One year ago today: May 12, 2014, apple cider vinegar.
Five years ago today: May 12, 2010, the Johnny Cash case.
Six years ago today: May 12, 2009, I hate Javascript.
MORNING
Here’s JZ on a canal in the Everglades. We stopped for postage stamps on the way to Naples and he wanted to see the canal. I wanted to see this new swamp reclamation thingee that has cost so many millions per mile. It is a low raised bridge that allows a tiny segment of the original waterflow to the parched south side of the highway embankment, seen in the background. We laughed the whole trip as I related my tale of the concert last evening.
I rate it my worst concert experience in 23 years, mitigated only by the fact the tickets were free and we got a free ride the 60 miles to the show and back. And met an interesting educated Russian couple. My date was mom, from the bakery, all dressed up and ready to hear the violinist who never appeared. The band said this was their final show before a European tour. Guys, take a slow boat over there and and even slower one coming back.
This band will be fodder for jokes in the community for years to come. Well, first, the “guest appearance” was the guy’s overweight “wife” who appeared in a Dracula outfit. But it was tailored to fit and somebody had lost her shoes. Between songs she goes backstage to find them, but the soundman had nipped out back to treat his medical condition and the pre-recorded backing track started playing automatically.
That’s the other thing. A five piece band—and they were still using backing tracks? What a rip-off. The strings and horns were recorded. It was evident this band was slapped together at the last moment from unemployed locals, except this Cuban type playing this twelve-string contraption. That was the catch. Both he and the guitar player went on with rapid-fire notes, covering each other’s mistakes. They dropped more notes than, what? Hillary’s transcribist before a court hearing?
NOON
We got as far as Frog City. There is actually an abandoned roadway twenty miles along the Tamiami (Tampa-Miami) trail that bears that sign. In a surprising turn for this part of the world, they got the frog part right. We were on our way to Naples for brunch, when JZ suddenly realized he’d left his cell phone and wallet on the counter back at the post office. Getting back there caught us in Miami traffic, so by mid-afternoon, we canceled the Naples plan.
So there, see picture. He loads up his brand new truck and we zip over to the pallet lot, where he gets a pocket full of money and we decide we are suddenly very hungry. Famished, as in liver and onions for breakfast. But he’s still got $60 left over and the Miccosukee casino is visible from where we sit.
You know, I have never actually seen anybody gamble at those video machines before. I’ve been around when people played them idly and on occasion I’ve slid a dollar in to watch the action. It’s ridiculous, there are a row of buttons on the front that give people something to slap and pretend they have some influence on the outcome.
AFTERNOON
On top of this, JZ has some kind of membership card that got us $30 each in “free money”. It isn’t money, but coupon that can be fed into these machines. As stated, I’ve never see any serious gambling until now. In around 40 seconds, JZ turned $120 into 30 cents. He fed the money into a single machine that spun the lemons around and took his money in an instant. JZ swears this was fun. In return, he got a printed out ticket for 30 cents, which I wanted as a souvenir but he insisted on cashing in by this ATM type machine on the wall.
However, it’s all a jolly time because the “concert” last night provided endless opportunity for wry jokes and commentary on how badly they messed things up. How many times did they have to tell us the no-where-to-be-found soundman was from Israel? The guitar player, sort of half-flamenco quarter-mandoline quarter missed notes style, felt the need to announce that he and the fat lady singer lived together.
Guy, that was shocking in 1965. It is not shocking now.
But I’ve worked an office cubicle often enough to know that when a dude and dudette start introducing each other as the most wonderful each others in the world, the relationship is on the decline. They further pointed out the stand-up bassist was a recording artist. Fooled me. They also had a piano player who knew at least one song.
By the time we’d done laughing, JZ gets this brilliant idea. Let’s us go drinking at Shucker’s. This is the place on the 79th Street causeway that fell into the ocean around a couple years ago, injuring 35. But they were sports fans who go to their feet and stomped on the deck in unison, so go figure. Despite there being no way to get to Shucker’s without driving over a metal grate bridge, we wound up there for a not so great time. The staff are all stuffy sorts in it for the money, not JZ's favorite type of persons. And I have a very low opinion of food service sorts to start with. Frankly, I'd rather be served by a robot, to tell the truth.
EVENING
Welcome to Shucker’s, the non-club. I say that because their advertising presents it as a fun joint to meet people, etc. Not so, it is one of those tight-ass restaurants right down to the table arrangements. There is no dance floor, no band, no juke box, nothing but a bar well back from any water view with flatscreens on sports channels. Yeah, that will really get the single gals in there.
And it attracts that type of clientele, the type who associate high prices with class. I’ll break it to you gentle, folks. Chicken wings are chicken wings even if you did pay $20 instead of $10 for them. And finger food is not exactly high class cuisine.
The place was empty and the bartender was slow and grumpy, so we moved to a table out on the deck. With minutes there was a, what, a team member, over to tell us we had not cleared with the front desk for a table. I get it, the tables are for people who are expected to order food, even if those people are not there at the present time. Shucker’s is all about money, the entire atmosphere is money.
However, when I’m shelling out $20 per round for drinks alone, I don’t need some snarky drop-out telling me where to sit. Like we are old men who don’t understand the world has a new code of conduct that we missed out on. And the code say you now pay extra to sit near the water. New, my eye. This is far from the first time I’ve run into these low-lifes in Florida. Remember the restaurant that hid the bread when the meal was served? The time I found the bread tray on the other end of the building near the salad bar and wheeled it back to our company banquet to the cheering of the crowd?
So JZ argued with the guy a bit, but the guy was a total jerk. JZ had asked one of the servers if it was okay of we sat there and she said okay. Naturally, I was offended when the jerk called JZ a liar. So I casually broke into the conversation and it was at least a minute before the jerk realized how badly he was being insulted. Still, I didn’t want a scene, so I dragged JZ back to the nothing bar at the back of the room.
We finished and left, never to return. The whole place is about separating you from your money while expecting you to put up with their “poor me” attitude. I don’t recommend the place. You will not meet anybody there unless you want to be seen obviously going from table to table and interfering with people’s meals. What are you going to do, offer to buy her steak and lobster? It is not in any way a place where one could mingle. And I, for one, do not go to night clubs to chum with the staff. I have never sunk so low as to do food service and cannot be expected to consider such an occupation as a proper job for adults well past college age.
