Bad Heir Day

Shawn and I engage in a classic pre-photo gut-suck.

On Father’s Day I reminded myself of that old country song where the guy doesn’t know whether to kill himself or go bowling.

Since I don’t bowl, I decided to go to the Big Cypress Flea Market. I’ve never been, have been wanting to go.

Thankfully, I have a car again! One great thing about a crap economy, you can actually find an honest mechanic on Craigslist - someone who will come out, tell you it’s not nearly as bad as you thought, go buy the necessary parts and come back and fix it for you; all within two hours.

DESTINATION: BIG CYPRESS FLEA MARKET

So yesterday I headed out and the car drove like new. NPR was on the radio, the sun was shining and I was starting to relax as I turned off I75 at exit 101 to Marco Island. Two panther crossing signs on Collier and I was hanging a left on 41 towards the everglades.

It was so hot the blacktop on south Tamiami shimmered like pools of liquid silver. The local weather folks are describing the temps as “soup”. (I have the AC set to 83 degrees; when I return to my condo after a walk, it’s like stepping into a meatlocker.)

Locals are crackers and imports who are proud of their ability to endure jungle heat without bitching too much. Snowbirds are a bunch of pussies.

When I was a snowbird I went to the flea market in downtown Fort Myers once. It’s a hot, dirty maze of crap and not-so-crap. The layout is manic.

Big Cypress in Naples is just the opposite - air conditioned, new and orderly. Shoppers were pretty darned sparse for a Father’s day and I couldn’t help noticing an unsettling desperation among most of the vendors.

I make jewelry; a hand-made Swarovski crystal bracelet that had to cost $30 to make was on sale for … thirty dollars. And the couple that owned the lovely little shop was desperate to sell something. Anything.

In the food court, one happy, talented entertainer was playing to approximately nine people; this area had the capacity to seat hundreds. I’m sure in six months, as new dealers sign on, Big Cypress will offer people enough merchandise and activities to become a great way to spend an afternoon.

It deserves community and snowbird support! http://www.bigcypressmarketplace.com/

Unfortunately, I was MORE depressed after leaving the flea market.

Snowbirds are up north, people who can’t take the heat are staying inside … and almost everyone is worried about spending money.

SUCKS TO BE HEIRS

I thought about Father’s Day … the best father I know is my son. (Photo above.)

I was thinking about that on the drive back … my son … my heir. Before I got Lyme Disease, I would have had plenty to leave him and his family. Now I'll have nothing to leave but photos and memories.

If things don’t turn around soon, the baby boom generation will have produced more descendants than heirs. Think about the difference. I was. I talked myself into a deeper depression.

Part of me said GO HOME AND HIDE; my higher self said WHEN YOU’RE SAD AND LONELY, GO WHERE THE HAPPY PEOPLE ARE.

They’re at the Lighthouse Tiki Bar on Fort Myers Beach.

THE USUAL SUSPECTS AT THE USUAL PLACE

I took exit 116 to Lover’s Key; what an incredible stretch of roads, bridges and islands. I started wishing I had my kayak …. there are so many wonderful beaches and coves, you can pull over and put in almost anywhere.

But I had no kayak, so I kept driving. In 15 minutes I had parked my car under the bridge and was maneuvering the pebbly path to the Lighthouse Tiki Bar.

It feels like home. It’s my neighborhood bar, my Cheers where I recognize other locals and vice versa.

On Sundays the Diane Russel band KICKS ASS. http://www.myspace.com/dianerussellband
It is NOT POSSIBLE to remain glum. Apply beer and tap to the beat ...

Soon tourists were behaving badly. Bimps were strutting around mostly naked, manmeat was walking around shirtless; one was peppering his nipples.

By 7 p.m. half the bar was in the pool - some against their will. A large gentleman proudly rose to the surface with his beer upright. One pretty blonde pattered back to her barstool soaking wet in white (suddenly see-thru) shorts & no undies.

The bathrooms became a Noah’s ark where ladies entered two by two...

I sat in back to watch the happy madness with a married friend who knows everyone and everything. He apologized for transitioning from southern gentleman to redneck in the course of three strong cocktails.

It was a hoot. I met new people and had a really nice time.

Note to self & everyone else … when times get tough, go where the happy people are.

Stupid People

BUY A DICTIONARY

The news just reported that a helicopter crashed into a pool house in Naples. In describing the crash live by remote, the reporter said the helicopter had collapsed on impact and the pilot had to be "excavated".

King Tut had to be excavated. I imagine this pilot had to be extricated.

