July 9, 2017

Yesteryear
One year ago today: July 9, 2016, embedded video.
Five years ago today: July 9, 2012, the pre-bingo count.
Nine years ago today: July 9, 2008, the fifty-three bucks.
Random years ago today: July 9, 2010, Identity Fraud is “less illegal”.

           This is the way to live retired. Except you’ll have to wait for the pictures, but they’ll be worth it. This Sunday technically has to be killed while waiting for that motorcycle chain. I didn’t say, but the scooter remains unreliable until I sink money into it ever since it fell over in the soft ground after that June rainstorm. If I left it up to JZ we’d be watching free TV all day so I suggested we pile in the Blazer and make an impromptu trip to Key Largo. Naturally, I always forget how long it takes to make the stretch between Dadeland Mall and the Card Sound intersection. Today, nearly two hours. You people who want to visit Miami, just you keep this in mind. The road system was designed by shitheads of the worst caliber.

           Finally braving the single-lane caterpillar lineups, we got into Key Largo and managed to pick one of the busiest tourist days of the month. I had to implore JZ to drive up and down the older roads to see what was there. This is how you find the unadvertised bargains. The area seems to be a mix of old and new, with all the new structures either built on stilts or raised up with retaining walls. The key itself is less than 20” above sea level at high tide. During any hurricane warnings, people to park their cars on the highway overpass and walk back.

           Next, I decide to find a mom & pop restaurant. No, JZ, Arby’s does not fit the ticket. I directed him to that shopping center we nearly picked up those two babes around ten years ago now. I’d bought one of those 12-piece chicken boxes and we invited them to join us on the curb. Remember that? They were so shallow-minded they figured because our bicycles were the same color, we must be queers. Then again, we figured much the same about them. Once that got cleared up, the moment was gone and we went on our ways.

           As JZ predicted, that museum that wanted the big bucks was either closed or relocated. JZ wanted to head further south to Tavernier Key, were there is a heavily-advertised pub called Hog Heaven. I’ve been there on my own and it is nothing special, nor are there ever any single women there. And I mean ever. Ever since prohibition (raising the screwing age up to 18), there have been no single women anywhere in South Florida unless you happen have an awful lot of money. (Actually, I don’t mean that, what I mean is if you look at it that way, it will make the most sense.)

           There was a yuppie coffeehouse type café I wanted to visit, called the Mermaid Café. But I forgot this was Florida. The one time I had the time and inclination to go there, it was closed for renovations. As for the picture of the roadway above, this was the only stretch that was not clogged with tourist traffic inching along. For the record, there was a disturbing story in the news that some punks were caught snaring the island deer, including breaking the leg of one by slamming it into their car trunk. These are not the rare dwarf deer, but a species introduced later. What were these punks thinking?

           [Author's note: the police are again claiming the perps above were caught with the deer because they were pulled over concerning a burned out license plate light. Sorry, cops, we've heard that one a little to often. Please try to cook up a better cover story or tell us what really went on. Same goes for that "routine patrol" line you've been feeding us for 50 years. Just admit you tap phones without a warrant and get it over with.]

Picture of the day.
Five potato chips, $56.00.
Remember to use BACK ARROW to return to blog.

           Still, I actually got the guy out of the house and on a trip. It has been the same for twenty years, he won’t do anything, but when he gets going, it’s the time of his life. The heat drove us into a place called the Seafood Hut. Bad move, it was packed to the gills, pun intended. A forty-five minute wait for a stool at the bar. Not for me, I said, turn back. Hog Heaven was another twenty miles or so, but the highway narrows to two land several times.

           The Key Highway may make for great Arnold movies, but it is not a pleasant Sunday drive. There is always a tie-up, normally caused by that cute term for idiot drivers, “volume delays”. We glanced into the entrance of Pennekamp Park and it was, well, it was what you’d expect anything free to look like in a third world atmosphere. Odd, JZ’s lived here his entire life (Miami) and he didn’t know the turnoff in Key Largo connected to Card Sound. (For any conspiracy theorists, the Card Sound toll booths are being replaced by a license-plate scanning system in early 2018.)

           The county actions to eliminate the houseboat people and unregistered occupants has plainly been totally successful. Even the sunken structure are gone. Some called them an eyesore but you know, after so many thousands of empty miles of Florida swamp views, that place actually used to have some character. I know Alabama Jack’s has afternoon Sunday entertainment, so we held a powwow and decided that was the best deal. It usually is when I’m buying, nomsayn?
           My uncanny parking luck held out as we go the first space by the door. The joint was packed, and if anybody is not all that sure what I mean by the difference between a musician and an entertainer, go hear the house band. They are crappy, but they’ve been there years and continue to pack the place. Other than that, I would point out that the place is primarily a medium-priced restaurant. Two orders of conch fritters set me back $25. But the Bud’s are only $3 and the band takes short breaks.

           I’m not recommending that spot for meeting women, however. Like many such combination bar/eateries, it is just too expensive for most women to go there as an investment in meeting a man. The bar is tiny, around eight stools, normally occupied by regulars. There is a square dance team, you guessed it, seven women and one man. Otherwise, the place is plastic lawn furniture restaurant setting and the cooling consists of shade, fans, and the occasional Florida cross-breeze. Don’t wait for it.
           As for the women I could see, there was one babe in the whole place. There were a few fatties and some biker broads, but just this one good-looker. And she was obviously with a family group. JZ had never tried the conch fritters before and I had to stop him from ordering another batch. He’d scarfed his and half of mine which I could not finish. And they were not that good. I suggested we hit the end of the road, the worst nothing bar in Florida, the Last Chance Saloon. You’ve seen this dive in the blog before. I like it because JZ and I walking in the door raises the IQ of the entire county.

           There should be a picture of the last chance nearby. Ah, here it is. This is JZ deciding upon entering after we noticed the sign saying ‘friendly people only!!!”, with three marks of exclamation. Sure it is a dive, but we had to make some executive layer decisions here. For one, it was 103°F out there again. That is the one time in Florida you can expect people outdoors to make up their minds pronto.
           This trip was the high point of the weekend, so drop back to see if I find any other worthy pics for you. FedEx has promised my package “next day”, so to them that means Monday at the soonest. Yes, we had to kill this day—but just you watch. FedEx are dip-holes. They know there is a stretch of bad weather predicted for later this week. So they have to stall, and stall, and stall to really do a proper Florida job of it. The job of screwing people around. It’s not like they are paying me for a hotel while I’m waiting on their blithering incompetence. That driver had one job.

Quote of the Day:
“I’m not arguing,
I’m explaining why I’m right.”
~ Various
           So yeah, we walk into the Last Chance and it is two regulars and the lady on staff. She right away picks up we are not Mutt and Jeff and puts 12 credits on the juke box. This pub is that exact slow stretch from Dadeland Mall that I just complained about, so my plan was to wait there until the local traffic slowed. I’ve never heard a satisfactory explanation why anybody would just go for a Sunday drive on a known bottleneck like the Key West Highway. Sure, we went, but at my insistence, just to Largo, and right back by the shortcut.

           Over the next hour or so, some of the locals rolled in. I had them bopping along to the juke music. We completely won over the gal who came on duty at 7:00 PM, but she wasn’t either of our types. Nice, but neither girlfriend nor wife material. The one who never got asked to the dance.


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