Don's Place

It's the season for weirdness, Fantasy Fest, All Hallow's Eve  and the Day of the Dead all rolled into a week more or less. So finding a rather large peculiar cat on a porch shouldn't surprise anyone. I just can't imagine coming home to this thing on my porch.

For the matter of that I couldn't ever picture myself at Don's Place an infamous dive on Truman Avenue. Bars are not my scene and this place is way out of my league, a smoker's haven, loud and open 21 hours out of the day. I am a rank amateur. Conversation is complicated because of the noise but I suppose that at say 7am, when they open, the sounds might be muted. A colleague of mine used to come here after our night shift and drink beer before walking home. I would much rather sit on my couch at home and imitate a potato with  Yuengling. Not only would I not have to make conversation, I would also not smell like a bonfire.

I met Rick from Boston here and we met at Don's  Place at my suggestion so I am grateful to him for putting up with my inane desire to see new things. He was in town for Fantasy Fest (!) and the subsequent Meeting of the Minds though he had never seen the Masquerade March before so we went to check it out.

One thing I must say about Don's Place is that the bar tender was superhuman. Usually when I go to bars I get roundly ignored, my mellifluous mid-Atlantic tones fail to garner attention from the pourer of drinks.   This guy was a demon and even though I was merely drinking diet Coke (work: the curse of the drinking classes) he was on me like a fly on the proverbial. Indeed even in the picture he was moving faster than my camera shutter could capture him.

Just to increase my feeling of being at home I was showered by bits of plastic foam which gave my drinking an otherwise unexpected air of jollity. Time to go. On the way to the Local's Parade I spotted a reminder of the true meaning of Fantasy Fest; making money... 

Conversely Fantasy Fest is the time of year when meeting random zombies towing drinks is  a normal street scene. 

I'm not sure if Rick was as taken with the madness but I had fun. Even at Don's Place.

Fantasy Fest 2014, Local's Parade 2

Frances Street at the start of my favorite Fantasy Fest event (the kink fest at the Island House For Men is not on my radar).

A mobile bar complete with unbearably loud music all powered by a  a generator. Too bad they only dispensed gnats piss- Bud and Lite. Much appreciated nonetheless:

Hot cats:

 The effect was spoiled by the hairy legs. Just my opinion.

Fantasy Fest is all smoke and mirrors. I mean, who knew you  could buy a tattoo design top?

My mirror image when I'm out riding, chaps an old helmet and a big smile. Not forgetting the Yuengling...

Kids..? Not alone apparently. One would like to think they will grow up with a well balanced view of life. In all its variety. 

 Free range roosters or what:

I cannot imagine how this Monty Python character was planning to walk 12 blocks to Duval dressed like this:

This dude was  slugging a bottle of white wine, thank heavens for modern screw tops, but he advised his ex-wife, the head on the pole, was not partaking and did not approve. He was clearly working out some issues this Fantasy Fest.

 Really, who says Fantasy Fest is for adults only?

 Aside from the hat and the codpiece this dude, below was all paint and a smile.

 Couldn't not have an Ebola dude in all this chaos, now could we?

I tried to imagine Cheyenne a) wearing a  grass skirt and b) posing with me (also in  a grass skirt). My imagination failed me on all counts.

I saw this woman standing and  staring into the distance down Frances Street as I walked back to my Bonneville. She looked sad waiting for someone who had missed the parade and would never come. She told me she was actually holding the parking space for a friend and she laughed when I told her my thoughts. She liked my picture of her:

 I liked this lot, below, late to the party yet cheerful. Distracted possibly by their message.

I repaired to Sandys for a large con leche and some cheese bread. A funny thing happened an old Cuban dude was in line in front pf me and asked in Spanish if I wanted coffee, so I replied yes in Spanish, si for those of you language impaired, thinking he was asking about my intended purchase. Not at all. He whipped out a large plastic cup and a small plastic thimble and poured me a buchi from his colada. Serious caffeiene for a long night ahead. 

I got my con leche and sandwich and rode off to one more intense night in dispatch. I miss the long quiet nights of summer.

Fantasy Fest 2014 Local's Parade 1

My favorite part of Fantasy Fest didn't let me down and the Local's Parade, known to the business sponsors as the Masquerade March put on a display for more or less elaborate costumes and less overt nudity than in years past, by my estimation. The weather was perfect, sunny breezy and low humidity and it was all lovely under the trees on Frances Street.

Squeeze the nipples if you dare, apparently they beep. Sounds like fun.

"We are going to hell." Their theory included me, with a glint in their eyes. Eternity could be a very long time.

They call themselves bananimes:

Key West can be bad for you. Wears you down. The end.

The Japanese cartoons known as anime are outside my cultural scope. These are supposedly a representation of Hello Kitty. Enjoy.

My dominatrix. Her whip was a bit small actually for my taste.

Chaos on Frances Street. Controlled but chaotic. Some people tried to drive cars through this mess. Duh: find an alternative.

I'm not certain which speedo I liked best. Your choice:

Drowning, Not Living.

My neighbor popped across the street to re-introduce himself after a summer spent in Minnesota (poor bugger) and he was all teeth and happiness under the drizzle. Don't be afraid of the weather he said, reminding me of rugby coaches at the Hogwarts of my misspent childhood. His enthusiasm was not infectious. I liked the greenery of New England this past summer, the shadows cast by big deciduous trees, thick hedgerows, long slow descents into dusk and darkness. Great stuff, but winter is unbearable, fog and frost dripping off cold and leafless limbs.

I am happy under bright sunshine, hard shadows, heat haze on the turquoise waters, sweat running down my arms, dripping over my eyebrows, I love the lubrication of heat, life lived in primary colors.

In Oregon they expect this misery, in San Diego they pray for it as they are about to die of dehydration.

In the Keys I loathe this endless endless heavy cold rain. Photographs on Duval? I wish. My one night off and Cheyenne and I are trapped at home with tea and a crappy book. Bugger this.

 

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