Tony's Blog Emporium
The Great Florida Trip of 2012- Days Sixteen & Seventeen
It rained today. I cannot believe it. My world was shattered at five thirty this morning. A down pour for the ages, pounding the roof of this quaint little Florida cabana. Just, loud angry rain. I imagined the size of the rain drops to be equal to those of softballs, shooting down from the sky, as if God and all the angels were hurling them indiscriminately and with malice towards the earth. It finally stopped but the ground is still wet. No sun as of yet. Will it return tomorrow? You betcha!
My plan was to go to the tennis club and hit some balls off the ball machine. I had a mini-breakthrough the other day with my forehand and I want to keep the momentum going. I'll have to wait until tomorrow, unfortunately.
I played yesterday with this man, who, at first, I misjudged. He seemed like a friendly fellow over the phone but when I met him, I don't think he even shook my hand. He said hi and walked by. I followed him like a puppy dog as he walked fast and with purpose. It was kind of hard to keep up with him because of the long stride produced by his 6'2" body frame. He's a much older man, 73 to be exact, as I found out later.
We waited to put our tennis bags down as the ladies cleared themselves and their belongings out. Well, I waited, this man seemed in a huff to get his gear out and onto the court. What's this guy's problem? Relax. It must be when you're that old you have to rush and do everything because time is running out, yikes, did I just sound like a dick? I'm going to be there someday.(In a sing songy voice)
Not much of a warm up either. I was worried because I need to groove my strokes and set up a rhythm before I play points. It showed because this guy began strong, making me make mistakes. He hit me a lot of junk and with no pace whatsoever. He didn't talk also, he was intense. I'm thinking, please hour and a half, fly by. It wasn't until we sat down in between games that my opinion changed.
I can't remember how it was brought up, but we, actually he started talking about politics. I said something that triggered him going off on the "nitwits" and later "dickheads" otherwise known as the Republican candidates for President. It turns out, this man, is a retired school teacher with a master's degree. He's a big political science buff and very knowledgeable in all things politics. It was impressive. I learned a lot too. I learned that only 53% of the people in America pay taxes and if we're going to get out of this mess we're in unfortunately everyone has to pitch in, even him, a senior citizen has to contribute. I also learned that a guy, can't remember his name, that earned over 63 million last year only payed 11% in taxes. I said, "Wow, I pay 28%." Which he responded, emphatically, putting his hands up to his head while shaking it, "No no no no no!" I found out that I probably only contribute about 12%. "Not right, huh?" He said. My girlfriend didn't agree but I'm going with this guy. Not right because a guy that made 63 million is paying roughly what I pay. Not only that, big corporations like Verizon, GE, etc... that make billions don't pay diddly squat. I don't know how much of this is true but he's convinced me. My girlfriend is not convinced.
It was great, in between games he'd get riled up and expend a lot of energy. It helped and I took the first set 7-5.
I also learned he's kind of a sad man. After 50 years of marriage, he and his wife divorced. Basically, he said this, "We didn't have the marital problems that usually break up marriages. I treated her great, no infidelity, money wasn't a problem, I never laid a hand on her that wasn't in a loving way, she's just crazy." Then, with arms flailing and a piercing truthful tone, the tone in a voice that displays urgency as if to warn someone of impending doom, kind of like a time traveler that comes back and tries to convince someone not to go into that cave, well, it was like that. "Women are crazy!! They're all, all of 'em! I've never met one that wasn't." My girlfriend didn't agree with assessment either. Kind of sounds like crazy talk to me.
"But hey, I am seeing a woman now and she's great." He continued. "She's in good shape for her age, teaches piano, has huge tits..." I could only imagine those tits. The tits of a 70 something woman. I think this tactic worked for him because all of a sudden I couldn't hit a backhand to save my life. He rattled off four straight games and took a 5-3 lead in the second set.
Instead of finishing off the set, we sat and he told me the importance of getting a colonoscopy. I'm convinced. My girlfriend agrees.
I like this guy. He's true and honest and has much knowledge about many things. He's very very entertaining, his swearing, his opinions and at one point did the "stroking of the penis" motion to make on of his points. Hilarious. I'm playing tennis with him tomorrow.
