Silly Season

British newspapers talk of "silly season" during the summer months when news is slow, parliament is in recess and politicians aren't slapping each other in public. In the Keys I think of silly season as the winter months when people come to escape harsh winters Up North and manage to make themselves look silly in the process. I like to see their empty manicured homes waiting for signs of life, like this one shown below on Big Pine Key. It's a reminder snow birds pay property taxes without homestead exemptions (if they are lawful) and they don't use civic services during those log months when they sport Up North with their grandchildren. Good on 'em.

I like this definition from Wikipedia, talking of silly season:

The silly season is the period lasting for a few summer months typified by the emergence of frivolous news stories in the media. This term was known by the end of the 19th century and listed in the second edition of Brewer's Dictionary of Phrase and Fable and remains in use at the start of the 21st century. The fifteenth edition of Brewer's expands on the second, defining the silly season as "the part of the year when Parliament and the Law Courts are not sitting (about August and September)". In the United States the period is referred to prosaically as the slow news season. In Australia, New Zealand, and South Africa, the silly season has come to refer to the Christmas/New Year festive period on account of the higher than usual number of social engagements where the consumption of alcohol is typical, which are in the Southern Hemisphere summer.

I suppose we who live here all the time should find it endearing when we listen to people who claim to live here but in fact just visit a few months at a time. I doubt people are lining up to claim permanent residence wherever it is the snowbirds come from. We should be flattered we who get to live here year round. I notice a higher incidence of intolerance this time of year, more people are on the streets and there is less silence. The snowbirds bring their habits with them and the usual (summer) practices of the communities get disrupted. Cyclists decked out in spandex riding gear woth colorful helmets replace scruffy wanderers on bicycles who ride down here during the rest of the year. Clumps of talkers block aisles in grocery stores not talking abiut workplace irritations like true locals. Snowbirds compare changes from the last silly season while they jostle the check out lines. On the highway retirees drive extra slow and in town they clog commuters by choosing to add to the traffic at peak times. They stop unpredictably to view the sights. Tempers flare and impatience runneth over.

I was walking a public street when I saw a loser bumper sticker. I never took a vow not to gloat so I stopped to take a picture and the honorable defender of freedom (a nebulous concept apparently) gruffly demanded to know what I was doing. Photographing the bumper sticker I said meekly though I wanted to remind him that around here the Michigan Militia holds no sway.

On the other hand when official silly season (elections!) is upon us I turn to the comics of Tim Egan of Santa Cruz, California.

Instead now the noise of vote seeking is over and I am ready to be disappointed once again by our leaders created during the District of Columbia Silly Season. So I look at a lovely pink Hibiscus, suitable for our silly season, that time of year when snow falls Up North and we get to hear about if from lots of people happy to have escaped the noose of the snow shovel for a winter. Silly season down here is when the flowers bloom not when snowflakes fall. Not bad even if we have to put up with slow drivers, loud talkers and silly cyclists clogging our lives for a few weeks. They'll be gone soon when the weather gets really nice.

DEEP COVER - by Tim Eagan

 

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Daddy Xmas

I can't explain it but the Macy's theory of inflated balloons to celebrate Christmas has made full penetration in the Florida Keys. I just don't see these crude balloons as an enhancement of the celebration or of the communities they litter. Call me a kill joy, but Cheyenne's puzzlement mirrors mine.

I don't like Christmas, the saccharine sentimentality doesn't work for me, the family connections less so as I grew up in a very unsentimental family and all the snow and Yule log stuff I am happy to forget about. I have a rather linear way of thinking so when I am presented with the birth of a savior mixed in with Good King Wenceslas and the Nordic holiday celebrating the solstice I ask myself what is this thing called Christ Mass really all about. The muddle deflates my understanding and thus my appreciation of the holiday, which is supposed to celebrate goodwill among men (and women most likely too, unspoken egalitarianism). The bit I like best is working Christmas Night as I get overtime and holiday pay and I earn brownie points among my more sentimental colleagues who want to be at home Michaelmas Night.

For Conchs who have never seen real snow I can understand the draw of cotton wool and foam spray to make up the shortcoming in their lives, but I've seen real snow and want none of it. And Good King Wenceslas should stay in Bohemia where he was invented! And for the rest of us how about we work for less social inequity and less reliance on feel-good charity? What would Jesus do faced with a world filled with super rich and abysmally poor? Would He feed the poor turkey a couple of days a year and call it good or would He do what he did, which is advocate the rich give up all their wealth as they will find it harder to enter the Kingdom of Heaven than the difficulty faced by a camel trying to thread the eye of a needle. See if you hear that sermon in church this or any other season. And then ask yourself why the preachers don't challenge their well heeled flocks. It's enough to turn a saint into a cynic on the Feast of Stephen, never mind a tired old skeptic like me.

