Hi I'm Michael, and I'm an addict! I stood up in the middle of the Comm Center and made the pronouncement a couple of hours after we started our twelve hour shift.
Hello Michael, replied my colleagues, tittering nervously at the start of a long weekend without Internet access.
Our bosses at the Police Department took away the Internet a few years ago. The ban, for inappropriate surfing - some of my colleagues are dorks- was soon rescinded when we were issued individual access (No Naked People was the order from On High, as though it had to be spelled out), but I swore at the time that I would quit night shift if the Internet was taken away. This weekend it was down as the City was having a new generator installed which required the power to be shut off to all of City Hall at 525 Angela Street, which includes our server. Boo hiss.
I love to read (currently Saturday by Ian McEwan and T E Lawrence's masterpiece for the third time, which may account for my growing dislike in middle age of deserts and rocky wildernesses), but reading in the middle of the night while waiting for radio traffic and telephone calls simply puts me to sleep. I read magazines, the newspaper, anything light and easy, but I keep losing my place and gradually start nodding off. Deglys has made it his life's work to read all of Wikipedia- I kid you not! But he never reads the written word on paper. Noel read all of Harry Potter and Paula plays cross words on line when she isn't reading the sort of novels my wife's book group loves. I am a source of wry amusement because I look at motorcycles, which I figure are neither offensive nor provocative, and generally don't require too much thought on my part.
This weekend I suffered the agonies of the damned in my forced withdrawal. And as I expected the Internet to be gone all night I failed to upload any pictures into my next two posts, so here we are, picture-less and just now barely recovering from the temporary removal of my workplace Internet.
Addiction is no joke and though there are far worse deprivations than loss of Internet, I have to come to terms with how important the Internet is for me at work. On busy nights I breeze through my twelve hours, but on slow nights the ability to wander the World Wide Web is a real boon to help make the hours slip by. Besides, it gives me lots of time to write up all these daily wanderings through the Keys, so my addiction may have a knock on effect.
My colleagues never admitted to their Web addictions as openly as I did, but as soon as we got word the generator was successfully installed, the Comm Center went silent, except for the clicking of mice and the continuing police calls on the radio in the background. Finally I could hear myself think again, thanks to the Internet. For a while there we had to fall back on each other for company, what a disaster.
For an island four miles long by two miles wide (6 kilometres by 3) Key West manages to tuck away quite a few unknown and unknowable spots. When one is faced by an undeniable shortage of land surrounded by an ocean, the human response is to make the most of what you do have. Now that I've lived here for a while I'd like to go back to Monaco and seek out the less obvious corners that I never bothered to in the past. Away from the aquarium and casino there must be an entire culture of the minuscule I was never attuned to seeking out when riding a motorcycle meant going as far and notching up as many locations as possible. Ah youth! Pass the bottle...
Key West has an abundance of nooks set aside for human refreshment, not of the liquid sort, for a change, but of that part that other activities cannot reach. Well, the fact is these tiny parks would be fabulous is they actually offered somewhere to sit and contemplate, but in response to the residentially challenged habit of permanently occupying any flat surface all city benches and sitting arrangements have been removed from Bill Butler Park. There is a child's playground, possibly owing to the fact that spending all day in a child's swing is beyond the capacity of even the most determined loafer:
Bill Butler is a pretty little spot, green shady and relatively clean. In my pictures it looks quite huge and in terms of pocket parks I visit in this essay it is the second largest, and one of the shadiest:
On Google maps its shown at Pourhouse Lane which should be Poorhouse Lane (where we are all destined to end up the way things are going), not far from the cemetery. And that's all the link you get unless someone wants to waste their time adding links for each park in the comments section. I say have fun searching and finding. A couple of surprised visitors found the park on their rented bicycles and passed me by with smiles of pure delight as they freewheeled on through. And look at the access lanes they used, pure Key West:
You won't need a map to find the next one. Clinton Square is a triangle in proper Conch style (we don't need no stinkin' geometry!) and it is crossed by a gazillion tourists a day especially when cruise ships dock at Mallory and the Westin. This lot didn't pause:
These two did, to smear lotion on those lily white limbs, poor things:
In the middle of the swarm of t-shirt shops, souvenir stands and Conch trains is this not divine?
And naturally there used to be benches to sit on and enjoy the peace of a tiny triangle in the midst of the bustle. Now the benches are gone as is the pervasive stench of stale urine, so I suppose...it's a good compromise? Bring your own chair. If you are having trouble locating this tiniest of parks let me put it, and the Bonneville, for Janna, in context:
If you need more than Clinton Square you will need to move further afield, perhaps a cooling swim at this point in the tour. That would be next to the Community Pool at the end of Catherine Street, where we find not one but two parks bracketing the above ground pool. Willie Ward Park, whose splendid donated flag pole flies at the top of this essay is blessed with seating arrangements:
Further afield one tends to come across pocket parks that have more of a neighborhood flavor. A short walk from Bill Butler we have, on the other side of the cemetery, the Angela Street Park, which was the first spot converted to park use and is thus known generally as the Pocket Park.
It's on the south side of the island at the corner of Alberta and Seminole Streets. If that's too vague let me see if this puts it in context:
That white block would be Casa Marina viewed from the rear. The dark blob is the Bonneville. 
If you find yourself in difficulty finding this one you need a GPS implanted in your brain. Just look for the marker (not the Bonneville -its long gone from here):
This was the most popular piece from a past Sculpture in the Park exhibit at Fort Zachary, and it appears to have found a permanent home in New Town. Very cool.
There were tons of parents with toddlers, strollers and people hanging out chatting and watching the youngsters tossing a ball. It was a perfect end to a hard fought tour. Key West, a livable place to live. Oh and its not on Google maps, but if you can find 19th Terrace you will be close. Please don't tell them I sent you, they seem to like to keep it to themselves. 
I was riding out of downtown after a pleasant afternoon at the Tropic Cinema watching Patricia Clarkson and Chris Cooper pretending to be in love, and the afternoon was still pleasant, sunny and breezy and unnaturally dry and cool for the middle of May. God was in his Heaven and all was well with the world so I detoured on my way to the Police Station and took Greene Street to Elizabeth and there at the Monument at Lazy way Lane I flashed past Curt riding his bicycle one handed, hauling bits for his boat in the other hand. We each spotted the other and we circled like prey and predator in the street before coming to rest at the side of the road. We had not seen each other for a while and we had lots to talk about.
He's as cheap as ever and enjoys thoroughly his ability not to spend money. He disagrees vehemently with people who say you can't make a living in Key west; he's done it for years making less than $10 an hour. It just takes finesse. No one owns Curt, Curt owns Key West and has for decades, living on the margins, sticking to his plan and not letting the naysayers tell him its not worth it or Key West is changing to much to be able to scavenge a living on the edge. Curt embraces the changes and makes them work for him. He is the romantic survivor all the wanna be Key Westers aspire to become. "Key West accepts you or it doesn't, " he says, shrugging his shoulders. I'm glad it accepted me in all my middle classness. Being seen in public chatting to Curt reasserts my own credibility as former wharf rat, a belonger even if I have now sold out and joined the ranks of middle class mediocrity. Everyone wants a romantic Key West story attached to their lives; Curt is the witness to my waterborne past. 
The Navy prepared the land for hand over, emptying its old buildings, emptying its last remaining guard huts, pulling down an elderly, creaking water tower and spiffing up the open space for new users.
Some of the new users are actually old users, like the State Park at Fort Zachary, a chunk of land in the southwestern-most corner of the waterfront, long since dedicated to civilian recreation. The Navy funneled traffic to the park along a special, fenced off road for civilians, reserving the other road to the military. Nowadays, with the military withdrawn from the land there are two roads that both lead to the park entrance:
During winter in particular there are many many visitors who make the trek to enjoy the city's best swimming beach at Fort Zachary, making their way by car scooter and whatever means works for them:
But the Navy only retreated they didn't leave altogether. There are still installations along here including satellite dishes and antennae aimed at Cuba, military housing and who knows what all else behind the fence. This visitor is walking to the park, and in the distance behind her is the entrance to the Truman Annex Navy Base: 
Key West has been a Navy town since its founding and even today the navy presence is bigger than ever. Since Vieques closed down its base off Puerto Rico the Navy has expanded its flying schools in Florida and Key West is glad for the money the Navy brings in. Spouses also take jobs in the city and provide a stable competent workforce in a town that can't provide civilians a place to live at less than astronomical rents. Its a symbiotic relationship. Truman Waterfront is illustrating that relationship in a whole new light. Not least because of the presence looming over the waterfront of Truman Annex, that gated community of "Key West style" homes:
With the hand over of the waterfront the Navy decided, after the Al Quaeda attack on the Twin Towers, to retain control of the Outer Mole and has agreed to let the city dock cruise ships there as long as the Navy doesn't need the pier, seen here across the basin that should soon become a new luxury civilian marina:
The new users that have already moved into the Truman Waterfront include the Eco Discovery center in their new digs, associated with the national Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration. There are national Marine Sanctuary boats docked here as well:
And a World War Two Coastguard Cutter Mohawk is docked as a floating museum:
Further north is the waterfront sold to the owners of the Westin Hotel who also have a marina on their property:
Next to the Westin is the white block visible from miles at sea, of the old officer's quarters now a condo complex known as the Shipyard: 
And on the remaining side lies the private property of Truman Annex:
The Truman waterfront is pretty much surrounded on all sides, making easy access by water a viable option and I suppose one could take a ferry if such a service were offered. Hell there's even a boat ramp, used these days by sailors who come to town in January for Race Week:
Hold on though because there is a street that leads into the Truman Waterfront, its Southard Street which starts, or ends, here.
The trouble is, and what big trouble it's turning into, is that Southard Street traverses the gated community of Truman Annex. The Annex has worked out a deal with the city to close off Southard`Street with a couple of gates, because God knows the riff-raff need to be kept out at night. There was some uproar about allowing a private community to effectively control a city street, but Key West is nothing if not flexible and for the sake of peace and quiet and to avoid lawsuits as is the modern fearful way, agreed to let the Annex gate the street, which the annex claimed it bought when the property was sold to the developer a few decades ago. The city has no records stating otherwise so there it is. Now of course having given an inch the city must yield the rest of the ell because apparently the only way to keep the riff-raff out properly is to build gates taller than those allowed by ordinance so a variance is being considered. Southard Street should remain open by day to hoi-polloi, goes the agreement, and closed at night to all but residents:
All signed sealed and delivered with much huffing and puffing and minimal civic protest. However, the deal makers forgot the Navy. But the Navy is not allowing itself to be forgotten. The Base Commandant, scheduled to be reassigned later this year, has announced that National Security requires no gates on Southard Street and no impediment to Navy access through Southard Street. Cynics have suggested the city cut the deal so quickly with the Truman Annex because they fully expected the Navy to step in and trump the deal. Others, yet more cynical, suggest the Commandant's departure scheduled for the Fall may allow a more amenable replacement to go along with the deal. Which mouse roars loudest roars last I guess.
And some of it is quite pretty. I've never, for instance, seen a date palm growing out of a baobab:
There aren't many trees on this open space which mostly resembles a wasteland, with the odd tropical trunk sprouting:
There are still some Navy buildings...
...and Navy fixtures...
...and even old navy cannon barely visible behind the old fire hydrant, in the distance, and old Rodman presumably liberated from Fort Zachary. There's so much land down here that parts of it are little more than a parking lot or a junkyard, be it ever so picturesque:
And over it all hangs the Southard Street question: