The Golden Van

Wednesday, March 17, 2010

Vignettes XXXIV

Want a winter home in the Fabulous Florida Keys? Here's your chance:

It's a bit suburban for my taste, right alongside Highway One on Cudjoe Key, two rows of cookie cutter town homes behind a safe and secure locked gate.

I can't imagine they will be anything like affordable but who knows, perhaps someone will get lucky.

These buildings haven't been here very long but apparently someone's grasp exceeded their reach and now they change hands. If you are optimistic here's how you fund your new pad in the sun:

Living full time in a vacation rental resort would get extra-old in hurry for me. Your choice, not mine.

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I took this sunrise from just around the corner from those homes.

It's not like this every day but...

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I was riding my Bonneville when I took the sunrise pictures.

I include this picture as there is a thread of disbelief about my desire to ride and my daily use of my splendid motorcycle. So there.

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This is not a picture of my motorcycle. This is my laundry line under my house.

Our cheap off-brand clothes dryer died after eighteen months of valiant service and we decided to do without in the spirit of the New America where self denial is an expression of acceptance of the slow descent into serfdom. Besides, we live in a climate where a clothes dryer is really not that necessary.

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The Monroe County School District is finding some budget difficulties not previously reported. Funds have been moved around, not illegally but in a way that leaves egg on the faces of the District leaders. I was walking Cheyenne on Trumbo Road and I noticed this sign doesn't actually carry the name of the organization based here. Odd but true, check it out:I guess the big yellow buses are the hint that reveal what offices these might be. None of which explains how the missing and moved 2.9 million dollars will be replaced. More drama will follow doubtless. You'd be amazed how many people have filed to take the place of the odious Steve Pribamsky who represents Key West on the school Board. They are people who just like headaches I guess.

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Lovely Key West viewed from Trumbo Road. Before Big Gummint regulated the discharge of crap in the water for us, this place was called The Toxic Triangle. People lived here on their boats for free and it was gross.

It isn't toxic nowadays and young people can fill their lungs with clean, fresh air.

I am not a skateboarder but I am a motorcyclist so I do enjoy the sight of a hard working motorcycle like this tough little Honda Rebel.

Many years ago I met a boat captain who lived in Key West as the old Tank Island was being transformed from a disused navy storage area into a very expensive private resort. The captain told me about the work that went into preparing for the change as the resort hired captains and crew to operate the new ferry service to the exclusive island now renamed Sunset Key. The captain needed the work but he didn't much like the gentrification that was buying his soul. Like this young man painting the cargo ferry, an elderly tank landing craft, that services the island, the captain helped paint the passenger ferries in those good old days.

"We painted a new name on the back of the boat," he grinned as he told me the story of how Sunset Key came into being. "We painted Tank Island Whore for the new name. Unfortunately the resort owners came by the boatyard to see how the work was progressing." He paused to laugh out loud. "We thought it was funny. They didn't."

The boat captain moved north to make way for the brave new world coming to Key West. Maybe a few more years of economic disaster will bring him back, if he' still alive.

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An essay about Key West without one of these signs isn't a proper Key West essay, so here it is:

In the background you can the ferry terminal originally designed by an Argentine company called Buquebus which planned to run boats between Ft Myers and Key West. Predictably Buquebus went bust when Argentina did the same but the building remains and another company runs a ferry from Ft Myers Beach to here. So you'll see people like this humping luggage in the sun down Caroline Street toward the guest houses downtown:

The notice behind these lost souls says the Welcome center behind them stores luggage. Handy, no?

Somebody dropped a Snickers bar in the street making my dog very happy. Yes, I know chocolate is bad for dogs but I wasn't putting my hand in there thanks. Her mouth is gooey and sticky and she survived the chocolate encounter just fine. I am frequently amused by the sincerity of dog owners making all the right choices for their animals while indulging themselves with all the forbidden vices. Walking your dog reduces your risk of heart attacks but quitting smoking helps too. No chocolate for the dog they say piously as they bite into their double bacon cheeseburger. Ah, irony.

I don't feed Cheyenne chocolate but I don't panic if she snuffles some out of the gutter. I do like the occasional burger myself. Now we're even. Oh, I'm really weird because I don't use a tach or a GPS when riding my bike even as i don't panic if my dog eats chocolate.

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More wildlife pictures, from James Street. I was half thinking I deserved a glass of Guinness at Finnegan's Wake up the street. Chocolate for the dog, extra stout for me. Instead I piously walked away and came upon these critters.

Remembering our last encounter with a broody hen, when Cheyenne got attacked on Angela Street, I prudently decided to cross the street:

These hard core spring breakers ooh'ed and aah'ed as I knew they would:

Chickens as tourist attraction. I make no comment.

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I passed this old picture of Key West Bight in a property company's window on the street.

It doesn't look like this anymore, the harbor. As we saw earlier it still looks good in it's own way.

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Vignettes within a vignette essay. Woman reading a book on an upstairs porch in evening sun:

Chimney on a house, useful this winter, if it works.

Smart tourists, stuffing their faces, on high calorie delights. Sandy's Café on White Street.

Lucky them.

Tuesday, March 16, 2010

Boondocks

Finally, a not too cold March evening in the Lower Keys, with temperatures in the mid 60's (17C) a light north breeze and a clear cloudless sky, as befits the passage of a mild Spring cold front.

We drove the mile from our house, I walked Cheyenne along State Road 4A, and then joined my wife for an evening of hot dogs and hilarity at the famous Mile Marker 27 Tiki Bar. I am fed up with people who can't put their phones down, but this guy at least took his phone outside before arranging his Spanglish business meeting in stentorian tones.

Inside the bar we took one of those absurdly high tables surrounded by the sorts of high stools that make you feel like an extra in a doll house and I took the time to look around. I immediately started to lust after this guy's hat, sweaty, well worn and weirdly authentic in a county that doesn't see a live cow from one year's end to another. Perhaps he was visiting from Arcadia in central Florida, home of the southernmost range.

Nancy was sitting at the opposite side of the table checking the hot dog table out and soon she managed to attract some loose men in search of I don't know what. Well I do, but they were class A no hopers so I am forced to wonder how completely unaware men can be of their grodiness. Hope springs eternal.

Boondocks is a vast spacious area underneath a palm frond type of ceiling. It's so big the numerous television screens hardly impinge at all on the central area. Some sports bars are so overloaded with giant screens I tend to get sucked into them like a moth to light.

But we were here for more than just eating and drinking and picking up loose women. We were here to cheer on Michael, the master hot dog eater. He is a teacher by day but he recently discovered, quite by accident, that he has a talent for woofing hot dogs faster than anyone else in the room. He entered the contest as a lark and when he started winning he decided to set his mind on winning the grand weenie eating prize at Boondocks. And, by gum here he was in the final round, a plate of ten dogs separating him from a hundred dollars, a three hundred dollar blender and a year's worth of Pepsi Cola.

He even had women groupies, and he was totally psyched up to win. I was quite surprised how intensely he was going for it.

The peanut gallery ordered ordinary food, one plate each and tucked in as we waited for the gorging to begin- in front of us! Nancy, Nan, my wife and I had never actually witnessed a speed eating contest before and Michael was quick to point out that he had only seen one once before, when he won his heat and passed through to this, the final round. We were all, in some measure or another, newbies. The at-risk kids at my wife's school were depending on Michael to bring home the Pepsi.

I cannot get excited about the food at Boondocks. My wife likes the smoked fish and mussels when they have them. My burger was okay, the bread was sweet and lacking in texture and the chili that came with the Texican burger was nothing much. I've eaten here a few times and it never amounts to much. The choice of beers is not much either. The best they have on draft is Grolsch but I'd rather have Guinness or Smithwicks at Parrotdise with reasonable food, or organic draft and excellent food at The Wharf on Summerland. But there again you can't get to see people stuffing their faces on hot dogs at those restaurants.

People were sitting around waiting for the contest to begin but we had to sit through something they called a "grudge match" between two female employees of US1 Radio.

Green Judy beat blue Judy when all was said done and eaten.

The crowds built and some surprising characters were attracted to view people stuffing themselves on hot dogs at high speed.

Then with a flash and a bang the Pirates of the Marquesas showed up. This man asked me what I'd done to get three wives. I needed riepe to help out with a quick witted answer.

My wife asked this man, identified as "Boats" if he would donate any winnings to her good cause, the School for At Risk Students, known as Keys Center. His reaction took me aback.

Some people are really into this speed eating stuff, red eyes and all:

The first heat saw a best time of more than six minutes which put our man Michael in with a good chance as he had won his round previously with a time of 3 minutes and 45 seconds for ten hot dogs. This guy didn't come close in the first set of contestants:

Contestants get their plate with stern instructions not to squeeze the buns until after the start. They get to add ketchup or mustard on the theory that more moisture helps the food slide down but it sounds a little intense to me, high speed mustard eating...

The judges watch, the contestants suck down glasses of water or dunk their food in the jugs to moisten the mess to help it slide down. This guy was not a winner but he enjoyed the dogs with some beer and he never had to use the vomit bucket set in front of him.

When they called out the second set of contestants Michael got organized with his condiments:

The pirates were watching intently because their man Boats was in this the final group of contestants.

This pirate wench caught a glimpse of someone who put her mind of riepe and this was her reaction, a mixture of disgust and a desire to blow him a kiss.

Then the last three contestants got stuck in:

This guy is Steve Miller, apparently another employee of US1 Radio:

It didn't end well for Keys Center. Michael used the vomit bucket after desperately trying to keep up with Boats who finished first with an incredible time of two minutes and forty seconds. Vomiting disqualifies a contestant and Michael looked quite ill as he staggered away. If this display of grossness doesn't put you off you too can enjoy hot dogs at Boondocks for 69 cents every Wednesday:

I recommend eating them slowly but that's just me being bourgeois. My wife guessed within seven seconds the winning time and won a dust catcher for coming in second place. Her friend Cathy did the right thing and admired the objet de junque with proper compliments: