Sunday, February 26, 2012

If Pigs Have Wings

In the course of my 54 years I have frequently heard that stupid phrase "...if pigs had wings," because it's an easy put down of silly ideas. Much of my life has been filled with dreams of the impractical so the smarter, down to earth people around me have felt obliged to stomp on the dreams with that stupid phrase. It turns out some pigs do have wings.

That's the secret of life, don't let the buggers stomp on your winged pigs.

Key West for a lot of people is a winged pig, the place where a disco ball can become a garden ornament.

Key West is the refuge where people come to dream that life can be exactly as they want it. On a bad day you can walk Lower Duval street and figure most people's dream is the ability to drink alcohol continuously without consequences.

Key West is the place where we lose our inhibitions, where our little private pigs practice flapping their newly sprouted little wings.

It isn't always the best thing to bring those little pigs to life. They start to flap their wings and then they demand attention and you either pay them their due and move to Key West or climb Mount Everest and then your detractors have their chance to tell you that despite indicators to the contrary pigs do not actually have wings.

Bonnie Albury's house on Southard Streethas a couple of enormous flappers on it and the little men hovering around the dilapidated mansion, paying it homage with their power tools and buckets of blood are helping the new owners to get their pig off the ground.

Bloody stupid isn't it? It's a declining housing market, or at least stagnant in Key West, and in a world of diminishing energy resources who wants a giant mansion in the hurricane belt that cost an arm and a leg to refurbish in time to be demolished by Mother Nature's annual summer fart? See, it's easy to tear down people's dreams, so easy perhaps you should try something different instead.

Perhaps flapping a few pigs wings isn't such a bad,ll be dead soon enough.

I don't trust the preacher when she insists we get to flap our wings when we're dead. what if this is all the time we've got?

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad


If you eat at Parrotdise there is a good chance you will meet Keb, an unassuming cheerful man with a mane of gray hair and a permanent smile. He and his son Ryan created Big Pecker wines and sell them through his cheerful restaurant on Little Torch Key, Mile Marker 28.

Come early enough and even in winter happy hour can be a low key affair for a while, a few tables occupied, the bar packed with television blaring with the spoken word still audible at your remote table.

Big Pecker wines appeared on a billboard on Summerland Key and there was a predictably absurd round of protests equating pecker with penis. Whatever, I drink Smithwick's draught when I'm in the land of the Big Pecker. At $3.75 a pint it's a deal and at two for one during the 3 to 6 pm Happy Hour it's a superb deal. Get and keep a designated driver.

I like Parrotdise because the food though not fancy is good value if you are in the mod for bar food. During happy hour prices are reduced and you get the same great view.

If you partake of the poisonous weed you can sit out on a rather pleasant deck and hammer another nail in your coffin with the same great view...

It's a bright and cheerful place to drink good beer and eat jerk wings and have a meaningful conversation with friends.

By the time the second pint appeared we also got our sushi rolls and wings.

And I wanted fish fingers which my wife, not usually a fan, admitted were light and crispy and made perfect by mango sauce. I managed to remember to take a picture of sorts before the last one vanished. $6 goes a long way at happy hour at Parrotdise.

The bar is home to the obnoxious television screen but these patrons weren't put off by the advertising and graphics and general stupidity of modern broadcasting.

The sun was setting after I polished off the second Smithwick's (I'm a lightweight!) and weary anglers were heading home under the Highway One bridge.

Parrotdise is famous for it's old Land Rover parked on a pile of rocks, however I am more drawn to the fact that motorcycles get their own parking, on poured concrete no less. The only problem is that motorcycles and Smithwick's aren't compatible.

It's a nice spot, on stilts, on the waterfront facing Big Pine Channel and surrounded by palms.

On Highway One look for the Parmer's Resort sign and turn north on Barry Avenue.

It was a very pleasant evening at Parrotdise. Keb's place is worth a visit.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad