This past weekend I visited one my long-time friends in Tampa/St. Pete. This area apparently is suffering from a complex because when you ask where someone is from, they have to answer with both cities. And Orlando is gross to them because it is "down there." Like a woman's nether region.
So T/SP is home to many people from other places. These places have foreign names like "Queens," "Brooklyn," and "Long Island." When I say my husband is Cuban/Puerto Rican, I get looks like he smells of garlic and plays maracas. Hmmm. These displaced New Yorkers have no idea that to a native Floridian like me, they are our of their element like an Eskimo in Guatemala.
People in T/SP are very tan and fit. Men's Health recently named T/SP the most fit city in the country. This was a big point of pride until I pointed out the correlation to T/SP having one of the largest gay pride parades in the country. Hmmm.
T/SP has many mom and pop hotels lining its Gulf beaches. These hotels have names like the Thunderbird and Ocean Breeze. Each beach front has a "tiki bar," which is really a Polynesian invention. All the tiki huts serve drinks that are based on three elements: sugar, sugary juice, exactly one teaspoon of sugary alcohol. They looked like milkshakes. I did not have one.
Going out to a T/SP beach bar is fun. No matter how little effort you make in getting dressed, you will be overdressed at Ricky T's bar. I think most people there came from washing cars, chumming fish or checking out at Publix. The effects of tanning over a lifetime are evident here. I saw one woman who would make an incredible purse. While dancing a guy came up to me and put his arm around my waist and tried the boob grab. I said "Listen man, if I was going to cheat on my husband of 22 years it would not be with a guy with six teeth in his head and missing digits."
I would highly recommend anyone visit T/SP who is is looking for a sugary tropical drink, served by a overly tan hot gay guy from Long Island who likes to dance to Southern Rock. Or to visit one of your dearest friends in the world.
Monday, June 25, 2012
Sunday, June 17, 2012
My Frugal Father
I like to look at the specials Groupon offers. Some of them I would be interested in--pedicures, travel and restaurants.
Other stuff--like chemical peels and house cleaners--seem a little personal.
Before Groupon there were plain old coupons. They were in your windshield, mailed to your house or in the newspaper.
We used one from the Yellow Pages to bury my dad.
My dad was super "frugal." Always turning lights off and keeping the house too hot. After spending a small fortune burying my mom, his mantra became "don't spend a lot on my funeral." Over and over again. For the remaining five years of his life he constantly told us funerals were a rip off, funeral directors weren't to be trusted and flowers just get thrown in the trash.
When he did die, the Confused Cuban/Puerto Rican and I trekked up to the Winter White part of Florida to console my brother and help with arrangements. On the four hour drive up, his admonition rang in my ears--spend as little as possible. I know the CC/PR remembered as well.
My dad had died during the night and now it was afternoon the next day. His body needed to be picked up from the hospital by a funeral home. Not knowing the Winter White area we had no idea who to call. So the CC/PR opened the Yellow Pages and scanned the advertisements. While my brother and I chatted we heard him ask "And how much off the cremation if we use the coupon?"
Huh?
The Yellow Pages advertisement included a coupon for cremation. And we apparently were the first to use it.
When we arrived at the crematorium, we brought a Publix plastic bag for his remains as he wanted his ashes taken to the Everglades. That started another issue--ashes must be delivered to the survivors in a legal "vessel." Meaning more money. We didn't need an urn, vase or expensive container.
So my dad's ashes were packed in a plastic lined cardboard box. Like we were going to mail him.
I hope we followed your wishes, dad.
Other stuff--like chemical peels and house cleaners--seem a little personal.
Before Groupon there were plain old coupons. They were in your windshield, mailed to your house or in the newspaper.
We used one from the Yellow Pages to bury my dad.
My dad was super "frugal." Always turning lights off and keeping the house too hot. After spending a small fortune burying my mom, his mantra became "don't spend a lot on my funeral." Over and over again. For the remaining five years of his life he constantly told us funerals were a rip off, funeral directors weren't to be trusted and flowers just get thrown in the trash.
When he did die, the Confused Cuban/Puerto Rican and I trekked up to the Winter White part of Florida to console my brother and help with arrangements. On the four hour drive up, his admonition rang in my ears--spend as little as possible. I know the CC/PR remembered as well.
My dad had died during the night and now it was afternoon the next day. His body needed to be picked up from the hospital by a funeral home. Not knowing the Winter White area we had no idea who to call. So the CC/PR opened the Yellow Pages and scanned the advertisements. While my brother and I chatted we heard him ask "And how much off the cremation if we use the coupon?"
Huh?
The Yellow Pages advertisement included a coupon for cremation. And we apparently were the first to use it.
When we arrived at the crematorium, we brought a Publix plastic bag for his remains as he wanted his ashes taken to the Everglades. That started another issue--ashes must be delivered to the survivors in a legal "vessel." Meaning more money. We didn't need an urn, vase or expensive container.
So my dad's ashes were packed in a plastic lined cardboard box. Like we were going to mail him.
I hope we followed your wishes, dad.
Tuesday, June 12, 2012
Vanity Thy Name is Amelia
The island that Amelia Earhart crashed landed on has finally been determined. For years, researchers have scoured the Pacific Ocean for hopes of her plane or remains. A tiny atoll, Nikumaroro, is now believed to be her final destination.
Yet no DNA or other identification has been found. Instead, it was her freckle fade cream that led researchers to realize it was Earhart.
Earhart's final flight was doomed in several ways. An inexperienced co-pilot, faulty navigation systems, poor communications and low fuel contributed to her crash. Somehow she made it to the small atoll and must have lived for a while. Researchers discovered a piece of her freckle fade cream glass jar next to the skeleton of a turtle, apparently used as a tool or utensil to eat it.
I am a cream lover, too, Face, hand, elbow, feet, neck, cuticle, hair--I have them all. My journeys, while not as adventurous as Earhart's, always include a trip to the local apothecary. On a trip several years ago to Prague my friends endured a side trip to Dr. Botanicus for creams and potions made from ancient recipes. My husband knows the neon "green cross" sign in Europe can only mean one thing--me, lugging bags of products back to the States.
After all that went to Earhart's journey, she didn't leave her cream behind. What woman would? I can only imagine her, flying across the world, worried her freckles were getting worse from so much direct sunshine. Exhausted but making it to shore but bringing freckle cream along, instead of provisions. Scrapping the last bits of the cream out to put the jar to something less useful--like eating.
I would have done the same thing, I'm sure. Except my carry on would have been limited to 3 ounce bottles in a large plastic bag.
Yet no DNA or other identification has been found. Instead, it was her freckle fade cream that led researchers to realize it was Earhart.
Earhart's final flight was doomed in several ways. An inexperienced co-pilot, faulty navigation systems, poor communications and low fuel contributed to her crash. Somehow she made it to the small atoll and must have lived for a while. Researchers discovered a piece of her freckle fade cream glass jar next to the skeleton of a turtle, apparently used as a tool or utensil to eat it.
I am a cream lover, too, Face, hand, elbow, feet, neck, cuticle, hair--I have them all. My journeys, while not as adventurous as Earhart's, always include a trip to the local apothecary. On a trip several years ago to Prague my friends endured a side trip to Dr. Botanicus for creams and potions made from ancient recipes. My husband knows the neon "green cross" sign in Europe can only mean one thing--me, lugging bags of products back to the States.
After all that went to Earhart's journey, she didn't leave her cream behind. What woman would? I can only imagine her, flying across the world, worried her freckles were getting worse from so much direct sunshine. Exhausted but making it to shore but bringing freckle cream along, instead of provisions. Scrapping the last bits of the cream out to put the jar to something less useful--like eating.
I would have done the same thing, I'm sure. Except my carry on would have been limited to 3 ounce bottles in a large plastic bag.
Saturday, June 9, 2012
Wordly Wise
I had a great post for you which will have to wait. Wait until I can get past the tragic news I heard yesterday. My high school classmate Jim Butwin and his family are dead.
Jim and I were classmates. In our senior year we dueled each week for the Wordly Wise spelling test. Each week one of us would outscore the other by a point. I would get a 99% and he 100% and then next it would be reversed. When I won at the end of the school year, Jim, who always sat right behind me (of course I was in the front row) kicked the back of my chair so hard I fell out my seat. "Fuck you," he said.
Jim and I were voted Funniest and Most Demented Sense of Humor for our senior class. We posed for some dumb picture in a trash can of something. While my "demented" sense of humor leaned towards the make-you-blush kind, Jim's was a bit more cruel and sarcastic and I remember more than one girl welling up with tears over his fat or ugly comments.
