you can get that helmet hair 'do of your dreams:

Speaking of, I was lucky enough to visit an awesome antiques auction house in the few daylight hours that we were actually in Atlanta. They had this:

And it seems that someone can't resist obvious temptation:

I don't need no stinking salon.

The auction house had all kinds of huge and weird and interesting things. They had a childrens' carousel inside the actual building. If any of you fans are well heeled, my birthday happens to be in August but for a gift like that I'd bend the rules and accept it early.

There was also this awesome car:

Which isn't that unusual besides the fact that it has this switch, the perfect switch, that I'd like to carry around with me and apply to different life situations:

So you get the idea, it's an upscale spot. I just wanted to point that out, and that there are a lot of fancy and classy things in there to prove that it is not their fault before I show you this:

It's a fancy antique creepy baby statue. With a matching partner, no less:

Why so creepy? I've seen this in antique art before, and I still don't get it. What's the point of a creepy baby statue? The staring eyes, the weird poses, the upraised arm as though it might try to strike you while grinning and giggling maniacally... who wants this in their house?

Is it some kind of early form of birth control?

Speaking of creepy, this might be one of the creepiest things I've ever seen. It actually made me retch just a little when I saw it, so avert your eyes if you are at all sensitive:

I mean, eeeewwww. It's almost enough to make someone turn vegetarian. It's actually a matched set:

How does such a thing occur? What is the story of this horridly disgusting piece of furniture?

***Setting: England, colonial times***
Elizabeth: "Oh, dear Gilroy, you've returned from your travels to distant lands! But what have you brought me?"
Gilroy: "Yes my darling, I've returned from ritually oppressing those who look different than us, and I've had such a grand adventure."
Elizabeth: "That sounds smashing Gilroy, but have you brought me the souvenirs of your travels that I requested when we were engaged?"
Gilroy: "Why of course, my love, and here they are, a pair of matching footstools." (presents gifts)
Elizabeth: "But Gilroy! I didn't mean literal FEET! GAHHH!!!" (runs off screaming)
Gilroy: "Elizabeth, wait! You haven't yet seen the trunk I brought you made of real trunks! Where are you going?"
*******
The pair is available for purchase at the price of $5900. It is unclear whether a curse of elephant wrath is included in the price. But it would certainly get the Greenpeace donation canvassers out of your face quickly if you display them just inside the front door.

Just to segue you gently back from gross dead things as furniture:

The antler chandelier. Chantlerier, maybe? I don't really get how it works anyway, but it would certainly lend just the right blend of prissy manliness to any sad basement secret clubhouse or dive bar with airs.

Back outside, there's this guy:

I don't know exactly what's going on here, except that that guy's riding like the wind to whup something. There's something very southern about this to me, the fact that the act of whupping something is immortalized in a giant bronze statue.

And there's this:

Which I happen to think is a very cute outfit, even though I can't quite figure out what it is. Is she wearing an impractical bathing suit? Maybe this is a memorial statue dedicated to those brave testers of unsuccessful early "water wings" prototypes.

Speaking of doom, you may recall from earlier episodes our good friend the "Ped Xing" guy meeting bad ends. And as you can see above, big brother is watching him in the city of Atlanta, so you'd think he's off to a better start there, right? Wrong.

There is this small forklift at the auction house:

Which bears depictions of both of these horrible ways to go:

And:

Let's review: DO NOT get smushed by the forklift part of the forklift. DO NOT let the forklift fall over on you. You have been warned.

One last creepy baby before we hit the road:

I mean, there's a reason his only friend is a fish.

Back on the road, a Peach watertower:

Which looks a tiny bit like a sunburned baby's bum if you've been looking at creepy naked baby statues all morning.

We made our way north and saw these road trip gems:

These days everybody has their own website.

What happened to just writing "wash me"?

And finally, the last few signs of the south began to trickle away:

Goodbye P-nuts, worms, CRICKTS, and CHX WINGS. Farewell Berenda and your cakes. Goodbye Bud-Coors cases and $1.89 cigarettes.

Next stop: New England.

Floribama Flavor

2005-09-13T06:47:00.000-10:00

I want to give you a general sense of what it's like here. I'm on the Panhandle of Florida, in Santa Rosa county. It's really different from Miami and South Florida so people say it's not the "Real Florida." The closest medium sized city is Mobile, but people say it's not the "Real South." It is some kind of in between place that no one wants to claim. But it has a certain personality, which I will now attempt to demonstrate.

Let's begin:

What's going on here? Santa Rosa county recently got all up in a ruffle about the wet/dry vote. What's this, you ask? Well, it's a "dry" county, which means that hard liquor is not allowed to be sold in stores here. What's that I hear you wondering? Why yes, you sure can buy beer, and lots of it, every day except Sunday, and you can get your hard liquor by driving about ten minutes down the road. So it's not that you can't get drunk, it's that they don't want you to get drunk quickly or in fruity flavors. There are many perils of fruity flavored drunkenness, and the kinds of alcohol that might be mixed with jell-o.
See here, it makes women cry:

The churches had a lot to say about it.

I especially like this one because if you read the tiny print on the lower sign you can see that the pastor really didn't have a choice in occupations, given his last name:

Plus that wacky backward ampersand shows their sense of fun.

Now here's what it's really about:

There were hundreds of these signs, posted prominently on the well-manicured lawns of the upstanding townsfolk:

The opposition (pro wet) side had only these lame signs, of which I only saw three and they were on random roadsides and not in front of houses. I guess nobody on the wet side wanted to admit who they were:

I mean, "It's time"? That's your argument that's supposed to win against the children and crying women and God hating you? Pretty lame. That sign was actually all flopped over when I found it and I had to straighten it up before getting the shot for you.

I don't really think this guy was doing this for the vote, it was just his personal sentiment, but it applies to the topic at hand:

If whisky is for his women and beer is for his horses, what's he drinking, milk? Or a white wine spritzer?

Clearly, these pro-liquor types were disorganized and not very persuasive. Certainly they had nothing on this bossy sign:

What happened in the end, you wonder? Well a couple of days ago, wet won the vote at about 60%-40%. The almost silent majority will soon be drinking strawberry daiquiris to their hearts' content. And serving beer to their horses, in all likelihood. Not to worry, though:

I have to say, the whole episode convinced me at how awesome those christians are at making signs. If you like them and their creative signage, you can buy your own at this handy store:

It seems like kind of a weird thing to sell, but if you want a sign like this at home you're going to have to get your own and have him or her make it up for you:

Question marks not included.

So since there hasn't been any liquor in town because of the children, what is available for entertainment? Wal-Mart has you covered:

Yep, that's a big old gun rack, right between the fishing poles and the soccer equipment. It's sports time!

There are also some weird accessories for hunting that I didn't know about:

They should sell that cough muffler at libraries and opera houses, too. Duh.

And if the taste of fresh free range meat is not gas-station-cuisiney enough for you, you can fix that up right in the field:

But Wal-Mart isn't the only place:

When I go to a sewing store and see a sign for "Ribbons & Such" I know that means they have cords and silvery thread and ugly iron-on doodly-bobs. Ribbon-like things. Guns & Such? What's the such? Switchblades? Crossbows? Cannons? What's like a gun?

If hunting is not your thing, there are other weekend hotspots:

What's special about a high school? Besides this awesomely weird looking mascot:

I'll tell you what's special, it's the parking lot. There are awesome things in high school parking lots come the weekend:

Featuring such gems as:

And:

And:

This one's pretty cool:

Except- it spawned!

Quick! Someone call the Dinosaur Adventure Land scientists! It's evolving!

This one has manly purple skulls airbrushed on the front which must be what qualified it to park in the disabled spot:

Right on top of the latest trends:

A car show in a high school parking lot involves a lot of sitting in the sun. This necessitates some fancy lawn chairs:

Out front there's this:

Even though it looks like the drug deal pictured here went well, you can tell that you should still say no because the drugs have withered that poor little girl's head. And the cat? I have no idea.

There was a stand at the front where you could pick up your trophy. It looked to me like there were more trophies than cars, but hey, who am I to judge?

I did happen to pass by the trophy stand just as they were calling a winner named Buddy Pickle. No lie. Welcome to North Florida.

After the car show, we stopped for some barbecue:

As if it's not enough to be named Daddy's, the BBQ spot also had this sign:

Hey, that friendly patriotic pig is wearing a Hawai'ian shirt and saluting our troops! What a great guy. That makes me hungry for ribs.

There's this cool bar nearby which is in a trailer. They've got a pool table which takes up a third of the bar and they jammed a foosball table in there too. After a couple of Miller Lites, you head for this door:

Which leads outside to the his-n-hers outhouse buildings, complete with half moon cutout doors.

Now that we know what there is to do around town, what should we wear?

My new shirt, of course!

And where can we find a technician to assist us in the technical aspects of looking good?

You're probably starting to get a feel for the area by now. I'll just flesh it out with a few more details. There's a local radio station that plays "the hits" of the last 25 years, but keeps the real classics in heavy rotation: Steve Winwood, Paula Abdul, and Taylor Dayne can be heard at least once an hour. It's so excruciatingly lame that it's almost rounded the bend into cool. I mean, who doesn't want to hear "Forever Your Girl" twelve times a day? That was the true birth of the synthesizer/drum machine/obvious-low-budget-voice-alteration genre. It's important to remember where we came from.

Keeping with the theme of modern, simple, classy aesthetics:

And:

And:

It's obvious what they sell there, "E MET MARKE" must be French for "Butcher."

Speaking of meaty culinary treats, these can be purchased in the "fancy" bread section at the local grocer:

Hot Dog rolls. The ultimate fun roll, according to their tagline. The perfect bring-along for your trip to the whitest beach in the world according to me.

Creative entrepreneurs open tasteful apparel stands by the roadside in late summer:

Not to be upstaged by suburban Hawai'i, there are also creative mailboxes:

There's also a really adorable side to this area. It may not be very urban, but there is some awesome graffiti in Pensacola:

I don't know who does this. I think it must be a group, because you find it all over: on defunct buildings and gas stations, scribbled on bathroom walls, spray painted on old billboards. It's very sweet.

Santa Rosa county doesn't often make the national news, but did just yesterday when a popular local bar was forced to close because of a sinkhole under it's floor. No, I'm serious.

Last but not least, my personal favorite:

Dinosaur Adventure Land

2005-09-06T03:56:00.000-10:00

Have you wondered about Creationism and Intelligent Design? Have you wished there was a children's theme park explaining the science behind the theories? Well, there is. And it's right here in Pensacola. Lucky me, I got a chance to go.

The park is in a suburban backyard. It cost $1.5 million to build, and has a museum, a park, and a science center.

There's a teensy parking lot and a big gate out front. The moment you cross the threshold, friendly sweetie pie guides (all male, all caucasian) in yellow button down shirts with their first names embroidered in blue on the pocket approach and offer assistance. We politely declined at first, preferring to explore the science center on our own. The science center has all kinds of hands-on experiments for kids, similar to the Exploratorium in San Francisco. I say similar, but there's one pretty notable difference. These experiments all have a biblical lesson.

Here's the jist of the thing, with some Lincoln Logs and Legos as definitive proof:

This applies to all kinds of science:

That eyeball was definitely fearfully made, it's creeping me out right now.

The experiments generally had simple instructions, a description, and then a spiritual lesson to be gleaned from the activity. This sign demonstrates how it's set up. Pay special attention to the lesson at the bottom.

It seems simple enough, but I still had a hard time figuring out how some of the spiritual lessons connected to the science activities. Like this one, which was with a lesson about magnets:

Did you know? The Grand Canyon couldn't possibly have been made by a river!

Here's a pop quiz next to a little motor display:

Where did the motor come from? It's either A or B:

And you open the little doors to find out which one is correct:

I can't really tell if it's annoying or refreshing that they're so sarcastic on the signs. I'm gonna go with a little from each.

Here are the two timelines side by side:

It's obvious where the $1.5 million went with displays like this.

I thought this was kind of sweet in a way, a 12 year old learning to tan hides in the traditional painstaking ways, but it's also a little creepy to think of him in the backyard harvesting them:

Note the fun typo on the last line. I know I have some typos on here from time to time, but how does that saying go? He who hath typoed first should cast the first... something. I think I'm still entitled to laugh at it.

Eventually we agreed to a tour of the science center by one of the guides. He was extremely well informed, super friendly, and very polite. We learned:

Underlining makes it more true. See? Is it working yet?

It becomes more clear when you see the proof, that lots of things have a larger or smaller counterpart:

We also learned that there were dinosaurs and lots of white people on Noah's Ark:

Here's a close-up showing that some pastel colored adorable baby dinos and a cartoon kid with an incongruous British Colonizer outfit were also headed to the Ark :

There are also still dinosaurs alive today, evidenced by the Loch Ness monster.

People used to be at least 12 feet tall before the flood, as this replica of a leg bone proves:

That's a regular modern human skeleton over on the side for comparison.

Back outside, there is a display about paper airplanes:

And an awesome snow cone shop:

Also, a real live scary dinosaur (sponsored by the local yellow pages):

We made sure to hit up the gift shop before we left:

And I picked up some free informational booklets. All in all we spent probably three hours learning, and we wanted to sit back and get something to eat and discuss what we'd seen. I spotted the perfect place along the road.

As the beer disappeared from our glasses, we talked about the things we'd learned and it all started to make sense. Spicy debate over hot wings and circular logic over onion rings:

It was falling into place. It became clear that the pamphlet titles would make excellent names for punk bands:

And as we lingered my attention wandered to the slogans at the eatery:

And the interesting outfits of our friendly servers:

Why, oh why do they make them wear tan pantyhose under shorts and sweat socks? WHY???

It's a good thing though that they're not chauvanists. The name "Hooters" is really in reference to their cute owl mascot, not the women in revealing clothing. We had the genius idea (after three beers) to start a sister restaurant with a squirrel mascot called "Nutters" that has attractive male waiters with revealing outfits. And I wouldn't make them wear those tan pantyhose either.

All said, it was a very informative day. It began as educational and then evolved into something else. Or did we create it as something else? The debate rages on. In the meantime, if anyone wants to audition for THE DEATH COOKIE, THE LAST GENERATION, or IT'S COMING! drop me a line. I don't really have any musical skills, so I'll just be the manager or play the tambourine.

New Orleans No More

2005-09-02T12:31:00.000-10:00

I am, as many of you I am sure are as well, deeply saddened by the level destruction in the wake of Hurricane Katrina. We were so incredibly lucky. There were so many who were not as fortunate. New Orleans has a place in my heart even after a brief visit, and I was looking forward to returning. The city that I visited does not exist anymore, and never will again in the same way.

The horrific situations that exist currently in the city are unspeakable. You have most likely seen the stories on the news. So many people didn't leave the city, hurricanes are somewhat common here and the level of destruction is unprecedented. No one knew it could be this bad. The nature of the relief effort appears grossly inadequate at this time, but with so little communication from within the city itself, I think that we won't find out exactly how bad it is until sometime in the future.

This site makes a comparison between the portrayals of people of different races collecting food in New Orleans from defunct stores.

For anyone who didn't get a chance to hear it, here is the audio of a very frank interview with the mayor of New Orleans.

Our neighbors across the street have been driving to Mississippi every few days to bring supplies to family members stranded there. Diapers, water, granola bars, toilet paper... anything. They have also begun to supply food for neighbors who are not fortunate enough to have family members nearby to bring supplies. Late last night our neighbors came by and gave us their phone number, explaining that we should call them immediately at any time day or night if we see that any of the gas stations in town have gas. They have collected empty drums that used to hold peppers (all the other containers in town have been sold out) to fill with gas so that they can make the return journey back here to Florida, only to collect more supplies and return a few days later. They have been spending their paychecks on supplies, rushing to Target and Wal-Mart in the neighboring towns to compete with charitable church groups for the last few generators, fans, and boxes of diapers.

At the main intersection in town, the local firefighters are approaching cars stopped at lights and silently collecting donations in empty firefighting boots.

My heart goes out to all of the victims. If you are reading this please keep them in your prayers, thoughts, or good wishes, and of course please send donations if you are able.

I'm alive!

2005-08-30T09:38:00.000-10:00

Here's how it looked on the water near Pensacola:

Feel free to laugh at me. I kept almost falling over.

In the midst of it

2005-08-29T05:13:00.001-10:00

Last night there was hardly anything on TV but hurricane news. That's good and all, but after like hour twelve of coverage, it gets pretty repetitive, and you start hearing the newscasters tell stories about their dogs' reactions to past hurricanes, slow reenactments of the face they made that morning when they woke up and saw the increased windspeed rating, and they take phone calls from people who are sitting at home speculating what may or may not happen- usually "looks like a lotta rain over here." Every so often they interrupt all of the channels to put on a tornado warning.

So part of the news coverage included this woman last night who explained that after the hurricanes of last year it was discovered that there was a "non-English speaking community" near Mobile who didn't get any weather service in their native tongue. She went on to explain repeatedly that they wanted to help out the "hispanic speaking" community and they had gone to great lengths this year and found this genius miracle of a woman: someone who spoke "hispanic". Once as she was introducing this miracle-of-modern-science that is a bilingual person, she accidentally almost said "Spanish" and corrected herself, "Spa-Hispanic speaking." As they introduced the woman who gave emergency instruction in Spanish, both the newscaster and her co-host stared at the translator as though she'd ridden up on a unicorn and successfully demonstrated the main principals of astrophysics through interpretive dance. Afterward the station was really self congratulatory on their thorough 20-second spot dedicated to the "Hispanic speaking" community.

Here's how it looks in our backyard at this moment:

We're heading out to take pictures. I know that sounds stupid but we're really not that close to the actual action.

She's a maniac

2005-08-28T06:11:00.000-10:00

Big and bad, she's on her way. It looks like N'awlins is going to take the brunt of it, which is a bummer because those hurricane drinks might seem less funny afterward.

We're probably going to ride it out, so if you're in NoFlo and the power goes out and you want to play cribbage by candlelight and drink warm root beer with us, drop me a line.

Stormy weather... part deux

2005-08-26T16:49:00.000-10:00

Is anyone else tired of this?

Does this look eerily similar to the Dennis one last month?

I'd just like to point out the fact that the only two times I have a solid, scheduled plane ticket back to Hawaii in hand... a hurricane strikes at that precise moment. I was scheduled to leave the monday that Dennis hit, and then I rescheduled to this Sunday. Is the universe telling me something?

Looks like I'll be here for a while longer. Look for more adventures on the continent in the coming month, unless Katrina picks us up and carries us to Oz. Isn't that what happened to Dorothy?

I don't yet know if we'll be evacuating, but the gas stations are already running out of product. I'll keep y'all posted.

Bing-went

2005-08-24T05:47:00.000-10:00

I am accustomed to spending my leisure time in coffee shops, but there's only one tiny one in the teensy town I've been staying in, and... the coffee is flavored. Obviously, I had to find a new hobby.

What could the people of this town do for fun?

In my drives around town I've seen one kind of entertainment establishment more than any other: bingo halls. I had to find out what the excitement was about, so on a Saturday evening we decided to investigate. There are a few close to the house, but they start the games at 4:30, so we sought out one with a "late night" game that started at 6:45. It was a magical place.

But not quite magical enough to keep the neon lights on.

I was a little nervous. Neither of us had ever played real bingo before. Would it be easy to learn? Would people be welcoming? We assumed so.

WRONG.

We tentatively pushed the door open and found:

A fluorescent lit room. Dead silence, save a woman on a little platform slowly calling out numbers.
The players nearest the entrance whipped their heads around to stare at us. We had obviously broken their concentration. There was no indication where we needed to go or what we needed to do to join in the game, and no one was giving us any help. After a painfully long couple of minutes, the bingo caller took pity on us and pointed to a door. We went through.

Inside was a little side room with a big desk full of different colored tablets of bingo cards. The Bingo Magic employee working the desk exclaimed, "Y'all missed the beginning!"

That fact seemed to stress her out a lot more than it did us. We said we wanted to play anyway and so she collected up the appropriate cards and handed them over. When I played bingo as a kid, you just got one card. This was a whole other league. We each got a pad of bingo cards and a bunch of other random "bonus" cards and "treasure hunt" cards. We bought in. She hurriedly explained the game in a thick accent. It didn't clarify the process all that much. We followed her advice "Y'all are gonna need some daubers!" Some what? "Some daubers!" and bought the little ink dotters from her for a dollar each.

We came back out to the game room.

Long tables speckled with players. No one talking to or looking at each other, save a couple of mother-daughter teams who would whisper under their breath and pass things back and forth. We hastily sat down at the nearest table amid some staring players.

The caller droned out the numbers, and we used our daubers to mark the numbers. It sounds a lot simpler than it is.

We kept our heads down and tried to catch up. It became obvious that we were newbies because the players to the left and right of us had waaaaay more cards than we did; they had bought in multiple times. Their hands moved like lightning as the numbers were called. The tension in the room was palpable. The real bingo pros had a ring of doo-dads around their playing area, pens, highlighters, and lots of different colored daubers. Stuffed animals, little figurines, keychains, photos...I couldn't imagine what they could possibly need all that stuff for. We later learned that most of them are good luck charms.

Apparently there is a whole bingo-accessory industry, because a good number of them had dauber totes, as well.

You can see one there hiding behind the massive styrofoam soda cup. There was an unmanned snack bar in the corner of the room with some coffee carafes that looked as though they'd been on the warming plates for a minimum of three days, but I couldn't imagine anyone getting up during the hours long game and missing any numbers. In fact no one did get up, even to use the restroom.

The silence and staring and frantic daubing of cards commingled with the heavy cloud of cigarette smoke.

It was a little scary.

We tried to keep up with the caller and the numbers, and as we got the hang of it, we realized that the numbers that had been called were all up on a lit board, accented by a live video stream of the actual bingo balls as they exited the hopper- I suppose that was so we'd know our trusty bingo caller was on the up and up.

In this photo you can see the small glassed in room at the back of the bingo hall. It was apparently a quarantine for non-smokers.

The tension of each round broke only when a meek voice would call out "bingo" from one of the tables. This was followed by the only sound the crowd made: not a congratulatory cheer, but an audible moan escaping simultaneously from the lips of every player in the room. This was accompanied by a chorus of crumpling paper as everyone wadded up their used cards in unison and chucked them in the trash bags taped to the side of every table in preparation for the next round. When a player called bingo, an employee with a fanny pack full of cash would walk over to verify the win and do a payout.

You can see the thrill of the win here:

I don't know what I had expected- maybe a "Woohooo!" or something? But I never got it. The prizes went up to $550 per game, and if I'd won you darn skippy would have heard something out of me. But we were lost in the maze of cards and letters and numbers. The women sitting near us at our table would roll their eyes and begrudgingly harumph some hoarse-whispered words of advice as we clumsily moved from round to round. It didn't help that much, because we didn't speak bingoese: "No no no! You odds up the treasure hunt before we play the bonus round. Ugh! You should have rebought for a dollar. First it's layer cake and then it's fill-in."

Uh... thanks?

We obviously didn't win, but the actual game was pretty fun anyway. When the rounds were over at 9 PM, we got up to leave. The game was finished. Nobody else got up. It turned out all but about three of them were staying for the next series, which would continue until at least midnight. A lot of them had been there since midday. Three more hours of unsmiling grunting with no pee breaks? We went next door to a bar called The Palace for a beer.

When we got there the friendly bartender laughed and laughed about our experiences. She said she's never gone in to play before, even though it's right next door. Some of the other patrons explained more about bingo and what it means in this community. One woman's mother plays four days a week and has missed family reunions and birthdays... they always knew where she was when she wasn't answering the phone. She was down at the bingo hall with a menagerie of lucky stuffed animals and figurines. It started to make more sense as the woman was explaining how important the nights out were to her widowed mother. The bingo hall had indeed seemed to be 90% female. It struck me that I don't know many other places where a woman can go on her own and feel entirely comfortable and safe while having a fun night out. I can't think of anything in Oakland.

The bartender gave us some "bar bingo" cards that we could play for a prize of fifty dollars. We asked why they don't serve beer in the bingo hall, and she looked at us like we were slow. "You can't drink alcohol and gamble at the same time! That's illegal!" We shut our mouths and continued playing our (apparently) non-gambling bar bingo cards. We still didn't win.

All in all it was a nice evening out, but it didn't really compensate for the coffee shop that I am still stunned does not exist here. The bar did have this lovely sign in the ladies' room:

I like how the community is so small that the sheer force of will of the friendly bartender/owner of the bar would be enough to sway the users of illicit substances. It apparently worked because when we walked out to the car there was a cluster of folks loitering under a huge cloud of pot smoke in the parking lot.

Good thing Amy doesn't care what you do outside.

My Truckin' Birthday

2005-08-17T02:52:00.000-10:00

What is there to do in Floribama for one's birthday?

A monster truck rally, of course.

My date and I were inexperienced Monster Truck Ralliers. How does one prepare for an evening of car-crushing mayhem? We figured a trip to Wal-Mart for clothes was a good bet.

This awesome truck was in the parking lot:

Those are beer bottle cap decorations on the hat. An inspired artistic touch.

We wanted something to wear, so we poked around. Here's a classy selection from the young ladies' department:

Tube top sweatshirt. You can't make this stuff up.

From the men's, a Jesus tie:

For couples, color coordinated head wrap thingies:

Pictured here: Flame and Tiger styles. Not shown: "Truckers Rule" print.

Also available at Wal-Mart are garments that allow the wearer to have the look and feel of corporate sponsorship without the pesky hassle of remuneration:

In the end, we selected some three dollar fishing hats that have a slot in the front for your fishing license. We decided his was funniest with the "Place Fishing License Here" card inside, and he wrote "Birthday Girl" on mine.

Decked out in this finery we headed to Mobile, Alabama.

I noticed when we arrived was that there were a lot of kids. I had sort of thought maybe this was a beer and fried food type of event, but as it turns out it's more of a beer and tired-looking-cotton-candy type of event.

The first sign of what was to come was that every kid was a fan of the same truck: Grave Digger. There was not one kid who was a fan of any other truck, and the souvenir stand only sold Grave Digger souvenirs.

Tantrum in progress at bottom left. Souvenir shirts visible in the back.

We made our way inside. The crowd wasn't what you'd call diverse, but everyone was friendly, respectful, and in good spirits.

An announcer came out on the floor and spent a while naming off sponsors and getting the crowd excited for the rally using a vocal style somewhere between Foghorn Leghorn and the movie phone guy. He introduced the Subway Sandwich Man, for whom the kids went wild.

Then they brought out the flag:

They had veterans and enlisted folks in the audience stand up and did a whole song, and it was actually kind of moving and sweet. I love my country in certain ways, but I am completely unaccustomed to this type of thing, and I had to be gently reminded to remove my hat. Whoops.

Then the truck rally began.
For anyone who hasn't been, it basically goes like this-
There are old cars:

And big trucks:

Big trucks smoosh old cars:

Big trucks "race" and "do donuts" in a "competition". Caveat: Grave Digger wins. Always.

Add incredibly loud music and the opportunity to boo at the top of your lungs for anyone racing against Grave Digger, and that's pretty much it.

There's an intermission in the middle where they come out and sweep up the broken glass in preparation for more of the same. During intermission there's a stampede towards the beer vendors and the outdoor fenced-in smoking section. Ostensibly, this is provided as a courtesy to those with small children so they needn't be exposed to wafting clouds of Marlboro-Light mist. However:

No, that's not a day care. Yes, that's the smoking section. Chock. Full. Of. Kids.

On the other hand, the charming fellow on the far left of that frame was wearing a lovely T-Shirt that we saw on four different men that evening. The text reads: "Nothing beats racking my balls at the crack of Dawn" coupled with an illustration of an attractive woman pictured from behind playing pool in a thong bikini. Despite the "cleverness" of this text, it was well beyond my suspension of disbelief to imagine that any of the men wearing this shirt would have a date with a woman as attractive as Dawn, even if she was just a drawing. Honestly, I wanted to get you all a photo of it, but it wasn't worth the risk of having to talk to him.

Other fine T-shirt selections:

And:

When the rally was over, we rushed through the gates to have a chance at a photo of the sandwich man. I found him and asked permission, which he granted with a felt-glove thumbs-up. At the precise moment that I snapped the photo, something occurred that broke my heart and proved that tacky advertising gimmicks are indeed the way to a child's heart:

Yes. That adorable little kid gave Subway Sandwich Man a huge hug around the knees.

In line for autographs, this cutie was waving his Grave Digger flag with gusto:

And this sleepy guy scored a Grave Digger stuffed truck from his Pops:

The Rally is clearly an excellent place to win the hearts and minds of Alabama's children. If you were to hand out free t-shirts and prizes, and park a cool vehicle out front for kids to play in, you could probably convince them to join anything.

We headed over to downtown Mobil for a birthday drink at a Brewery. It's a really sweet little town, and the streets are blocked off so that pedestrians may wander from bar to bar with only the traffic risks of colliding into one another or tripping over their own shoelaces. Amid the din of revelers and the sounds of live bands and DJs wafting out of different establishments, there was a little cluster of men with a big sign yelling about how much better it would be to be with Jesus instead of being drunk. Everyone was ignoring them.

Maybe I should have let them know they'd have better luck if they were dressed up as sandwiches.

The Best Things In Life

2005-08-16T09:56:00.000-10:00

...Are Prohibited.

This is from when I was in Hawaii, but I only just got it hosted.

This is dedicated to Heidi for telling me what to do.

Pensacola: World's Whitest Beach

2005-08-08T07:04:00.000-10:00

It all started when I found this postcard at the local Wal-Mart:

Could it be true? Whitest beach ever?

I'll let you judge for yourselves.

Figure 1: Water tower doubling as beach sign. Painted in classic "beach ball" motif.

Figure 2: Pronounced sunburn.

Figure 3: Pronounced sunburn paired with alcoholic beverage:

Figure 4: Bud Light.

Figure 5: Beach goers participating in sun, surf, and beverage simultaneously.

Note that the gentleman in the center has the same beverage holder I used in my All American Coca-Cola experiment.

Figure 6: Shell collecting with an unprecedented amount of gear.

Figure 7: The outfit.

Figure 8: More Bud Light.

Figure 9: Pronounced sunburn paired with Bud Light.

Figure 10: Pronounced sunburn concealed by t-shirt to mitigate the hazards of snorkeling seven feet off shore.

Figure 11: Parasailing.

Figure 12: Metal detecting. In water. Near cute girls. With a chest strap.

Figure 13: Straight men play-drowing friends as a way to meet girls.

Figure 14: Bud Light. In bottles, one with a beer cozy. While swimming. With sporty, reflective eyewear.

I rest my case.

N'awlins

2005-08-04T06:37:00.000-10:00

I'd always wanted to go to New Orleans, and I was able to pop over for a short trip last weekend.

Downtown New Orleans looked a lot like downtown Oakland, with a touch of New York mixed in. But the French Quarter was as beautiful and charming as the everything I'd heard, with lovely balconies:

I even saw a genuine southern wedding party complete with pastel polyester outfits, feathered hats, and (get this) women fanning themselves with fancy hand fans!

I think the first sign of what I was in for was that people were walking around (even downtown) with plastic cups of booze. Just sauntering around with it all nonchalant, the way I carry my iced coffee around in Oakland.

After some wandering around and some delicious food (crawfish are the best thing EVER), night fell and it was time for a stroll down Bourbon Street.

I saw familiar sights:

And unfamiliar sights:

We stopped into a bar for a couple of drinks, which cost more when there's a band.

This system promotes extreme drunkenness among patrons.

The band was pretty good:

What was interesting to me as a Californian, where smoking is a shameful, dirty, hide-behind-the-dumpster-in-an-alley type of behavior was that all of the musicians were smoking and drinking throughout the entire set. This was impressive from an athletic standpoint, I would assume it is very difficult to sing quickly at the top of your lungs and play an instrument while simultaneously smoking and taking shots of liquor, but then again I've never tried it.

Not to be outdone, my purse got extremely drunk on large, brightly-colored drinks:

And met a lot of new people. Every other bar patron we met on Bourbon street was not a local; we met nice couples from New York and Germany who chatted pleasantly with us until two very large men from Northern Ireland men decided it would be funny to tell us all off-color jokes tailored to each of our respective countries of origin.

We hit the road again. Keep in mind that my purse was very drunk at this point, and that's where my camera lives, so if any of these photos seem either blurry or in any way offensive, that's probably why. This state of inebriation seems to be a prerequisite for a stroll down Bourbon street. There are teensy bars just asking you to carry a drink along with you:

So there's no danger of walking even a block in a thirsty state.

I thought maybe I'd like a huge drink to go. I've tried German beers and seasonal beers and even fruit flavored beers, but this seemed pretty unappealing:

So instead I opted for a huge strawberry daiquiri to go:

From a little drink shop with an appealing "terrifying clown" decorative theme:

As you can clearly see, the frozen drink dispensers are lined up in a row, more voluminous and varied than even the banks of Slurpee dispensers at the convenience stores in Hawaii.

For those who like a cartoon-colored drink but prefer to chug instead of slurp, this pretty girl was distributing shots served in test tubes in front of the shop:

So... test tubes? I mean, who figured out that those were convenient for rapid alcohol-to-bloodstream transfer? I imagine a very wild night at some laboratory somewhere leading to this particular bit of ingenuity.

Armed with my very large pink drink (proper anthropological methodology requires blending in one's surroundings) we ambled along toward the Hustler club. I had seen on television, of course, the types of activities that occur on Bourbon during Mardi Gras, but I hadn't realized that the same kinds of things occur on random evenings in late July.

For anyone unfamiliar with the custom, this handy sign provides a mathematical explanation:

I found the anatomically optimistic (if not entirely accurate) drawing particularly helpful in understanding the subtleties of this concept.

How it works is this- charming gentlemen such as these:

crowd onto balconies above the street in search of ladies passing by. When this occurs, they note her arrival with words and gestures of appreciation and encouragement:

If she stops and engages them in conversation, they request a visual inspection of her feminine charms, for which she will be rewarded with plastic jewelry:

In this way, ladies may "earn" many tokens of adoration in an evening. In addition to the main two groups of people participating in this custom (the bead throwers and the bead earners) there are peripheral individuals who participate in their own special way.

Here at the Hustler Club, you can see a row of fellows on the sidewalk who did not care to pay the cover charge to enter the club and therefore have the opportunity to be among the bead throwers above.

They simply stand below in an akward yet enthusiastic row waiting for something to happen:

I knew I wouldn't be participating in any bead-earning (particularly considering that they are available in almost every shop for a couple of dollars per bundle), so I headed over to stand with the row of men below the Hustler Club balcony.

I was the only female. We stood there in a row, me and all of these guys, with our cameras out. We all had a sort of guilty, nervous look on our faces, they for obvious reasons and me because I wanted to get some good shots of them while they got shots of the girls.

We talked to this independent filmmaker:

who explained that he was getting some great footage, which he might try to sell to a documentary film company such as "Girls Gone Wild" but would probably just be keeping for his personal collection. Then he did an attractive little hyena laugh.

We also talked to another guy with a huge expensive camera who explained that he works as a freelance photographer professionally but happened to be passing through the city that night and decided to come out and take some photos for himself. I tried to get a shot of him but apparently professional photographers know how to stay out of a shot.

There was also this father-son team having a bonding evening.

I opted not to talk to them based on the extremely unappealing nature of the conversation I overheard them having with one another.

But fear not, women were not the only only ones being objectified:

Nor was it limited only to females and their impersonators:

There were also other interesting characters out and about, though they didn't appear to be having as much fun:

There was a guy sitting on the passenger seat of his motorcycle chatting with friends when a girl ran up and gave him an impromptu motorcycle-seat-dance:

They were complete strangers but he was friendly with her anyway.

Some people were walking around wearing enormous beads, and I had to wonder what exactly they had to do to earn them, as I'd seen a few women almost completely disrobe for a strand of small beads. I asked to take a photo of a guy wearing huge beads, but the moment he assented his friends appeared out of nowhere and jumped into the frame. To get the full effect of this photo, you'll need to scream "WOOO!!!" at the top of your lungs, preferably with the smell of stale booze in the background:

There was this gal, who appeared to be bored:

But apparently had a flashing light affixed to her clothing:

What is that, a safety measure? Is she directing traffic? Did she hear that people participated in flashing each other on Bourbon Street and misinterpret the meaning?

Lest you think that all of the patrons of Bourbon Street on a random Saturday evening in July were incredibly unattractive (each in their own special way), there was this cute bride having a bachelorette party:

And yes, this bride-to-be with the prophylactics and little plastic genitals on her veil had the absolute least vulgar outfit (by a long shot) of the four or five brides-to-be I ran into throughout the evening.

And then there was this lone beacon of morality making an optimistic attempt to convert the drunken masses with this sign taped to his back (please note this was taken around three in the morning):

I like that he has a plastic cover on his sign to prevent its being ruined by spilled beverages.

Somehow we made our way back to our hotel without flashing anyone or being born again, although my completely inebriated purse hardly remembered how we got there.

Fortunately, New Orleans has coffee with chicory and fresh hot beignets that will soothe any hangover, even one made of brightly colored mixed drinks from to-go cups:

Hurry Back

2005-07-22T08:58:00.000-10:00

Then we got called back to Florida. Really it's so different from earthquakes. I am amazed what strong enough winds are capable of.

This tree narrowly missed the room that I am staying in:

And this one fell in the backyard. You can see me standing in there somewheres.

I know I'm small but still- that tree was BIG.

We had no power the first day or so:

Yes, that place in the background is called "Badcock's" but we're not going to address poor marketing schemes here, this is about the hurricane.

Having no power was sort of like camping in a house. We took our cold showers and lit candles and went out to eat. The restaurant we chose is really popular with locals in Pensacola and has a tradition of stapling dollar bills with messages to the walls and ceiling:

And it was in through this medium that I discovered Floridians' secret inner feelings:

In the morning, we used the truck's built-in power outlet:

Dragged the extension cord through the garage:

Through the laundry room:

And into the kitchen for life's most important necessity:

We headed out to rustle up some gas and food and see what damage had been done.
Huge trees snapped in half:

Or fell over completely:

Some beautiful things didn't survive, but some ugly things did:

Looks like intolerance has the fortitude to withstand hurricanes.

McDonald's, however, didn't fare so well. I found this on the ground:

And then looked across the four-lane road to see where it came from:

Unfortunately I didn't find the O, it might have made a cool hat or something. If anyone finds a big O, call me and let me know.

Big Kmart took a hit:

And FEMA came in to provide assistance:

Individuals can apply at FEMA assistance center for aid, including emergency housing. This sometimes comes in the form of FEMA trailers:

This was one of the FEMA sites that has been here since the wake of hurricane Ivan last year which means they made it through Dennis unscathed. That's a relief because their sign out front doesn't inspire a sense of well-being and safety:

Some of the FEMA trailers didn't survive Dennis and people were relocated to hotels. North Florida still hadn't recovered fully from the wrath of Ivan last year, which was terrible. Hurricanes generally hit once every five years, so the four last year and then one already so early in the season has been frustrating at best, and devastating at worst. Some mobile homes were destroyed:

From the other side:

This gas station was brand new before Dennis hit:

You can see how they felt about it on their sign:

Many citizens who boarded up their homes and businesses used the opportunity to tell Dennis how they felt. This gas station had a sign reading "We stayed for Ivan, that was enough!!! We're gone for Dennis, it's too much":

And their business was indeed destroyed:

This citizen has strong feelings about something. I suspect it's in reference to looters, but some clarity is lost in the presentation.

With power out in so many areas and so much damage done, those businesses which were open hastily notified the public:

Even if they didn't look so good from the outside:

Luckily, the bowling alley was still open for blacklight bowling night so locals could blow off some steam in style:

Allstate Insurance should get a pluckiness award for being open:

Although I have to wonder how they will serve any clients over two feet tall.