Now this is my kind of Christmas:

A Tervis Tumbler, a candle and thou. In the great December Keys outdoors, 'neath a starry sky!

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The Keys Economy

I have been following the news from Europe quite closely and I see nothing but misery in the future for millions on that side of the Atlantic Ocean. Tightly woven economies are coming unraveled and the promise of peace through economic union is becoming a nightmare embrace from which there is no escape, neither for the poorer countries nor for the richer countries. The economic spiral down seems unstoppable. And at the same time the election year prognosis for the US was an improvement in the economy, a gradual but steady return to good times. As Europeans lose their welfare states built on the rubble of the inhumane misery of World War Two, American corporatists pay vast sums of money to convince us self sufficiency in the face of declining wages, reduced benefits and general insecurity is in our self interest. George Orwell had it right but 1984 could have been titled 2014 for greater accuracy.

Even as I cast my vote for the President to get a second term I didn't believe his propaganda. My only hope was that, as a neighbor of mine put it, the more progressive of the two candidates win and less bad shit may take place politically in the next four years. Affordable Health Care for more people in need, fewer attacks on women's rights, less aggression overseas and at last more acceptance of gay equality. Small stuff in the face of increasing surveillance of poor people combined with no strengthening of banking regulations and a terrible track record of not standing up to Republican political blackmail. Personally I welcome the stupidly name sequestration act known as the fiscal cliff, which will lead to less war spending (mercenaries lose, which is good), and increased taxes might bring a dose of reality to those who argue that the national debt is the top priority. If that's true we have to spend less and pay more taxes, mathematically its simple, politically it's impossible.

House prices in the Keys reflect none of that turmoil, expectations by sellers remain high as do prices and even though prices have fallen, compared to national averages the Florida Keys command absurd prices for largely shoddy housing. Bargains are not what home buyers seek in these small specks of dirt. It used to be, during the credit boom when the Clinton Administration posted net decreases in the national debt incidentally, that getting a realtor's license was the path to prosperity. Realtors moved homes and increased their egos exponentially each passing year. They participated in the land grab and bought and flipped houses on credit. Then the musical chairs of land ownership ran out of credit and the retrenchment began.

I enjoyed the boom years, not by making money but by being mobile. Jobs were available for the asking anywhere one went, and sensible jobs were begging for employees which is how I became a police dispatcher, a job worth it's weight in gold in these times marked by endless layoffs in the private sector. I miss the madness and I remember clearly when people bitched about the crowds and the drunks and the gold rush breathlessness of life in Old Town, and I also remember saying at the time to enjoy the money while it flowed. The flow has slowed and what used to be considered normal income before the boom, is now considered to be low after a decade of wild spending by visitors.

Realtors back then used to covet their jobs and post their pictures on their for sale signs. Not anymore. I thought the practice was embarrassingly egotistical and I wonder why nowadays of all the signs I photographed only one had a picture on it, of a long time hold out in the realty business in the Keys, and her picture you'll notice is pretty small. Perhaps realtor-wannabes come and go these days discovering a license is no longer a permit to print money. I suppose turn over is high enough that the cost of printing a picture on a board is an unjustifiable cost. Perhaps the wrecked housing trade doesn't inspire pride anymore among the real estate agents picking through the remains of the market while smiling brightly and talking about "upswings."

There are lots of these signs out, because turnover is always high in Paradise. People come and people go and many of those people who had jobs before 2008 don't have them here anymore. Unemployment numbers in the Keys are low not because work is available but because people who lose their jobs go "home" Up North.

Through it all I keep seeing well paid jobs cut down, unions vilified (the people who brought you the weekend and over time pay) and corporations undercutting local businesses by a few pennies by sending real jobs to foreign countries. Selling and trading real estate isn't enough, nor should it be enough to sustain a Keys economy. We should be the place where factory workers come on vacation as well as their bosses to spend their hard earned pay. The politicians promise good times ahead but without good jobs here at home I don't see how that's possible. And without good jobs well heeled tourists will be fewer and further between even in a place that has a natural draw for people all over the world. Low house prices in the Keys will be the marker that the economy has reached its nadir. I miss the boom years, yes I do.

My neighbors have been thinking about selling their home for six or seven years. Their efforts have been...desultory at best. Time perhaps to refresh the home made sign or hire a hungry realtor were they serious.