Finally, I thought this was a cool pic to share with you. Suburbia at its finest.
My plan was to go to the tennis club and hit some balls off the ball machine. I had a mini-breakthrough the other day with my forehand and I want to keep the momentum going. I'll have to wait until tomorrow, unfortunately.
I played yesterday with this man, who, at first, I misjudged. He seemed like a friendly fellow over the phone but when I met him, I don't think he even shook my hand. He said hi and walked by. I followed him like a puppy dog as he walked fast and with purpose. It was kind of hard to keep up with him because of the long stride produced by his 6'2" body frame. He's a much older man, 73 to be exact, as I found out later.
We waited to put our tennis bags down as the ladies cleared themselves and their belongings out. Well, I waited, this man seemed in a huff to get his gear out and onto the court. What's this guy's problem? Relax. It must be when you're that old you have to rush and do everything because time is running out, yikes, did I just sound like a dick? I'm going to be there someday.(In a sing songy voice)
Not much of a warm up either. I was worried because I need to groove my strokes and set up a rhythm before I play points. It showed because this guy began strong, making me make mistakes. He hit me a lot of junk and with no pace whatsoever. He didn't talk also, he was intense. I'm thinking, please hour and a half, fly by. It wasn't until we sat down in between games that my opinion changed.
I can't remember how it was brought up, but we, actually he started talking about politics. I said something that triggered him going off on the "nitwits" and later "dickheads" otherwise known as the Republican candidates for President. It turns out, this man, is a retired school teacher with a master's degree. He's a big political science buff and very knowledgeable in all things politics. It was impressive. I learned a lot too. I learned that only 53% of the people in America pay taxes and if we're going to get out of this mess we're in unfortunately everyone has to pitch in, even him, a senior citizen has to contribute. I also learned that a guy, can't remember his name, that earned over 63 million last year only payed 11% in taxes. I said, "Wow, I pay 28%." Which he responded, emphatically, putting his hands up to his head while shaking it, "No no no no no!" I found out that I probably only contribute about 12%. "Not right, huh?" He said. My girlfriend didn't agree but I'm going with this guy. Not right because a guy that made 63 million is paying roughly what I pay. Not only that, big corporations like Verizon, GE, etc... that make billions don't pay diddly squat. I don't know how much of this is true but he's convinced me. My girlfriend is not convinced.
It was great, in between games he'd get riled up and expend a lot of energy. It helped and I took the first set 7-5.
I also learned he's kind of a sad man. After 50 years of marriage, he and his wife divorced. Basically, he said this, "We didn't have the marital problems that usually break up marriages. I treated her great, no infidelity, money wasn't a problem, I never laid a hand on her that wasn't in a loving way, she's just crazy." Then, with arms flailing and a piercing truthful tone, the tone in a voice that displays urgency as if to warn someone of impending doom, kind of like a time traveler that comes back and tries to convince someone not to go into that cave, well, it was like that. "Women are crazy!! They're all, all of 'em! I've never met one that wasn't." My girlfriend didn't agree with assessment either. Kind of sounds like crazy talk to me.
"But hey, I am seeing a woman now and she's great." He continued. "She's in good shape for her age, teaches piano, has huge tits..." I could only imagine those tits. The tits of a 70 something woman. I think this tactic worked for him because all of a sudden I couldn't hit a backhand to save my life. He rattled off four straight games and took a 5-3 lead in the second set.
Instead of finishing off the set, we sat and he told me the importance of getting a colonoscopy. I'm convinced. My girlfriend agrees.
I like this guy. He's true and honest and has much knowledge about many things. He's very very entertaining, his swearing, his opinions and at one point did the "stroking of the penis" motion to make on of his points. Hilarious. I'm playing tennis with him tomorrow.
Finally, I thought this was a cool pic to share with you. Suburbia at its finest.
The Great Florida Trip of 2012- The Fifteenth Day
What an odd microwave, I'm thinking to myself right now. I just put in a cup of coffee and it heated the cup itself more than the liquid inside. I had to use an oven mitt just to get the cup out. If I knew more about science I could probably explain why the cup itself is hotter than the coffee inside. One will never know.
That's the challenge of being away from familiar territory. You have to get used to things over and over again when you're in an exotic locale. I've been doing that this whole trip. Dealing with microwaves, beds and especially foreign toilets. Those stress me out the most. I almost have to make friends with the commode before I use it. I'll tell you this too, because I know you want to hear it, when I'm away I have a hard time doing my duty. Remember back in the late 70's, early 80's there was a show on ABC called, "That's Incredible"? I used to watch it religiously, it may have been on NBC, it doesn't matter, I loved it. They had this Indian man named, The Yogi Kudu. He could contort his body in such a way he could fit into a small box. One time, they put him into a clear box and place him at the bottom of a pool. He trained his body to slow down his heart rate and breathing so he could be confined in a space like that and not die. My body pretty much does that but not in a meditative way, in I can hold poop for a long time.
For the past two weeks I've been staying in scum holes and I realized that I've been grossed out the entire time. It's probably the biggest reason I can't relax and I'm on edge. The hotels I've picked I'm worried if I'm either going to clog the toilet, get bed bugs or get caught in the middle of a domestic dispute. It sucked.
Now, I have serenity. I'm at my sister Lisa's house in Port Charlotte, which is about an hour south of Sarasota. It's also right next to a lovely place called, Punta Gorda. I've been playing tennis there the past couple of days and the people there couldn't be friendlier, it's great. Now, I talked about stereotypes in yesterday's blog and I'm going to do that again in this one. You know when hack comedians describe Florida as "God's waiting room"? Well, they must have come to Port Charlotte. It is the quintessential Florida that is made fun of and talked about in movies, television and probably right in your own living room. Take for instance, my sister and I at Walgreen's yesterday. Walgreen's in Florida, where adult diapers are prominently displayed, can you say in your face?
We're standing in line and luckily, we just paid for our stuff when out of the blue, like a slow moving water drop, a man rushes the register and exclaims, "The money machine, it didn't give me enough! What do I do?" Well, for one, you could wait in line, it's only ten deep at this point. Mainly, because the old broad cashier is, well, fucking old.
"The money machine, it didn't give me enough!" I picture this guy later in the day, "Help, I've fallen and I can't get up!" Just a panic, just a everything in his life is this urgent. The term, "Go with the flow" probably has never crossed his mind. This man was Morty Seinfeld times ten. The money machine. Fuck you!
This is great though. My sister's house is beautiful. It's actually nice to talk and hang out with people at night. Lisa and her boyfriend Paul are the best. They've made me feel like a king and more welcome than anyone. Above all, their toilet rocks.
During the day, I go to Punta Gorda and hit off the ball machine at the tennis club, come home and hang out with the dogs. Teddy and Sofie/Sofia. It's paradise.
That's the challenge of being away from familiar territory. You have to get used to things over and over again when you're in an exotic locale. I've been doing that this whole trip. Dealing with microwaves, beds and especially foreign toilets. Those stress me out the most. I almost have to make friends with the commode before I use it. I'll tell you this too, because I know you want to hear it, when I'm away I have a hard time doing my duty. Remember back in the late 70's, early 80's there was a show on ABC called, "That's Incredible"? I used to watch it religiously, it may have been on NBC, it doesn't matter, I loved it. They had this Indian man named, The Yogi Kudu. He could contort his body in such a way he could fit into a small box. One time, they put him into a clear box and place him at the bottom of a pool. He trained his body to slow down his heart rate and breathing so he could be confined in a space like that and not die. My body pretty much does that but not in a meditative way, in I can hold poop for a long time.
For the past two weeks I've been staying in scum holes and I realized that I've been grossed out the entire time. It's probably the biggest reason I can't relax and I'm on edge. The hotels I've picked I'm worried if I'm either going to clog the toilet, get bed bugs or get caught in the middle of a domestic dispute. It sucked.
