Tag Archives: gulf of mexico

Just another tricky day

My friend Elizabeth Anne Hill and I were talking the other day (she’s a writer, too) about how people accuse us of complaining when we tell what’s going on in our crazy lives, but we don’t see it that way. We both see it as noticing our circumstances and commenting on it. How else can you describe something, if you don’t point out the contrast you see? So when I talk here about being bored, I’m not complaining, I’m just sayin’.

I mean, I live in Florida, five miles from the Gulf of Mexico. I have no right to bitch. A boring day here is at least filled with amazing sights. Just last week Jeff and I went to the library because I’m doing research for a project I can’t talk about yet, and we saw this row of election signs littering the landscape. Among them was the most delightful thing I’ve seen in a long time: a candidate for Mosquito Commissioner named “Skeeter” Abbott. Only in Florida, man, only in Florida.

We decided, since we had the entire day to kill, to take a ride to Hudson Beach (which isn’t really much of a beach, per se, it’s more of a housing subdivision that ends with a small strip of sand bordering the Gulf where no swimming is allowed). The houses all have a river inlet and dock for a back yard.

On the way to the Gulf, we stopped for a hot dog at the Hudson Beach Ice Cream Parlor, a place we’ve driven past a thousand times but never visited. I was unimpressed with the “food” but hey, this is the kind of place you go for kitschy atmosphere, not fine dining.

Even if you can’t swim at Hudson Beach, it’s still a cute place to spend a little time. You can have some more crappy food and a beer at a cute beachside restaurant called Sam’s Beach Bar, which is where I usually like to spend each birthday, watching the sunset before we move on to a place to get a real meal.
 

Yes, someone lives there. Lucky bastards.

Other than that, I just love sitting there at the water’s edge and listen to the waves and the seagulls, and drool over the gorgeous houses that sit on the shore and somehow survive the occasional hurricane.

And to top off this “boring” day, check out what we saw on the way home, in someone’s front yard. We weren’t at a zoo or wildlife sanctuary, these gigantic birds were in someone’s front yard. Seriously, if you’re going to live a boring life, it might as well be under a palm tree with birds as large as a second grader running amok.

Here's you a man eating a dog.

The “Evil Eye”

My daughter Kristina spent almost two years in Turkey at Incirlik Air Force Base and I lived vicariously through her the whole time, learning everything I could about their culture through her eyes. I drooled with envy the whole time and one of my most treasured possessions is a trinket she sent to me from Turkey: an “evil eye” charm.

I’ve had the charm hanging in my car from the rearview mirror since then, along with my sparkly faceted cut crystal and my bouncing Buddha (enlightenment on a spring, don’t ya know) on the dashboard. I’ve never seen anything like it until I went to Tarpon Springs, a cute and kitschy Greek fishing village here in the Tampa Bay (I drag all of my out of town visitors to the Tarpon Springs sponge docks). I saw evil eye charms for sale in all the stores there, in all shapes and sizes, because the Greeks share the belief in them.

Today, I dragged another friend from out of town to Tarpon Springs with me to eat some amazing Greek food at Costas, my favorite restaurant there, to tour the sponge docks and to pick up another evil eye for our second car (the Volaré that kept breaking down on our road trip … sure coulda used one back then, eh?).

There really is no way to do justice in the telling to Tarpon Springs. It’s a splendid mixture of beautiful scenery, legitimate history (see the historical marker pic), excellent food and goofy fun with a “roadside attraction” feel. If the Tampa Bay had a Greektown, Tarpon Springs would be it. The restaurants are plentiful (many feature belly dancing) and most of the shops sells handmade olive oil soap and hand lotion, sponges of every shape and size, and, of course, evil eye charms. And then there is the Spongeorama, my favorite place in Tarpon Springs just because of its name. It’s the reason I drag my friends here.

My friend Clark, who lives in Fort Lauderdale, is someone I’ve known for almost 20 years. I haven’t seen him in about eight years, but we’re the kind of friends who just pick up where we left off, as if we saw each other yesterday. He’s one of those people who lights up a room with his fun and laughter, and I couldn’t think of anyone who would enjoy the kitsch of the Spongeorama Sponge Museum more than Clark.

After an excellent lunch, we walked around town and enjoyed the exquisite Florida fall afternoon. The temperature was a rare perfect (many people think Florida is paradise year-round, but we actually only have about four weeks out of the entire year of really gorgeous weather—summer is too hot, winter is very rainy, spring and fall are both only about two weeks long) and we were both in a really good mood. It would only get gooder when we found our way to Spongeorama.

If you’re ever in Tarpon Springs, you really have to take the time to visit the Sponge Museum and see the movie about how sponges are gathered in the Gulf of Mexico. Yes, it’s educational, but the sheer entertainment factor is what I go for. The movie was made in the middle of the last century and it shows. Clark said it felt like watching a movie in fifth grade that was even old back then. It’s true. It’s so tacky that you can’t tear your eyes away, especially when they begin extolling the virtues of sponges at the end of the film and chanting, “Need it. Need it. Need it!” But that’s second only to the sample of olive oil hand lotion that one of the employees squirts into your hands as you go into the theater.

Here are a few pictures of the various exhibits in the museum that I will allow to speak for themselves:

I don’t think I really need to say much more, do I? Oh, here’s a picture I took of the door of the ladies room in the little mall in the center of town. I think it sort of blends with the feel of the rest of the day, don’t you?

And in case you’re wondering whether I found a suitable evil eye charm for the Volare, here it is:

Here’s you an evil eye.

Kevin Costner, the Gulf oil spill, and the color of your bra

Kevin Costner made big news last week when it was announced that he has been involved, since the Exxon Valdez oil spill, in funding the development of a device that can clean up such a disaster. He and his company have several of these machines ready to go and, supposedly, are testing them in the Gulf. However, we haven’t heard a single word about this in the news since it was first announced.

(For more information, visit this link)

It bothers me that when Britney Spears leaves her house without underwear, or Kate divorces John, or Sandra Bullock’s husband cheats, we receive wall-to-wall coverage from major media outlets. But where is the coverage on the Kevin Costner story, which carries with it HUGE, life-changing implications? Why aren’t we hearing whether Costner’s machines work and whether they’re being used?

Not long ago, Facebook made national news when a bunch of users posted nothing but a color as their status update, with a behind-the-scenes explanation being sent to all the female users, telling them to post their bra color to “raise breast cancer awareness.” The fact that this did nothing to affect breast cancer is beside the point—the point is that bra color Facebook statuses made national news.

So I’ve started posting the following as my Facebook status:

“My bra is pink, but what I want to know is why is there no news coverage about Kevin Costner’s machine that can clean up the oil spill? If we all make this our status, maybe your bra color will help bring attention to the real story since the bra color game was on national headlines!”

Hey, it can’t hurt to try, right?