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Early Morning Stroll

It turns out Chrysler Sebrings built in the early part of this century had quite a few engine parts made of plastic where they should have been made of metal according to my wife's mechanic. Thus as she has now gone over a hundred thousand miles, it happens that bits of plastic fail from time. Not that they aren't easy to replace and the plastic parts so far haven't killed the car dead when they failed so we had time to take the car in and get it fixed. Even here in Key West parts are shipped overnight and because we work opposite shifts it's easy to drop each other off while the car gets worked on. The upshot of all this shuffling is Cheyenne and I dropped the wife off early yesterday and we took off for an early walk in the Casa Marina neighborhood while the wife's convertible got a new engine cooling part made of plastic installed under the hood.

I tend to forget that pink Crocs surprise some people when they see me walking Cheyenne but I'll tell you what, I never fail to be surprised when I see some bloke passing me pounding pedals dressed in a tight fitting banana skin. Or a pair of serious minded joggers dressed for the occasion, also pounding past me as they run, serious minded like a couple of Politburo members planning a putsch. I wonder why people come to Key West and can't get into the proper Key West slouch.

And because I was stumbling slowly behind my dog I got to notice these bizarre leaves, parked in a flowered in front of the coral house on Reynolds Street.

I liked the high wall and intimidating sign protecting the resort guests for the creeps and freak outside the walls. They made me feel quite unwanted with their threats of insecurity and inaccessibility. So I stayed out side with hoi polloi and felt quite secure with no security patrols at all.

Clearly there is a lower class of person in e neighborhood as I stumbled across some apparently well worn female underwear in the street. The well disposed among us might imagine they fell from a laundry basket though I feel obliged to point out there are no public laundries nearby. I fear hanky panty was abroad on Seminole Street last night. My shoe is in the lower corner of the frame purely by accident.

I am not one for adding stickers to my motorcycle but when I spotted a Grateful Dead sticker on this otherwise innocuous scooter I felt I should tell Cheyenne about my old VW van, a vehicle I owned in the people's republic of Santa Cruz many years ago in California. It was covered with similar stickers that refused to yield to my razor blade and everywhere I went, especially at gas stations where hitch hikers congregated, I was approached by dubious characters reeking of cannabis asking me where the next gig was. I went to see the Grateful Dead once at Berkeley's Greek arena but the evening was not a success. The music bored me and the woman I was with was not galvanized as I had been led to believe she might be, and I decided that I liked camping in my funky van though the musical associations were just a nuisance, and made every fill-up an adventure.

It really was a lovely morning in Key West even though it was muggy and hot as we waited for a non existent cold front to materialize and blow away the dampness in the air. Cheyenne got tired but she wanted to press on and. Enjoy as much of the city's she could so I put her back in the car ad drove her across the Fleming Street by the library and from there we took off through the shadow and light of the leafy cross streets.

 

I liked this weird door, worn and beaten up yet still sporting a flashy flamingo panel on top while exhibiting an unpainted temporary/permanent repair at the bottom.

These old style shutters remind me of the ones we had on my childhood home in Italy giving William Street a slightly Mediterranean look.

By the time we got home it was laundry day at the manse so I got down to work...

...while Cheyenne helped. Luckily I have been properly trained in how to hang clothes to dry so Cheyenne's non cooperation didn't hold me up to much.

After all a girl needs her beauty sleep after a long walk, a large breakfast and a quick shower to make sure she smells nice after all that hiking. The wife's car is repaired, a cool six hundred bucks but Oily said the plastic parts crumbled in his hand when he went to replace them and now my wife has a car heater again for when temperatures drop below seventy degrees, and the engine as a secure cooling system for when temperatures go above seventy degrees, which is all the time in the engine block. Meanwhile my air cooled motorcycle head is being sent out for new valves and guides. Sigh, it never stops with machinery. Engines should take a leaf out of Cheyenne's book and take a nap from time to time. It does a body good.

 

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Trompe L'Oeil In New Town

It must have something to recommend it as an art form if the French have bothered to name a style after it, but I like these kinds of eye fooling paintings for themselves, more generally murals of some sort but in this case just a tree, and very nicely done.

That one was good for a laugh somewhere as I recall in mid town, possibly on Seminary Street. I can't remember where I saw the tile shown below but it brought back memories for me of my first and only visit to the Roman city of Pompeii in southern Italy.

Cave Canem means beware of the dog in Latin so we can only assume the home where the mosaic was originally placed was in the habit of having dogs in it all the time, or perhaps they liked t use the rude to keep people away. Above the modern tile, below the original I photographed in the villa in Pompeii, unhappily partly obscured by a puddle.

These are the perfect days of winter when Key West comes into it's own. Sunny blue skies light breezes low humidity and in short: perfect shirt sleeve weather. Perfect weather also to lounge on your porch if you have the time and the inclination:

It's also the right time of year for me to notice the odd detail thrown out roadside. "Area 51” indeed. And perhaps they even believe the world will end in a week. Or perhaps they just have a really good sense of humor and like to cheer up their letter carrier.

And here is the classic conch cottage though not in the typical old town setting. A white picket fence, a useful scooter ready to go; classic Key West.

In Britain they call eighteen wheelers Heavy Goods Vehicles which ponderous term put me in mind of this Harley.

This mirror-free scooter rat bike with a taped up seat and a fair bit of rust is more typical of the useful two wheeled transport on this small island.

It was hot and muggy for Lbradors in heavy fur coats and the walk was thus shortened as herself was overheating, even as i enjoyed the weather. That's how hot the sun gets even in winter in frost free Key West.

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Sculpture Key West

 

Key West is home to the civil war fort called Zachary Taylor, named for the eponymous president, and every year it hosts a shrinking art exhibit that is called Sculpture Key West which exhibits here and at the West Martello Tower where the garden club usually shows off plants.

Ursula Clark of Brooklyn calls these nests of twigs and leaves Ancient Vessels. Which exhibit is the one closest to the fort and was my first hint that Sculpture Key West was back unannounced.

It took me two visits to get my pictures as the first time I innocently went for a walk at the fort clouds closed in all round and everything became gloomy and dark. Some bagged it and went back last weekend for a picnic with my wife and dog and that was when two dudes on unicycles floated by to some loud clapping and cheering in the parking lot. I had seen them peddling along the highway and now here they were, and my wife had even heard a story about some money raising thing they were doing. It was all a bit vague so naturally I went to check their website where I found this picture and not much information.

http://unicyclenycbridgetour.blogspot.com/

These brightly dressed dudes apparently ride to bridges around New York City, take a picture of their wheels and record a few statistics and take off again. According to the interview my wife heard the unicycles are a bitch to ride as they have no free wheels and no brakes and require particular balancing skills. You could just walk.

Anyway we watched them pedal in and ate pedal out and I suppose more than a hundred miles on one wheel is some sort of achievement and it is in some obscure way connected to the sculptures. Which, I have to say seem t be rather reduced in number and I thought, imagination this year, which is year four of the endless economic recession.

From a distance this display looked like a miniature telescopic array from Virginia, but the blue disks up close turned out not to be blue in color at all.

The just reflected whatever they saw, frequently blue sky, sometimes not.

The not-actually-blue discs were next to another odd installation, called Down The Drain by Bonnie Rychlak of New York.

They are hot wax person hole covers apparently and visitors are sternly warned not to touch them. Which presumably means they aren't as tough as the real thing!

The great thing about Sculpture Key West is that it is in a lovely setting at the park. I wish all the exhibits were in one place especially now that there are far fewer than there used to be. It alsmotbseeme as though there were too many for Fort Zachary with sculptures spilling over rather attractively among the pine trees.

No more. We had a picnic among the pines but there were no sculptures there. There was one among the new native plants the park is growing. It's called Starfish by New York artist Thea Lanzisero.

She has had stuff shown here previously, thought provoking sculptures including bamboo structures. Seen here working on one such from pictures in her blog.

 

From the landward side of the exhibits we went seaward led by my Labrador.

Noah's Dad built Truman Annex and it is the author of this wooden wavy structure after who, Noah Lane in the Annex is named. The wooden slats had the compound curves of something ship-like.

Below we see a flotilla of scrap water bottles planks and sticks aptly named Flotilla which seemed rather pretentious as in the a ground there was a flotilla of ships and boats of true dimensions that were in fact sailing around.

And in the old style of Sculpture Key West recycled iron made pretty.

Heading back to the parking lot and a picnic dinner we passed one more sculpture, sheets of alumin bolted together painted yellow and bolted to the ground.

The greenery here was planted by the park in an effort to show what a wooded grove of native plants might look like in place of the non native invasive Australian pines currently flourishing on the point, in the background. People who have long enjoyed the shade of the pines protested so vehemently the state park service backed off from plans to destroy the pines, so while they remain, the blasted heath next door gets a much needed makeover to show what can be done with native plants. It seemed absurd to me to remove the shade giving pines even while the park has acres of useless ugly graveled open space. I'm glad to see their plantings are coming along. They will be lovely when they are giving proper shade, so I hope the parks service plants lots more.

I think with Cheyenne leading the walk we may have missed one sculpture in a far off corner but we caught most of them and while she paused to catch her breath we pondered what we had seen.

I miss the good old days of the credit fueled boom, when not just the field of finance was powered by cheap money, but artists got a chance to be funded and seen and argued over. I fear the future ay have us looking back at this period as The Good Old Days, so I left the field of sculptures determined to enjoy myself as much and as often as possible at Fort Zachary Taylor State Park.

 

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