THE SINS OF SEAFOOD

Peta is on the bridge to Fort Myers Beach today protesting fathers who fish.

I'm blonde, I don't fish for fear I'll catch one worth eating and be asked to help clean it.

I'm Buddhist, I don't fish for fear I'll catch one and hurt it. Even in a catch and release scenario (like relationships), there is danger the fish won't survive.

PETA members are carrying banners that say something like "Fathers - spare the rod." Why on earth would you wave banners intended to make fathers feel guilty about HOW they spend time with their kids? Even if you did get them to stop fishing, will they suddenly decide to go vegan? DOUBTFUL.

I was reading a Buddhist publication a few weeks back. One article explained that it's inappropriate to condemn the butcher if your family eats meat.

WORLD'S WORST MILITARY MOM

A local woman on a Fort Myers freeboard is giving away her son's cat "because he's in the Marines and I can't take care of it."

She posted photos, so I decided to look and see how old and feeble she is that she can't take care of the cat while her son serves our country.

This woman is in her 40s.

Why does this piss me off so much?! Because it shows zero empathy for the cat and her son.

When my son joined the Navy, he was worried about a lot of things. When he found out he was being sent to Sicily, he was especially upset at the thought he might never see his aging cat again. The cat's welfare was a serious issue.

We would have never dreamed of putting Sylvester to sleep or giving him away.

One of Shawn's friends offered to take Sylvester in and - sure enough - the cat was still alive when Shawn returned three years later. He was losing his teeth and having trouble gumming his food, but he was obviously happy to be "home again".

Sylvester died about a month later; he had held on long enough to say good-bye to Shawn.

Second Visit to the Skunk Ape Research Headquarters

The photo I’m using for this blog is Rick, Handler at the Skunk Ape Research Headquarters. (From December of 2008.) He wanted me to hear what an alligator’s “hiss” sounds like.

I have been hooked on Skunk Ape ever since.

Thank you Rick, I will never forget these visits!

Sunday, 1/24/09...

I haven’t seen my friend Annabel Cohen in about seven years. I fully believe she is a closet goy. Up until this day, I had no idea to what extent. She is a BIG TIME closet goy.

We reunited on Facebook, where we’ve been hanging out, chattering a bit. She told me she’s been staying with her family in West Palm Beach for the past month or so. She wanted to get together. Most people say that shit. Annabel means it.

A couple hours drive apart is way better than the 1450 miles to Bloomfield Hills, Michigan - where she lives. So one thing leads to another and I tell her about the Skunk Ape Research Center.

Now mind you, Annabel is a semi-celebrity author/caterer with cooking shows and celebrity connections in Detroit and her family is … well, you don’t get to West Palm by being poor.

Damned if Annabel wasn’t TOTALLY ENTHUSED about the notion of going to the Skunk Ape Research Headquarters. We arranged to meet on Sunday and I was looking forward to it.

I went to bed on Saturday night after a night of INCREDIBLE fun at Jimmie B’s on Fort Myers Beach. (Fodder for a later blog.)

I woke at 10 a.m. feeling like someone had jammed cotton wads up my nostrils. That was about the time I should have been leaving to meet her. I immediately grabbed the phone to give her a call – only to discover my voice was gone. I squeaked out enough information to tell her I was on my way.

Under normal circumstances I would have just done a whore bath and run, but I had actually pulled an old Annabel trick; I double-booked. I had a match date with a German guy in Naples on my way back.

So I showered, grabbed spare clothes (remembering how dirty I got last time I went to Skunk Ape) and rushed, absolutely terrified to leave her at the center without supervision.

I was about 45 minutes late and the Big Guy at the front desk said “you’re late.” I rushed through the gate to find Annabel was enjoying herself immensely. She was with a small family from Marco Island who said that out of all they had done during their stay, Skunk Ape was the most fun.

Their children – in fact the whole family – was ENTHRALLED.

Seeing Annabel at Skunk Ape was a total hoot. Poor Rick, I have to wonder what he was thinking. You get the sense he likes the critters way more than the people anyway. He has pet names for some of them ... Annabel wants him to name an alligator for her.

“Annabel the Alligator.” That became a common theme throughout our tour.

Annabel asked Rick how much shed reptile skin it would take to make a purse. He opened a snake crate to pull some out and let her feel it. And explained you have to kill the snake to make a purse, so she changed the subject.

We walked outside to another area (that I did not know existed), wherein he pulled a GIANT soft shelled tortoise out of a pond to show Annabel the belly … I know she's wondering how many people it would serve when she comes out with “I’ll bet he’s delicious.”