On the other hand, there are still some bad feelings about State Farm left over from Ivan:

Some enterprising individuals sought to make a buck in the post-disaster economy:

You could also purchase a generator at special extra-high hurricane prices:

It's kind of sad but mostly funny that this RV is called "Four Winds":

Finally, crews came to restore power in our neighborhood:

Everyone in town chopped and stacked their fallen trees and debris by the side of the road for collection. Trucks and forklifts come by to carry it away:

To big collection areas where it is chipped into mulch:

The piles are like 30 feet high. Ivan yielded something like two and a half million tons of mulch. That's way more wood than a woodchuck would chuck if a woodchuck could chuck... oh, sorry. That was really bad.

Slowly, the community is pulling together after the crisis. Much of the power has now been restored and many of the gas stations are back in (at least partial) operation. The local grocery store now has fresh dairy products again. Even though parts of Pensacola still have a wafting aroma of broken sewer lines, you can tell things are moving forward.

And there has been some victory:

Hurrevac

2005-07-19T15:19:00.000-10:00

(Apologies for the long delay, we just recently got reconnected to the internet after the storm.)

Leaving Florida was really odd, I've been through plenty of earthquakes, but those just sort of hit you and then in a few seconds they're over. There was forewarning for Dennis, and especially in an area so hard-hit by Ivan last year people worked themselves into a frothy hurricane evacuation frenzy. People were busy boarding up houses and businesses:

And the few gas stations that hadn't run out yet were a maze of confusion and anxiety that made it look like the cheap gas station in Oakland on a Friday evening, with cars jammed in in all directions:

This station was out of the way enough to have some high-octane gas left by the time we got there (we almost ran out while we passed all of the empty stations). You can see the other two pumps are papered over. The price of gas also jumped a quarter per gallon overnight.

Some forward-thinking souls stocked up:

We hit the side roads to avoid the two hour delays our friends were experiencing on the main highways to areas out of Dennis' path. From there it was about a 24 hour trip to New Mexico, 72 of which we spent driving across Texas. There's some kind of magical time warp in Texas that makes it feel endless. It looks like this:

It is sort of nice at first but after so many hours of the same thing you start to feel like you're watching a Flintstones running sequence where the same rock and two cacti keep passing by over and over again in the background. Rock. Cacti. Rock. Cacti. I assume Flintstones animators did it to save time and money; for the life of me I cannot figure out why Texas does it.

I snapped some photos of local flavor out my window as we caught some radio shows about how little room there is in heaven and how few ways there are to get there.

This charming fellow was Ridin' on Faith:

Which I thought was maybe a spiritual thing until I discovered that his other bumper sticker read "Brakes are for Pu***ies." Having slightly less faith in his anti-brake belief system, we quickly passed him.

This is a pretty good summation of what was available on the side of the road:

Texas does have an awesome town named Bossier:

Remind me not to get into a barroom brawl there.

Politically, I'd sort of thought we were in Bush country, but apparently even he's too far left:

We did make an awesome stop at a goat farm in Texas, where I got to feed them live tumbleweeds (how cool is that?):

And I saw a live mesquite tree- which apparently isn't just for barbecues. You can make jelly out of the beans:

After a few more hours of rock-cacti-rock-cacti, we reached El Paso. I'd known El Paso was on the border near Juarez, but I didn't realize exactly how close.

The Highway through town runs along the border for a few miles, and it's a pretty stark juxtaposition: one side has a plethora of tin roofs along dirt roads, the other has strip malls with tanning salons.

We finally made it to New Mexico, where we drank a little beer:

And ate a LOT of hot green chilies. On the topic of chilies, I will pass along a rule of thumb as explained to me by a born-and-bred New Mexican: "If it's warm going in, it's warm going out. "

Speaking of warm, it was hot hot hot in New Mexico, and beautiful. We were certainly not at risk of being hit by the hurricane.
You can see fields of green chili plants growing for miles in any direction:

And beautiful desert landscapes surrounding the cities:

But the most awesome part is the sky, which looks like it goes on forever:

Dennis the Menace Update

2005-07-09T14:08:00.000-10:00

Sorry if I worried anyone- I got a couple of phone calls once I got back into cell reception areas. We're fine, we drove for 24 hours straight and just got to New Mexico (no, the storm's not that big- we had been wanting to come out here anyway). Dennis lost some steam blasting it's way through Cuba and was reduced to a level 2, but it might gain again as it crosses the water. No chance of it hitting us here.

Leaving Pensacola was nuts- the few gas stations that still had gas had lines of cars up to a half mile long. Some friends waited an hour to fill up. People were boarding up their houses and hitting the road, or boarding up and staying. Thanks for all the well wishes.

More later, must sleep.

Storm's a-comin'!

2005-07-08T05:55:00.000-10:00

I've been in lovely Northern Florida for the last couple of weeks, and it looks like I won't be heading back to Hawai'i anytime soon. Hurricane Dennis is on his way and NoFlo is being evacuated, so I'll be missing my flight on Monday. The towns here are still recovering from last year's storms with tarp-covered roofs and patched bridges. I'm accustomed to earthquakes, but this is totally different. An earthquake has no warning and only lasts a few seconds. Currently we're packing up at least a week's worth of clothes, computers, and non-waterproof valuables. I'm putting some peanut butter and jelly in the truck, and we're hitting the road. Apparently the lines at the gas stations are an hour long, and some have run out of gas completely. We're going to get in the truck and see where we end up, maybe as far as Texas or New Mexico.

I'll keep you posted as I can, and I'll be taking pictures.

I'm up in the Pensacola area, about dead center in the projected path.

Georgia: This way to fun

2005-07-05T14:06:00.000-10:00

I took a short trip to South Georgia over the holiday weekend, and boy is it ever fun:

I was lucky enough to be able to stay in a farmhouse built in the mid-1800's that's been owned and lived in by the same family since it was built. I was really impressed, seeing as how my record in one house is something like two years:

All of the people I encountered were really friendly, but that doesn't seem to be the case in every town. Take this town where you'd be wise to stay on the good side of the neighborhood watch:

Rural Georgia sure is different from Oakland. I stopped by a fruit stand that had pamphlets describing "Why Homosexuality is the Wrong Choice" on a shelf next to some Plough Boy brand Barbecue Sauce. I'd sort of thought some areas might be unfriendly towards homosexuality, so I was surprised to see this church sign:

Which clearly shows that Rainbow Pride is alive and well so soon on the heels of Gay Pride month. They even have a special town:

That was nice to see.

There are other ways that Georgia is different. Oakland has plenty of deer, and yet I've never seen one of these:

They've also got sweet little fruit stands selling peaches:

And smokes that are cheaper than a gallon of gas:

There are also a number of interesting retail combinations. Trailers and fireworks all in one convenient location:

The classic Military supply/Tattoo combo:

And finally, a Gas Log and Grill combo. Whatever a Gas Log is.

Is "Grills" someone's name? What's a Grills Fireplace Shop? The mysteries of Georgia continue to elude me.

There are signs ranging from the the overly clear:

To the unclear:

I mean, why would the sandwiches do that? And how much does it cost to watch?

And the completely unsubtle:

Then you have the incredibly unappealing:

And the referential:

This sign is great for a few reasons:
1) If you are into the commandments, don't you already kind of know them, or have access to a book that lists them?
2) If you are interested in the commandments and don't already know them, can you really absorb all of that while stopped at the stoplight where I got this shot?
3)"ADULTRY"
4) Either the painter ran out of space toward the bottom, or used some creative license as to the importance of each commandment: bearing false witness against your neighbor really has nothing on making any GRAVEN IMAGE UNTO THEE.
5) Last but not least: The feed and seed bench conveniently placed for meditations on ADULTRY and GRAVEN IMAGES.

We made our way over to a Providence Canyon, also known as Georgia's "Little Grand" Canyon.

When they say little, they really mean it. We learned at the "Information and Interpretation Center" at the park that the canyon is "up to 150 feet deep in places." Not exactly second to the real Grand Canyon, but pretty nonetheless.

The other difference between the Little Grand Canyon and the real one is that the real Grand Canyon was created by a miracle of nature or God, and the Little Grand was created by human error. In the 19th century, this area had all been fertile Georgia farmland. It was over farmed and left without ground cover, leading to erosion... a whole lot of erosion. Georgia State Parks have farmers to thank for this lovely unnatural wonder. The funny part is that driving to and from the park you pass a lot of farmland- and some of it is big empty fields of rich Georgia red dirt without ground cover. Some have ponds in the middle, the drainage is so poor. Maybe the lesson wasn't learned; or maybe some forward-thinking landowners are looking to create their own Little Grand Canyon.

There's a stream at the bottom of the Canyon.

The sand is soft and warm, and there are lumps of soft colored clay at the bottom.

The clay is beautiful and brightly colored in white, pink, red, orange, brown, and even purple.

I recommend running barefoot through the stream with red clay on your feet:

Lots of the other hikers who wore boots got stuck in the mud.

There are some helpful signs along the canyon floor:

I am sure if there were a danger of rising mud swallowing something up, they'd let us know with a sign.

Yes, that's a tiny hiker on that sign. There are a lot of them pointing the way to the hiking trail. The rest of them were a few feet taller. It's sad to me that we finally have the Pedestrian Xing guy on a sign where he's not facing inevitable and painful doom only to have the sign face inevitable doom. Look at him on there. He's just trying to take a nice hike.

"Warning! Beware! Sign thieves abound!"

Georgia Law is very strict on certain points:

I think they are concerned that climbing or hiking might, you know, ERODE the lovely landscape.

Not everyone obeys:

I promise that none of that was me, I'm just in the shot for perspective. The only thing I'll admit to is that I may have taken a teensy bit of clay to put on my face.

On the drive back home to Florida we saw this sign which renewed my faith in humanity:

This must be were people from Meansville dream of retiring to someday. It sounds pretty good to me.

Hana: Good Things in Small Packages

2005-06-27T06:31:00.000-10:00

Time for another family adventure: my mother came out for a short jaunt to Hana and I joined her. I really enjoy traveling with my family and I consider us to be pretty close. That all changed when I saw this at the Honolulu Airport and realized that some families are WAY closer than we'll ever be:

Yep, that's a bathroom. It's located right between the men's and the ladies'. Even the sign looks crowded and sort of akward.

So, to get to the airline that takes all four daily passengers to Hana, you have to walk waaaaay past the international and domestic terminals to the end of the dinky inter-island terminal to the beensy little airline. When we walked up to the counter they handwrote our tickets and then handed us each a bottle of water- I figured that was to soften the blow of the next step of check in: they ask you point-blank what your bodyweight is. Yeah, the airplane is that small.

They didn't actually announce our weight to the other passengers, but you got the picture when they got us all out on the tarmac and then called us each by name and told us where we'd be sitting. This would be a good place for Jenny Craig to recruit. They should just have a booth right there on the landing strip.

When we got on the cute little plane our pilot was Mr. Comedian. I think pilots must have a fun life soaring through the clouds all day, cracking jokes on the loudspeaker, and watching life below become really small. It sort of puts things in perspective. We zipped over a couple of rainclouds and that was really nice. That said, I just sort of had to trust that he knew what he was doing, because we had a sort of disconcerting sight in the middle of the flight. Maybe this happens in big planes, too, but you just don't see it and therefore think that your pilot has their attention on nothing but your safety at all moments:

The view from the plane was amazing. Maui has lots of remote waterfalls that spill off of cliffs:

There was a small moment of panic when we landed in Hana, because the runway ends in the ocean:

Luckily, the brakes worked fine, and we deplaned and made our way over to the airport, which was about the size of a quarter:

Inside, we talked to the airport employee (yes, there's just one) and got a rental car figured out. She'd just gotten back from her lunch break, during which time the airport is just sort of sitting there doing its own thing with no employees. I did also see another airport worker performing a necessary service, but he didn't work inside:

Yes, that really is a man weed-whacking the runway we'd just landed on.

We drove to our cottage and saw this cute baby pineapple:

Across the street there were lots of little fruit stands selling the kinds of things that fall off of trees here.
The fruitstands are even less populated than the airport (read: zero employees) so they each have a little cash box and use the honor system:

For the record: I am just showing what I saw and I personally find Canadian coinage to be just as honorable as coins from the good old USA.

We went out to one of the two restaurants in town to grab a bite to eat and saw this sign in the outdoor seating area:

I was confused by it until we sat down and a motley assortment of birds appeared out of nowhere to beg for an onion ring. This included a street gang of hard-living roosters who strutted and tried to boss my mother into giving them a piece of her lunch. That struck me as funny until I put it together that she was eating teriyaki chicken, which is just really gross for them to want to eat:

Along with the two restaurants Hana boasts a post office, two tiny grocery stores, and the smallest bank I've ever seen:

That sign in the window lets you know that the town's ATM is located at the store across the street, just in case you missed the convenient one and a half hour time slot that the bank is open each day.

That afternoon, we visited a home outside of Hana. This is really random, but they had Richard Pryor's old bathtub in their yard:

It's a long story, but apparently he used to have a home in Hana and when it was torn down somebody's somebody was friends with the plumber or something, and these folks got the tub to eventually use as a huge flowerpot. The point of all of this is that Richard Pryor's bathtub has THIS view from where it sits:

Which just proves to me that celebrities are on such a higher plane of existence that even their bathtubs get to retire in luxury. It seems a little unfair.

We stopped by a beach on our way home, and saw this elaborate sandcastle:

Someone took the seed pods from a nearby tree and drew eyes on them to create this "Aliens-landing-on-medieval-castle" tableau. I think it works well.

As if Hana itself were not cute enough, they had to also have this car for sale.

I mean, an MG Midget with "Toy Car" on the plates? I almost went into cuteness convulsions, but managed pulled out of it in time to make it to the next beach:

The black sand is a really striking effect, but made my skin look even more greenish and pale than usual:

The black sand beach had these awesome warning signs, you get to see the guy who fell off the volcano cliff in our last episode meet a variety of other kinds of certain doom:

Even worse:

This looks bad too:

Here you can see that the best defense against jellyfish is an akward disco dance move:

The same maneuver works on Man-o-wars:

With all of this danger down at the beach, you can see why in ancient times, before warning signs, they'd have a lot of casualties and just have to bury them right on the spot. This sign is nestled between all the warning signs:

Here we have a sign that does not have any warnings, but seems like maybe it should:

I mean, a picnic area in a cave under a restroom? Maybe not the best idea. And "Ancient Burial Airport?" seems less than lucky to me. Not to mention the lava tube.

Despite all of this DANGER, my mother mustered up a sweet story to tell me about some of the flowers on the beach. She had just read a Hawaiian legend about the flowers:

These flowers grow just like this, and represent people, as we are only half a flower:

Until we meet our perfect match:

When we become a whole flower.

We stayed at our cottage that night, and in the morning we went back to town. We went to the same lunch spot, saw the same roosters, saw the same people, saw the exact same guy ride by on his bike at the same time time the other guy with the loud stereo drove by to go to work. It was like Groundhog Day. I guess that's life in such a small small town.

Consoled by the fact that we wouldn't be missing anything, we headed back to the airport. When we arrived, we discovered two tourists who had been stranded on the road in a broken-down car using the Airport's phone. The employee came back from lunch just then, and gave them a piece of her mind about using official airport equipment. I think walking down the jungle road hunting for a pay phone when there was a completely empty one-room airport for the using seemed counterintuitive to the stranded couple.

I was a little concerned when I looked around the airport (didn't take long) and noticed that there were no metal detectors anywhere. I wondered how exactly they'd check if we were safe to fly. Luckily (I guess) there just wasn't any search. We got lined up in a row again, and one of the pilots just guessed our weight by yelling it out and pointing, like a carnival worker. He was pretty accurate, and at least we got to share the humiliation as a group.

On our flight back, we got an enormous 8-seater plane and TWO pilots. That was a good thing, because the main pilot had a big cast on. I was momentarily worried about that, but my mother pointed out that only one hand is really needed to properly read a newspaper. What a relief.

The trip to Hana made Honolulu look like a big city to me for the first time. When we landed at the airport, I tried to walk back in toward the terminal where we came in, but the pilots waved me away and ushered us toward the back door, a gate in a chain-link fence. It seemed kind of unceremonius, but apparently the point of that was for us to pass through "security" on our way out, which was a tiny shed off in the distance. Our screening consisted of the security worker standing up and looking at us from inside the shed.

I guess they all feel comfortable that the biggest danger in Hana is not going to be found on the planes, it's all safely stowed away at the black sand beach.

Signs, signs, everywhere signs

2005-06-21T06:35:00.000-10:00

This past weekend I took a little side trip to the Big Island of Hawai'i to see the live volcano. As usual I didn't really get any shots of lava or anything, but I saw some other stuff on my way there.

We started out in Kona, home of the famous coffee. Of course, I didn't drink any Kona coffee there. But I did try to get some lunch, and found this place, which sounds like a nice place to meet and start a relationship with a really supportive person:

Huggo's turned out to be closed, so we headed next door to it's casual-dining-and-seaside-bar counterpart, which looks like a good place to head when that original supportive relationship turns sour:

Huggo's on the Rocks is an interesting little spot, they seem to have stolen their decor from the Gilligan's Island set when the show went off the air. Even the bathroom looks like the professor could pop his head out at any moment and show you the cell phone he fashioned out of palm fronds and cowrie shells.

Then I saw this sign as we walked around. It's obvious why they don't need to post the time and location, but I wonder why they'd need a sign at all. If you were the kind of person who was going to attend, wouldn't you just already know?

I saw this great kiosk where you can get a hot piece of glass:

If I owned a company that made chocolate-covered espresso beans, I'd give it a really appetizing name, too:

This guy is apparently going to boss you into having a relaxing good time:

This kind of thing you really only see in Hawaii. It's like saying "Chipper McHappyton's house of love shirts." I never saw a sign like that in Oakland.

Here you can see Bosco, the amazing one-man band. He was actually not too bad, he had a soft voice and cracked really bad jokes between songs. It's just that you don't see one-man bands take themselves quite so seriously most of the time.

Later that night, back in my hotel room, I took a shower. Right below the shower head, I spied this warning sign. Apparently there's something really important that only people who can read Japanese are supposed to look out for.

The next morning, we hit the road for the town of Volcano, which, interestingly enough, has an active volcano in it. On the way we saw some interesting wildlife on the side of the road:

Okay so, a zebra? Fine, whatever. But what about the poor horse kept in the same pen? It's kind of a shaggy looking horse anyway, and I think it might have a complex about it's looks. Every day, everyone comparing horse to zebra, horse to zebra. You can see that it's stopped brushing its hair, I guess it gave up trying.

Here's a gift shop that encourages burro-riders to pull on over for a look-see.

And here, (finally found it) the holy grail of road trips: the home of good food. It's nice that they let you know on the sign, no guesswork involved. And they've already had their sommolier pair your meal with two lovely beverage selections. I'd always wondered where good food came from.

Here's an interesting proposition: pay for two items and receive two items. I was so tired of paying for four things and only getting one, it's a relief to see an honest company.

Drumroll, please: The most southern bar in the US!

We finally reached Volcano. No, really, that's what it's called.

It's really odd looking there, some places are just a field of black rock. It was beautiful.

We stopped for lunch at the most obvious place.

Once you drive into the park, you can see the volcano smoking off in the distance. People come from all over the world to see it.

Smoking, smoking, all day long. Well, two can play at that game. You've got nothing on me, volcano, NOTHING!

A note of caution:

Obviously, that sign doesn't apply to us.

I chatted with the park rangers, and they explained the story of the volcanic rocks. Apparently the goddess of the volcano, Pele, feels pretty disrespected if you take rocks home with you in your bag.
I'd heard stories before our trip of people who had brought them home and then suffered car accidents, illness, and general bad luck. What to do? Well, you mail them back, of course, and then the bad luck stops. The rangers said they get a few boxes every day and just open them up at the end of the week and put them in a pile somewhere. I wanted to see the pile. They thought I was creepy for asking to see it, told me no and said, "the pile of rocks is in an undisclosed location." Maybe I look like the kind of person who's going to try to put a hex on a pile of rocks or something. The funniest part was that they said some of the things that get sent back aren't even volcanic rocks, they are either cursed rocks from some other place or green sand from some other angry beach, or really any cursed rock, stick, or plant from any insulted national park god. You can bet I checked my shoes multiple times to make sure there were no pebbles accidentally stuck in them.

The rangers said that people spend exorbitant sums overnighting the rocks back from various locations. Maybe that's how I'll make my first million: rock redelivery services. Write me an email if you'd like to invest in my startup. We can call it "Rock Return Hexpress" or something.

As we progressed on foot down the road towards the lava, the place became thick with warning signs:

This is probably just good warning in general, anywhere you go:

And here's some good advice applicable to many life situations:

Here's where the whole "lava walk" thing starts to seem less fun:

Or even a little terrifying. Here you can see that guy who stars in all the "Pedestrian Xing" signs meet his maker:

This one here has to be my favorite. I am not sure what this "D" is that they're referring to, maybe Vitamin D? It's pretty sunny there but I didn't think you could overdose on Vitamin D. Whatever the D is, it's extreme.

I am sure they'd tell us with some kind of sign if there was a danger of flying molten lava burning a hole through metal or something.

We hit the road again. Apparently, so did the lava.

One last sign before we started our walk:

These people are really serious about the water. No fooling.

The wind is so extremely dry that even my eyes got thirsty. You drink a liter of water and then reach for some more. It's maybe not the most pleasant hike across broken glass-containing-rocks, but you know, it was cool. Very cool.

It was like walking through a black field. Some of the rock looked like a curled sheet on an unmade bed:

We settled in on some rocks and watched the sunset. The wind is so dry, and there's no humidity, so the air is kind of cool but the rocks below you are warm. It was amazing.

Once the sun set, we could see little red glimmers of lava in the distance, moving down the hill. There was an aroma of printer-in-campfire. Don't ask me how I know that. But the scent was in our hair until we washed it out.

At breakfast, this little Madagascar Gecko ate some of my papaya:

We were waxing on and on about how cute they are and how much we wanted some in our yard until the waiter explained to us that they eat the sweet little brown transparent ones that live in our yard and eat all our flies. Jerks. They weren't as cute anymore after we heard that.

We wandered around the town of Hilo for a bit before our flight home. There's not much going on around there besides the airport and the volcano:

But we did see the best-ever name for an ice factory:

Which also happened to have a very good warning sign on its ice-chipper:

I'd always wondered what the result of sticking my hand in an ice chipper was, and now I know: pain.

This sort of strikes me as overly-cautious, but I suppose if you've posted a sign on a palm tree in such a way that folks need to stand right underneath it to read the sign, you'd better let people know what might happen to them at any moment:

I've always wished there was a one-stop-shop where I could get a couch, a filing cabinet, and a thousand fake grass skirts:

When we got to the airport, we stopped in for a cold beer while we waited for our flight. They carded me, but apparently they card everyone, and I do mean everyone:

We finally made it home. Right before you leave the security zone in Honolulu airport, there is this box:

But they don't tell you what it's for. Maybe it's all purpose. It made me wish I'd brought all the overdue library books I've ever held onto, the parking tickets, some broken promises, and a sin or two. I'd just jam it all in there. Maybe next time.

Lizard Nursery

2005-06-15T22:24:00.001-10:00

It's spring, and all the animals are twitterpated. All of those lizard neck thingies are apparently paying off because my house is choc full of baby lizards. You have no idea how cute they are, but let me attempt to demonstrate:

No, really, so tiny and cute:

HCS, Part III: The Snow-White Phenomenon

2005-06-09T15:42:00.000-10:00

There's lots of amazing wildlife in Hawai'i, but I am sure you already know that. I am not going to bother showing you photos of turtles or boars or cool fish, it's already been done, and much better than I could.

But there's something you may not know about: the Snow White phenomenon. I started noticing that while I drink my morning coffee, animals come out of nowhere and just kick it. All of these photos were taken from my seat while drinking coffee on various mornings.

The most common are lizards and geckos, which have been mating lately and making cute little babies.

This guy lives in our gardening glove, apparently:

And does this to attract the ladies:

Baby geckos are incredibly cute and tiny, and sort of see-through:

One morning during crosswords and coffee, this little guy climbed on my friend Aaron's foot to catch a fly. He hung out there, crawling around for about ten minutes while we looked on in amazement. He caught two flies.

So, clearly you can see that it's a stinkin' nature show all the time over here in my backyard. But then down at the coffeeshop there's a whole other level of animal friendliness. The birds in Hawaii don't have good defensive instincts because they didn't have natural predators here before humans came. They sort of just stand in the road and forget to fly away when you drive up to them. They come up so close it feels like I am in a disney movie and it makes me want to live in a candy house and sing arias all day.

The coffeeshop in my neighborhood has outside seating, and if no one is sitting in the chair across from you, the birds take pity on your unpopular self and fill the empties for you. And they're much prettier than the one-legged pigeons that try to steal your muffin at my Oakland coffeeshop.

Woody Woodpecker also likes the espresso drinks:

This one here is not at a coffeeshop, but we did discover that birds were coming into the house through the open doors during the day when we saw these little birdie footprints in the Zen garden. I guess birds need peace and relaxation too. We wouldn't want to be speciesists about granting access to the Zen garden.

But the real kicker was this one. At the coffeeshop one day, I was chatting with some Japanese women who were on vacation and out of the corner of my eye I saw something move in the headlight of one of the cars in the parking lot. It would poke its head out and then go back inside. At first I thought it was a rat, and then I started to think it was a weasel. The women I was chatting with didn't see it, and I tried to explain. They were really polite but clearly thought I was bonkers. I had to wait until the thing climbed all the way out on the bumper before they saw it and I could confirm my claims of sanity.

I took these photographs to eradicate any suspicion amongst my readers that I may, in fact, be bonkers. Unfortunately I was unable to capture an image of the weasel standing on the bumper, only the little head poking out. Apparently those critters are pretty quick.

Super close up:

Sorry it's a little blurry but the subject was, you know, weaselly.

No sleep 'till Bellows

2005-06-09T10:28:00.000-10:00

I have problems sleeping in Hawai'i. A lot of people seem to, some say they don't sleep through the night for their first full year. Some blame the humidity, some blame the spirits. Either way, I have been waking up at three in the morning and passing out on the floor in the middle of the day.

Yesterday I fell asleep around 6 PM with the phone in my hand, and then I woke up at midnight ready to start my day. The smell of night blooming flowers is sometimes so beautiful and heavy it's hard to go back to sleep. By three I was a little stir crazy, so I burned a CD and hit the road. I filled up the pickup and went off to see what I could see.

There's not much to see. Even 7-11 was closed. When did they start buying doors that lock? Very unfair. I kept driving and then quickly realized that anywhere I went was going to lead back to the same place. Taking a road trip on a small island is pretty unsatisfying. So I did some laps for a couple of hours. I pulled over around 5:30 for some coffee (luckily there was a gas station open) and then realized the sun would be up soon. So I high tailed it back to the other side of the island to watch the sunrise on Bellows beach.

It was awesome.

Bit by bit, it got lighter.

The clouds got a silver lining.

Suddenly, the sun was up.

You can see the whole thing in excruciatingly slow detail if you click on a photo and click through to the rest.

I saw some flowers blooming toward the new sun:

High on Coke

2005-06-04T18:22:00.000-10:00

I decided today that in honor of my impending departure from this country, I'd like to take part in some real American traditions. I thought his would be a good start:

It's behemoth. Terrifying, really. I chucked a little ice in there, and filled it up with- of course- good old Coca Cola. I started drinking.

Wow. That's a lot of soda. My first thought was that it's a pretty unhealthy experiment, but then I realized that I was building muscle tone carrying the dang thing around. So I weighed it.

Five pounds of patriotism.

The task started to seem daunting.That's a lot of bubbly goodness. The desire to honor my countrymen with this act of solidarity was in danger of being eclipsed by my affection for my liver.

But I perservered.

This thing is bigger than my head.

At first it seemed kind of disgusting, but as I drank I began to feel very happy, and awake. Giddy even. My stomach argued with me, but I didn't care anymore. I was too far gone with the caffiene and sugar coursing through my veins. And I started to realize what a genius I am for purchasing this piece of consumable Americana. The cup is much more useful than you might imagine. My stepmother pointed out that as an indicator of my cultural pride and heritage, this cup could come in handy. If I ever happen to get my purse stolen and have amnesia, friendly locals will immediately know to take me to the US embassy. It could save my life.

It's also versatile. I could use it as a footstool. It could be a weapon. And it doubles as a floatation device.

I was inspired.

You know, some people get down on the Coca Cola Company's world domination and the fact that they are a detriment to public health at large. But as I finished off the mighty cup of sugar water, I felt really happy- energetic, you might say. I am not sure why I was giggling so much, nor why no one seemed to want to spend any time with me. I was telling hilarious jokes and really interesting stories.

When I bought it, I specifically said "I'll never do this again." But, you know, the refills are only 89 cents.

Little Girl

2005-06-04T18:09:00.000-10:00

I saw this girl the other day at the beach, and ever since I kind of want to be her. She's just chilling out, sitting in a hole that's full of sand and seawater, making sand snowballs with her big brother (ostensibly to throw at the other kids who were making them). She's wearing awesome glasses and a fresh outfit.

Complicated Sunburn

2005-06-02T10:09:00.000-10:00

DSC01379,
originally uploaded by iomi.

You may have heard of the farmer's tan; you may even have tried it yourself. But witness here the rare scoop-neck-plus-tank-top tomato red burn. It's not for amateurs. Please don't try this at home.

Hawaiian Culture Series, Part II: Going Postal

2005-05-29T14:39:00.000-10:00

The suburban area that I live in now is quiet. It is full of Haoles (that's a beautiful Hawaiian word for what we in Oakland used to call "honky crackers"). Nothing very exciting happens here besides the odd bake sale.

But there's one thing: mailboxes. They have more personality than some of the people I've met.

Some of them are lovingly hand painted:

Or glued-on with shells and fake geckos:

Some have their own flowerpot attatched:

While others are mysteriously growing out of a flowerpot:

Some have their own garden:

But they are totally put to shame by the one with its own picket fence:

Some of them try to hide or blend in with the scenery. I don't know if this is a matter of trying to stealthily trick the mailcarrier or if they are just shy.
"Nothing to see here, I'm just a bush..."

"I'm hiding in a tree!"

"I'm just a lobster trap on a stick."

Or, there is the classic nonchalantly-sitting-on-top-of-a-bush style:

At the opposite end of the spectrum, there's the overinflated-mailbox-ego.

"I'm a Swiss Chalet!"

"I'm a pile of volcanic rocks."

"I'm a tiny house."

"That's nothing, I'm a tiny house with kittens, sprouting out of a faux well!"

"I'm an island hut within a bush!"

You also have the Georgia O'Keefe mailbox:

And the surrealist patriotic-dolphin-jumping-into-bush mailbox:

Taking the lead in the suprising category of Sexy Mailboxes: two sexy mailboxes on a stick.

Which clearly wins the category (even though the girls don't have faces) because it was the only sexy mailbox, possibly in the world.

And then, here's the topper:

Yes, that's a real anchor. A Giant Anchor. If anyone can tell me what a mailbox has to do with an anchor I'd be grateful.

Keep in mind these are all within a two-block radius of my house. I'm far too lazy to go looking for this kind of thing. It's kind of making me feel insecure about the inadequacy of our own humble mailbox.

Maybe I'm supposed to glue tiny farm animals and beensy hay bales to the side or something.

My $14 Haircut

2005-05-27T13:45:00.000-10:00

I got a chop, and I knew I needed a cheap one so I headed to the place with the funniest name. I usually either get it done at a schmancy place for fifty bucks or go to my mom's house for a free cut. This was a new experience.

Apparently the extra that you are paying for at an expensive shop is the right to not being bossed around while you get your hair cut. She told me what to do with my life, how bad my hair looked, and all kinds of other vivacious information that comes free with the service.

The funny part was that the actual hair cut took about four minutes, then she just fluffed it around and pretended to cut more off for about 20 minutes while she bossed me. I don't know if she just felt like I needed the advice or if she thought I'd feel ripped off if she didn't take a long time.

If she hadn't been so bossy, I would have taken a picture of her, too. She kept telling me that curly hair is bad, and she has it, too, and I should do what she did: "relaxed" the curls and bleached her hair blond to the point that it's a crispy mini-bale of hay atop her head. I said I'd think about it.

Hawaiian Culture Series: Part I

2005-05-26T12:32:00.000-10:00

So when you think of Hawaii, you probably think of beautiful beaches and mountains and Mai Tais and whatnot, right? Well then you're really missing out on a wealth of local culture. Fear not, I am here to provide for you.

Witness: Strip mall signage. All of these photos were taken in a lovely town called Enchanted Lake. No seriously, that's what it's called. And it's neither one of those things.

To appeal to people who would admit they live in a town called Enchanted lake, you must tailor your marketing.

Figure 1: For casual hungry people looking for a flourescent lit dining experience, offer an entire restaurant dedicated to the delicious treat that smells like feet:

Figure 2: Confuse people with your sign. Is it chocolate flavored sushi or chocolate in the shape of sushi? What the hell are you talking about? (Turns out it's a place with chocolate AND sushi, and therefore the most likely destination for me if I decided to become a competitive eater).

Figure 3: For those hungry folks who cannot decipher the meaning of a restaurant sign, offer a more direct approach:

Figure 4: When you've eaten all the chocolate sushi you can handle, you might need some dental work done. Someone opened a business called Smiles Forever, and then much later they realized that people with big gaps in their grill didn't look that good smiling forever, and added a second establishment next door.

Figure 5: It probably seemed like a good idea at the time. Tsunamis are big; tsunamis are tall. But in light of recent events, it seems a little creepy.

Figure 6: Across the street, a divey sports bar that doesn't put on any airs:

There may not be a lake, but I'm starting to feel the enchantment.

Bolinas: Mellow scene with lounge vibe.

2005-05-19T13:04:00.000-10:00

Before leaving the bay, I took a little day trip with my good friend Heidi to Bolinas. Bolinas is a wacky little town that is loathe to promote tourism, so much so that it's residents go out to the main road and steal the road sign showing how to get there. Not to be deterred by a little thing like locals not wanting us around, we did the obligatory couple of U-turns required to get on the right road and headed in to see it for ourselves.

First impression: cute. Lots of little gardens and hand painted signs and whatnot. The beach has an interesting sign poking out of the water reading "GROIN." Not sure what that means, but it's funnier imagining what it might mean, so we didn't ask anyone.

We meandered around a bit before finding some food. We saw a couple of awesome cars as we walked, one of them had a brass-knuckle gear shifter. That's got to come in handy when your drive-in movie date gets out of hand.

Here's another lovely car:

There was also a funky old Volvo, not so glamorous but with the best "For Sale" sign I've ever seen.

Zipping down the street was a... something. Sort of a go cart? A three-wheeled-something that looked to me like a sidecar that had taken off without it's motorcycle.

That and a truck that looked ready house a fortune teller on tour with the circus.

These are all evidence that Bolinas is clearly in an alternate automotive universe.

We walked into a teeny shop full of crystals and wind chimes and other Northern California small town detritus, and were immediately turned away because the shop owner had a class to go to. I'd like that kind of work schedule. We also passed a dentist's office with a "Gone Fishin'" sign.

There's something the people of Bolinas know about work that I don't. Like how to get out of it when you don't feel like doing it. The dogs of Bolinas also apparently have an edge on me- they just wander around town by themselves. People stop to pet them and feed them, but otherwise they are just doing their own thing.

We sat on a bench to take in the lovely view of the tide coming in between the beach and a little bay.

We spied a harbor seal swimming around and got all excited and waxed poetic about the beauty of nature the way only true city folks can. Suddenly one of the ownerless dogs of Bolinas jumped in and decided to have some words with the harbor seal. They swam around each other in circles with their little heads poking out of the water. I don't know what the dog was thinking, the seal had maybe 75 pounds on him and some obvious advantages in the swimming department. The conversation went a little something like this:

"Arf! Arf!"
"Woof!"
"ARF!"
"WOOF!"

I don't really know what they were saying, but at some point the dog realized he was outbarked and got out of the water. Like any good public argument, a group of people had gathered on shore to watch.

I think maybe the dog felt pressure to repair his reputation with the people of Bolinas, because he jumped back in for more. The conversation pretty much went the same and the seal was again victorious. The dog meandered off toward the center of town with his head hanging. The seal disappeared, probably off to brag to his friends. I decided that going to the countryside is not that much different than sitting on a bench in Oakland across the street from a dive bar: maybe dumb turf wars are inevitable.

Back in town (a block away), we found another bench to sit on(maybe you are sensing a theme?) and absorb some more local color. There we met a dude named Merlin who was handing out flyers to a "Independent Film World Premiere" later that evening of a movie he had made at school. He explained that if we attended we'd be privy to a "like totally chilled out scene" and a "mellow lounge vibe." We explained that we had mellow vibes and chill scenes to attend to back in Oakland that evening. He invited us to sleep over on the couches in his parents' barn in town, and "party" with him and his friends. We decided to mellow out and chill on our bench instead. I imagine that for every fellow like Merlin there must be a gal named Stardust for whom partying in his parents' barn and sleeping on the couch is like a dream come true. He continued his publicity tour on foot.

We crossed the street for dinner when the restaurant opened. Our friend the seal-fighting dog wandered up and joined us to beg at the table.

We just looked at him for a while and then the two nine year old girls (who were also unattended) eating hot dogs at the next table over from us gave him most of their food, bit by bit, by throwing chunks of it. The only bits he didn't get were the ones that landed on the tops of cars, to be found much later by confused tourists.

All in all we managed to escape with a few life lessons:

1) It's worth going where you're not wanted because it's probably good.
2) When selling your car, it is important to point out its mechanical highlights.
3) It's okay to close your windchime store in the middle of the day even if there are customers inside the store.
4) You don't have to be the same species to get into a pointless argument at the top of your lungs.
5) Even people who live in the most laid back place I've ever been want to go to a lounge party with a chilled out vibe.

Boating adventures in Miami!

2005-03-15T20:37:00.000-10:00

Boating in Miami was great. We putted around the waterways with some family friends and I got some shots of some shmancy houses.

Yeah, that's all one house.

We had lunch, and I snapped a photo of a sweet pelican that landed on the dock as we arrived. I pulled out my camera and snapped a shot, mostly just so I could discreetly turn the other way and snap a photo of the interesting occurance going on 1/4 turn to the left.

A man. A man doing construction work hammering sheet metal to create a new seawall on the condo complex. A man not wearing protective gear. A man wearing a butt-floss-and-banana-hammock thong to work. Construction work. A man with a sunburned bum. I got the fully fully full view when he bent over to get more tools.

I risked supreme embarassment to get the shot. I hope you enjoy it.

Welcome to Miami

2005-03-13T12:00:00.000-10:00

So, I sat next to a male model on the plane. That was pretty hilarious.He was very nice and not too boring, if a little young (23) and we talked for hours. He helped me with my crossword.

It was funny to see all the women hitting on him (accidentally bumping into his butt when he stood up, pretending to have difficulty getting something out of the overhead compartment and then looking pointedly at him even while other men jumped out of their seats to help). But the male flight attendants were super juiced, too. At one point he stood up to go to the bathroom and one came by and said "Well aren't you lucky!" to me, pointing at his seat. Me, like the dingdong that I am, said "Oh, no, it's not an empty seat," (it was a really full flight) "he just got up" and he goes "I *know*, but he's beautiful" and I cracked up. We laughed about it when he got back, apparently it happens all the time. He explained that he used to be really uncomfortable around gay men, not having dealt with it much in Brazil, where he's from. He said he had to get used to it really quickly in the fashion industry, and now it doesn't phase him.

Ha!

Getting started

2005-01-01T15:53:00.000-10:00

Hey folks,

Bear with me a bit while I get this thing started. It might be a little bumpy at first, but at some point I should have regular posts in here.

Here's the gist: I left Oakland in search of adventure, but took my sweet time about it. Heading for Miami and Hawaii for extended vacations to visit family before I go. I should eventually land in Korea for about a year.

Yeah, it's a rough life. I did the corporate grind, and it sucked away my soul. I am slowly trying to regrow it.