Now, I have serenity. I'm at my sister Lisa's house in Port Charlotte, which is about an hour south of Sarasota. It's also right next to a lovely place called, Punta Gorda. I've been playing tennis there the past couple of days and the people there couldn't be friendlier, it's great. Now, I talked about stereotypes in yesterday's blog and I'm going to do that again in this one. You know when hack comedians describe Florida as "God's waiting room"? Well, they must have come to Port Charlotte. It is the quintessential Florida that is made fun of and talked about in movies, television and probably right in your own living room. Take for instance, my sister and I at Walgreen's yesterday. Walgreen's in Florida, where adult diapers are prominently displayed, can you say in your face?
We're standing in line and luckily, we just paid for our stuff when out of the blue, like a slow moving water drop, a man rushes the register and exclaims, "The money machine, it didn't give me enough! What do I do?" Well, for one, you could wait in line, it's only ten deep at this point. Mainly, because the old broad cashier is, well, fucking old.
"The money machine, it didn't give me enough!" I picture this guy later in the day, "Help, I've fallen and I can't get up!" Just a panic, just a everything in his life is this urgent. The term, "Go with the flow" probably has never crossed his mind. This man was Morty Seinfeld times ten. The money machine. Fuck you!
This is great though. My sister's house is beautiful. It's actually nice to talk and hang out with people at night. Lisa and her boyfriend Paul are the best. They've made me feel like a king and more welcome than anyone. Above all, their toilet rocks.
During the day, I go to Punta Gorda and hit off the ball machine at the tennis club, come home and hang out with the dogs. Teddy and Sofie/Sofia. It's paradise.
The Great Florida Trip of 2012- Days Ten thru Fourteen
I've had some time now to really reflect on my trip. My mission. My sojourn into the abyss that is Florida. Maybe I'm being a little dramatic here, sojourn might not be the right term for entering an abyss. One usually tumbles or falls into one, me it's like I sauntered into the abyss. Willingly of course. That was my challenge, the whole thing has been a challenge. The expectations in my head haven't once matched up with reality. I probably should've known better because this isn't my only trip into the abyss. Also, I've noticed something about myself that I wish I would kind of stop doing, and that is being so judgmental. I say kind of, because if I stop doing it, I'll have no fun at all. Perhaps I'll tone down the judgment after this entry. That's what I'll do.
On Sunday I traveled to Tampa from Casselberry, with one stop in between in Kissimmee to take a tennis lesson and watch the Patriots. I, for one, was glad to get out of Casselberry and the greater Orlando area. Orlando is a place for people who like places like Orlando. It really has nothing besides Disney and three Souplantation/Sweet Tomatoes locations. That's it!
The greater Orlando area also has something so prevalent, so in your face, that it borders on being cartoonish. For some reason, there are men, many many men that feel the need to tuck in their tee shirt, polo shirt into their jean shorts. Basically, they tuck their shirts in when probably, they should be left untucked. You know these guys. They're all on the hefty side, yes, there are a few in shape, but mostly big guys with short hair and a mustache. They also have a cell phone strapped to their belt and seem to always be on business. It's usually in a coffee shop, or and Einstein Bros Bagel store. These guys are everywhere down here. Everywhere! It's a "guys who look like cops" convention that is perpetually going on in Orlando.
There's stereotypes like this all over Florida. Where I stayed, boy oh boy, for instance, there was an African American man, definitely in his twenties, I'd see around the hotel. One day he was playing catch with his young son in the parking lot. From that point on, we exchanged pleasantries whenever we saw each other. On my last day there I ran into him and three white women at the dollar store so conveniently located right across the street from the 'Burb.(Short for Suburban Suites Extended Stay) They had tattoos, one woman had blue eye shadow, another woman kind of looked like she would be the sister of the blue eye shadowed woman. Both of them looked like they were in their thirties. The third woman was young and had reddish brown hair and was somewhat attractive. She had fake boobies and was pushing an infant in a stroller. I ended up behind them at the checkout counter. The one with the blue eye shadow referred to this fellow as her husband. It surprised me a little. Nonetheless, he'll probably have an affair with the younger one with the fake boobies and they'll all end up on Jerry Springer. I'd be able to say I knew them when.
I drove the hour and forty three minute drive to Tampa in one hour and thirty seven minutes. I've never been to Tampa, well, once, but it was at the airport and I left immediately to go south. Never been deep inside it. I wasn't deep inside it on this particular evening either. I was in a part of Tampa called, Ybor City. Just the tip. #sexreferencehaha This place resembles New Orleans in a way, with the narrow streets, lots of balconies, bars, and a street car. I met my friend Tom there. He was working at the Tampa Improv and had the club's condo all to himself, so I bunked up for the night. It saved me money and broke up my trip further south to Port Charlotte nicely. Tom is a very funny and bright man that knows how to live life. He may live it too hard but I learned something hanging out with him at a bar called, The Boneyard. They have awesome chicken wings, if you're ever deep inside Ybor City.
When I go away, I'm always in search of adventure, nothing dangerous, maybe more like experiences, new people and places that sort of thing. Hanging out with Tom at this bar I felt that vibe. It's something that I didn't feel in Orlando/Casselberry that's for sure. I felt normal and connected on the tennis court but there was no newness to it. Being in a bar with like minded people, that's when I felt it, the connection with living, the sense of adventure and being out in the world experiencing life. Who knows, maybe I'm just an alcoholic and love to be in bars but I don't think that's the case. Tom is to me like Dean Moriarty was to Sal Paradise. They guy just goes out and experiences the world and doesn't care. I don't want to live totally the way he lives because I love my liver too much but there was something to be learned. Wanting to be a writer, this is the way to do it, experience life. Because, deep down, everyone I meet are just characters in my book. All the great authors did this and I too want to do the same. Sometimes, you've got to take chances and go beyond your comfort zone. Tom can do this easily.
Tom told me of some of the characters he'd met during his time in Tampa and I was hoping to run into at least one of them. For the experience of course. He told me about the guy in a diaper running down the street wearing a gas mask. He told me of the "Senator" an elderly man who only wears bikini underwear. That's not the bizarre part. He takes viagra to achieve an erection and dances around like that. He's quite well known around those parts. But, there's someone else, probably more infamous than the Senator. This man is known as the Tampa Bay Shoe Licker. His claim to fame is he'll sneak up on you and lick the bottom of your shoe. Yeah, he got me.
On Sunday I traveled to Tampa from Casselberry, with one stop in between in Kissimmee to take a tennis lesson and watch the Patriots. I, for one, was glad to get out of Casselberry and the greater Orlando area. Orlando is a place for people who like places like Orlando. It really has nothing besides Disney and three Souplantation/Sweet Tomatoes locations. That's it!
The greater Orlando area also has something so prevalent, so in your face, that it borders on being cartoonish. For some reason, there are men, many many men that feel the need to tuck in their tee shirt, polo shirt into their jean shorts. Basically, they tuck their shirts in when probably, they should be left untucked. You know these guys. They're all on the hefty side, yes, there are a few in shape, but mostly big guys with short hair and a mustache. They also have a cell phone strapped to their belt and seem to always be on business. It's usually in a coffee shop, or and Einstein Bros Bagel store. These guys are everywhere down here. Everywhere! It's a "guys who look like cops" convention that is perpetually going on in Orlando.
There's stereotypes like this all over Florida. Where I stayed, boy oh boy, for instance, there was an African American man, definitely in his twenties, I'd see around the hotel. One day he was playing catch with his young son in the parking lot. From that point on, we exchanged pleasantries whenever we saw each other. On my last day there I ran into him and three white women at the dollar store so conveniently located right across the street from the 'Burb.(Short for Suburban Suites Extended Stay) They had tattoos, one woman had blue eye shadow, another woman kind of looked like she would be the sister of the blue eye shadowed woman. Both of them looked like they were in their thirties. The third woman was young and had reddish brown hair and was somewhat attractive. She had fake boobies and was pushing an infant in a stroller. I ended up behind them at the checkout counter. The one with the blue eye shadow referred to this fellow as her husband. It surprised me a little. Nonetheless, he'll probably have an affair with the younger one with the fake boobies and they'll all end up on Jerry Springer. I'd be able to say I knew them when.
I drove the hour and forty three minute drive to Tampa in one hour and thirty seven minutes. I've never been to Tampa, well, once, but it was at the airport and I left immediately to go south. Never been deep inside it. I wasn't deep inside it on this particular evening either. I was in a part of Tampa called, Ybor City. Just the tip. #sexreferencehaha This place resembles New Orleans in a way, with the narrow streets, lots of balconies, bars, and a street car. I met my friend Tom there. He was working at the Tampa Improv and had the club's condo all to himself, so I bunked up for the night. It saved me money and broke up my trip further south to Port Charlotte nicely. Tom is a very funny and bright man that knows how to live life. He may live it too hard but I learned something hanging out with him at a bar called, The Boneyard. They have awesome chicken wings, if you're ever deep inside Ybor City.
When I go away, I'm always in search of adventure, nothing dangerous, maybe more like experiences, new people and places that sort of thing. Hanging out with Tom at this bar I felt that vibe. It's something that I didn't feel in Orlando/Casselberry that's for sure. I felt normal and connected on the tennis court but there was no newness to it. Being in a bar with like minded people, that's when I felt it, the connection with living, the sense of adventure and being out in the world experiencing life. Who knows, maybe I'm just an alcoholic and love to be in bars but I don't think that's the case. Tom is to me like Dean Moriarty was to Sal Paradise. They guy just goes out and experiences the world and doesn't care. I don't want to live totally the way he lives because I love my liver too much but there was something to be learned. Wanting to be a writer, this is the way to do it, experience life. Because, deep down, everyone I meet are just characters in my book. All the great authors did this and I too want to do the same. Sometimes, you've got to take chances and go beyond your comfort zone. Tom can do this easily.
Tom told me of some of the characters he'd met during his time in Tampa and I was hoping to run into at least one of them. For the experience of course. He told me about the guy in a diaper running down the street wearing a gas mask. He told me of the "Senator" an elderly man who only wears bikini underwear. That's not the bizarre part. He takes viagra to achieve an erection and dances around like that. He's quite well known around those parts. But, there's someone else, probably more infamous than the Senator. This man is known as the Tampa Bay Shoe Licker. His claim to fame is he'll sneak up on you and lick the bottom of your shoe. Yeah, he got me.
The Great Florida Trip of 2012- Days Eight and Nine
I'm in a reflective mood right now as I sit on my faux tempurpedic bed. It's probably one of the most comfortable beds I've slept on as far as hotel beds go. I'm very relaxed and am thinking of drifting off into a nice peaceful sleep. One of those night's sleeps that is continuous, no getting up and going to the bathroom that sort of thing. Just fall asleep then wake up refreshed and renewed. I felt that way today, a bit refreshed a bit renewed. One of the reasons I didn't blog on day eight, well, THE reason why I didn't blog was because of how tired I was. I literally had a five hour tennis lesson. My coach fed me tennis balls for five hours in the hot Florida sun. My face was torched. I didn't even feel it until later. My face hurt when I got up this morning, a reminder of those hours. Those five glorious hours. I love concentrating on a particular task, especially if it's a fun one. I like the feeling of shutting out the entire rest of the world and working my ass off to accomplish the correct way to hit a world class forehand. It reminds me of the days when that's all that mattered, when all thoughts were tennis. I still think that way to some extent but I'm realistic. Back then I had hopes and dreams, goals yet to be completed. A whole world in front of me with the sky being the limit. I had visions. I had pictures of me playing in grand stadiums in front of huge crowds, living the life. I also pictured myself traveling around Europe playing low level tournaments, slogging it out on the red clay. It's different over there, the clay. It's pure and has been part of history. Kings probably walked over the ground from which the clay was taken. I thought, whatever tennis had in store for me or wherever it took me I'd be happy just playing the game, hitting groundies somewhere in this world.
In a sense, tennis has brought me here to Florida. Doing the comedy thing was just an excuse, a convenient explanation if you will for me to make the trek south.
I admit, there was a side of me in the beginning that was optimistic and saw this trip as perhaps a jump start in comedy, a new attitude, a chance to prove to myself that I am able to do well away from the comfort zone of home. Well, at this point, I really don't care. Situations, past events and circumstances have affected my thinking. This way of thinking, not caring, may bode well in next week's shows. What do I have to lose? What does it matter? I'm indifferent when looking forward to them. They are what they are, just moments in time and I can only control just one thing. Me.