Flash forward twenty nine years. I have not seen or heard of Jim in these many years. Yesterday a fellow classmate emailed a news article from Tempe, Arizona that Jim, suffering from a recurrence of a brain tumor, pending divorce and $18 million in debt, killed his wife and three kids, then lit his truck on fire with their bodies and his in desert.
I can only imagine what hell he must have been living to do such a thing. I can only think Jim lost the only thing that ever kept him going, his incredible sense of humor.
Dear God, don't let me ever lose mine.
Jim and I were classmates. In our senior year we dueled each week for the Wordly Wise spelling test. Each week one of us would outscore the other by a point. I would get a 99% and he 100% and then next it would be reversed. When I won at the end of the school year, Jim, who always sat right behind me (of course I was in the front row) kicked the back of my chair so hard I fell out my seat. "Fuck you," he said.
Jim and I were voted Funniest and Most Demented Sense of Humor for our senior class. We posed for some dumb picture in a trash can of something. While my "demented" sense of humor leaned towards the make-you-blush kind, Jim's was a bit more cruel and sarcastic and I remember more than one girl welling up with tears over his fat or ugly comments.
Flash forward twenty nine years. I have not seen or heard of Jim in these many years. Yesterday a fellow classmate emailed a news article from Tempe, Arizona that Jim, suffering from a recurrence of a brain tumor, pending divorce and $18 million in debt, killed his wife and three kids, then lit his truck on fire with their bodies and his in desert.
I can only imagine what hell he must have been living to do such a thing. I can only think Jim lost the only thing that ever kept him going, his incredible sense of humor.
Dear God, don't let me ever lose mine.
Tuesday, June 5, 2012
Practically Perfect in Every Way
Mary Poppins is my favorite movie. Of all time. Now I do love All the President's Men for its incredible take on an time in our country when things were so screwed up it could have only been ellipsed in history by the Civil War. And I will watch anything with Vincent Price over and over again.
But Mary is my girl.
Mary Poppins encompasses all the perfect elements in a movie. Great songs. A London locale. Bratty kids who learn a lesson or two. A suffragette mother. A Jack-of-All Trades named Bert. Uncle Albert, who laughs, then floats and takes tea on the ceiling. Arthur Treacher (of Fish and Chips fame) plays the constable. Magic. A dog named Andrew. And Julie Andrews.
But back to the bratty kids who learn a lesson or two.
Since I am NOT a parent, what do I know about kids? Well, I do know they need to behave. Not talk back. Not listen to an IPod during dinner. Not win awards for just showing up.
Jane and Michael Banks had absent parents. Not unlike lots of moms and dads today. They worked too hard, sent the kids to dinner and bed in the nursery the minute dad got home. Sort of the same thing parents today do with computers and IPads.
Enter Mary. She got those kids in shape "spit spot." Gave them their spoon full of medicine, made them clean the nursery, got them to stop running away from home and introduced them to a wonderful, fun world of imagination. When the children learned enough, she departed with her talking umbrella.
I miss Marys. Every time I see a bratty kid and overindulgent parent. I wonder why Mary won't visit anymore.
Maybe it has something to do with attachment parenting. Mary can't compete with a kid who breast feeds until they are five.
Mary Poppins is my favorite movie. Of all time. Now I do love All the President's Men for its incredible take on an time in our country when things were so screwed up it could have only been ellipsed in history by the Civil War. And I will watch anything with Vincent Price over and over again.
But Mary is my girl.
Mary Poppins encompasses all the perfect elements in a movie. Great songs. A London locale. Bratty kids who learn a lesson or two. A suffragette mother. A Jack-of-All Trades named Bert. Uncle Albert, who laughs, then floats and takes tea on the ceiling. Arthur Treacher (of Fish and Chips fame) plays the constable. Magic. A dog named Andrew. And Julie Andrews.
But back to the bratty kids who learn a lesson or two.
Since I am NOT a parent, what do I know about kids? Well, I do know they need to behave. Not talk back. Not listen to an IPod during dinner. Not win awards for just showing up.
Jane and Michael Banks had absent parents. Not unlike lots of moms and dads today. They worked too hard, sent the kids to dinner and bed in the nursery the minute dad got home. Sort of the same thing parents today do with computers and IPads.