Rick made a 5’ gator purr. The gator wasn't happy, it was more like "get the eff away from me" ... it sounded like a tiger's purr.

We went into the emu enclosure and there were large shells everywhere … like they’d been gorging on giant escargot. Annabel started collecting them … I got two. Monkey see, monkey do. (I collect shells everywhere I go anyway.)

Then to the birds … and I am in heaven. Rick gave us more information … he said birds remember people who hold them. He didn’t remember me until I told him DoDo gacked on me (fed me) and he said “that’s right – he’s never done that with anyone else.”

If only I could find a guy like that ... sans gack ...

DoDo melted into me like butter, his little talons gently hanging onto my fingers. That is my favorite photo in years, I'm probably going to use it for this blog.

Annabel handled the fancier birds and Rick got one of the great vibrantly colored variety to spread wings for a photo. She has not sent that yet!!! I can’t wait to have it!

She was wearing black and had bird dander all over her.

Anyway, I am totally in heaven around the critters. It was a warm day, the enormous pythons were stretching full-length in their enclosures and I wasn’t even creeped out. It was all very peaceful. Like the Garden of Eden must have been.

We bought Skunk Ape tees, which we will wear with pride, left donations for critter food and thanked Rick PROFUSELY. If you guys read this blog, thanks again – God Bless you all, I will be back with friends!

Here's a link to their site - http://www.skunkape.info/

Then I had to find someplace exotic for Annabel to eat. I wondered if she had ever been to a biker bar … the Iron Rhino was on our way back to I-75.

It seemed like 50 miles getting there, I’m sure it was less, but she was calling me every 5 minutes. Her in her Great White Cadillac, me leading in my Piece of Shit Saturn. (She asked how it felt to be suddenly poor and I said “it’s OK – I live in paradise.”)

We pulled up to the Iron Rhino and her eyes lit up like stars. Bikes as far as the eye could see. Hunky bikers in leather. She noted with some satisfaction that the biker babes had young bodies and old, tough faces.

Good times.

Annabel said this was the first time she'd ever been in a biker bar; at which point I noticed she was wearing PEARLS. Which felt incredibly inappropriate until I realized she'd worn them to Skunk Ape as well.

You can take Annabel out of Bloomfield, but you can't take the Princess out of Annabel.

We had burgers at a table near the window so we could see the action. I knew some of the bikers, which was hilarious. I’d met two of them the previous evening at Jimmie B’s – we got quite a laugh out of that. They were bombed at the time and had told me more about their lives than they might have shared under more sane circumstances.

My voice was so gone, I squeaked more than laughed.

Annabel and I ate, wandered, got a few biker hugs and said our good-byes.

I had my date on the way back – first a drink at Uno’s, then he wanted me to see his place. A very handsome guy with a wonderful accent. There was zero chemistry, mentally or physically. Plus I think he’s probably just looking for a boff buddy.

I’m getting to like the Monastic Life. I bought a new shirt that says it all.

“Freedom.”

Freedom to go where I like with whoever I like and meet whoever I like.

Life is very, very good.

Even "poor" is fine by me.

Afternoon at the Everglades Skunk Ape Research Headquarters

I hung out in the Everglades all day today. I had to be forced into the Skunk Ape Attraction - the tackiness factor is OFF THE CHARTS.

And I was worried about the welfare of the animals on display. I had nothing to worry about.

I just about had to be forced to leave ... the guy who cares for these animals gave me a personal tour. He knows all the biological (?) names of all the critters. I thought he must have gone to school for it and asked him how he learned them so well.

He said "I got bit a lot." (He showed me his two biggest scars, one on the arm from one of the birds I held and another on his leg from a green iguana who tore out a chunk by laying in and giving a big twist.)

When I left he told the guys out front "watch her, she'll be back for DoDo if you give her half a chance." (The white bird.) DoDo was so loving he "regurgitated food for me". Beastmaster said he'd never seen him do that, said it was a huge compliment.

I haven't been puked on since a rock concert at Cobo Hall in the 70s.

Beastmaster went in with the big alligators and rubbed their sides so they'd hiss. (He said they're pretty tame, they were raised there.) He also teased a Nile Monitor by sort of nudging it on the side - it lashed it's tail like it wanted to kick his ass.

He said there's just nothing pleasant about those lizards. That one was captured in Cape Coral, the people thought it would make a cool pet. They were wrong.

If you're ever in the Naples area, head south on 41 and take in the sights. It was an amazing day.

Here's a link to their site. Don't be alarmed - the "Shooting Gallery" is photos:-)

http://www.skunkape.info/component/option,com_frontpage/Itemid,1/