Enter Mary. She got those kids in shape "spit spot." Gave them their spoon full of medicine, made them clean the nursery, got them to stop running away from home and introduced them to a wonderful, fun world of imagination. When the children learned enough, she departed with her talking umbrella.
I miss Marys. Every time I see a bratty kid and overindulgent parent. I wonder why Mary won't visit anymore.
Maybe it has something to do with attachment parenting. Mary can't compete with a kid who breast feeds until they are five.
Sunday, June 3, 2012
Dining Out...or on the MacArthur Causeway
My confused Cuban/Puerto Rican husband and I had the pleasure of visiting our dear, no kids, irreverent West Village compadres Memorial Weekend. We ate like kings.
The highlight was a visit to Eleven Madison Park. OMG, hello. Now this was just about the most over-the-top dining experience ever. Where to start? A menu with sixteen items, you pick four and the rest is up to Beard Award-winning chef Daniel Humm to create. Three hours later we rolled out and swore we couldn't eat again until we devoured brunch the next day. Sigh.
While we were eating like kings, back in Miami Rudy Eugene had been having quite a meal himself. Unfortunately it was his last. You see, his fare was probably not up to James Beard award standards. His meal consisted of a nose and eye. Raw. Not like sushi. It was outdoors which can be nice in Miami. Except it was on MacArthur Causeway, named for General Douglas MacArthur. Who luckily is dead or would be annoyed that his claim to fine is now a "fast food" bridge and not wars and such. Rudy was dining on a poor homeless guy, who had already survived a 1976 gunshot wound.
What do these things have to do with each other? Nothing.
I just find life full of strange ironies and as we took off for a weekend of interesting and creative fare, Rudy found a delightful meal of homeless. I hope he had a toothpick.
My confused Cuban/Puerto Rican husband and I had the pleasure of visiting our dear, no kids, irreverent West Village compadres Memorial Weekend. We ate like kings.
The highlight was a visit to Eleven Madison Park. OMG, hello. Now this was just about the most over-the-top dining experience ever. Where to start? A menu with sixteen items, you pick four and the rest is up to Beard Award-winning chef Daniel Humm to create. Three hours later we rolled out and swore we couldn't eat again until we devoured brunch the next day. Sigh.
While we were eating like kings, back in Miami Rudy Eugene had been having quite a meal himself. Unfortunately it was his last. You see, his fare was probably not up to James Beard award standards. His meal consisted of a nose and eye. Raw. Not like sushi. It was outdoors which can be nice in Miami. Except it was on MacArthur Causeway, named for General Douglas MacArthur. Who luckily is dead or would be annoyed that his claim to fine is now a "fast food" bridge and not wars and such. Rudy was dining on a poor homeless guy, who had already survived a 1976 gunshot wound.
What do these things have to do with each other? Nothing.
I just find life full of strange ironies and as we took off for a weekend of interesting and creative fare, Rudy found a delightful meal of homeless. I hope he had a toothpick.
Friday, June 1, 2012
And away we go...
Another blog, you say? Well considering two of my most favorite have closed up shop I think the world has room for one more. I came to the quick conclusion it should be me. Here's why.
Today I came to the office and drilling has been going on since 8:30 am. Drilling as in your dentist's office worst nightmare. We are having new windows office installed. Who can work with all this racket?
So I decided starting a new blog would be a good way to air my frustrations. Here I go.
"SHUT THAT SHIT UP!"
Ok, I feel much better.
Anywho (as my grandfather would say), back to me. I will be blogging periodic musings about my life as a gringa married to a confused Cuban/Puerto Rican, southern-isms, Alabama football, irreverence and inappropriate comments about things that will make you blush or wonder "how does she get away with saying that?"
Today I came to the office and drilling has been going on since 8:30 am. Drilling as in your dentist's office worst nightmare. We are having new windows office installed. Who can work with all this racket?
So I decided starting a new blog would be a good way to air my frustrations. Here I go.
"SHUT THAT SHIT UP!"
Ok, I feel much better.
Anywho (as my grandfather would say), back to me. I will be blogging periodic musings about my life as a gringa married to a confused Cuban/Puerto Rican, southern-isms, Alabama football, irreverence and inappropriate comments about things that will make you blush or wonder "how does she get away with saying that?"
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