Until then, I have a forehand to perfect.
In a sense, tennis has brought me here to Florida. Doing the comedy thing was just an excuse, a convenient explanation if you will for me to make the trek south.
I admit, there was a side of me in the beginning that was optimistic and saw this trip as perhaps a jump start in comedy, a new attitude, a chance to prove to myself that I am able to do well away from the comfort zone of home. Well, at this point, I really don't care. Situations, past events and circumstances have affected my thinking. This way of thinking, not caring, may bode well in next week's shows. What do I have to lose? What does it matter? I'm indifferent when looking forward to them. They are what they are, just moments in time and I can only control just one thing. Me.
Until then, I have a forehand to perfect.
The Great Florida Trip of 2012- Tag Acht
Surprisingly there were no screaming women, no altercations, no idling cars outside my door, nothing. It is truly paradise here at the Suburban Suites Extended Stay/Low income housing projects. I slept right through to 11am. Nice, huh? Maybe I'm becoming one of "them", I hear the faint whispers, "One of us" trail off around me. No, it can't be. I'm just down here to do some comedy shows, make some connections that sort of thing and work my tennis game. Next week I go and stay with my sister, I'm not becoming one of "them" "One of us." Shut up! "Welcome to the Hotel Suburban Suites Extended Stay, what a lovely place, what a lovely place. You can check-out any time you like, But you can never leave!"
What?! NO!!
At least there's a Souplantation/Sweet Tomatoes restaurant close by. At least I got that going for me. If I take part in a short phone survey I get 15% off my next visit, which will be tonight. That means a better tip for the woman that cleans my dirty plates off the table. They're so pleasant there, I'm not being sarcastic either, they really are all pleasant and nice. I've never encountered a surly member of The Souplantation/Sweet Tomatoes family. I bet they feel like they're a family. That's how they're trained, one big happy family up in there. Be nice is their motto. It probably says that right on the cover of the employee handbook. In fact, I'm thinking this, I should go down there today and fill out a job application. I'd get hired of course, then I could find out if my theories were right. It would be cool, it's not like I don't have a place to live or anything. "One of us." Wait!
Wow, I'm just a sucker. How susceptible am I to joining a cult? I'll just eat at the SoPlaSweeTo, not join it. I did join their Club Veg though, where I'll get coupons and the best offers straight to my inbox. Sweet!
Oh, and if you want to know what I did on day eight. Got up, went to Einstein Bros Bagels, did some writing and played tennis. Then ended the day at the Soup.
Now, it's off to the welfare office. WHAT!?
At least there's a Souplantation/Sweet Tomatoes restaurant close by. At least I got that going for me. If I take part in a short phone survey I get 15% off my next visit, which will be tonight. That means a better tip for the woman that cleans my dirty plates off the table. They're so pleasant there, I'm not being sarcastic either, they really are all pleasant and nice. I've never encountered a surly member of The Souplantation/Sweet Tomatoes family. I bet they feel like they're a family. That's how they're trained, one big happy family up in there. Be nice is their motto. It probably says that right on the cover of the employee handbook. In fact, I'm thinking this, I should go down there today and fill out a job application. I'd get hired of course, then I could find out if my theories were right. It would be cool, it's not like I don't have a place to live or anything. "One of us." Wait!
Wow, I'm just a sucker. How susceptible am I to joining a cult? I'll just eat at the SoPlaSweeTo, not join it. I did join their Club Veg though, where I'll get coupons and the best offers straight to my inbox. Sweet!
Oh, and if you want to know what I did on day eight. Got up, went to Einstein Bros Bagels, did some writing and played tennis. Then ended the day at the Soup.
Now, it's off to the welfare office. WHAT!?
The Great Florida Trip of 2012- And on the Seventh Day
I was woken at 6:14am by the soothing and gentle strains of a woman, "Can someone call 911!" The words pierced my eardrums and I realized I wasn't dreaming it, nor was I going to get out of bed and investigate it. After all, there are many other people staying here and all rooms are equipped with phones. The other thing, the hero business I'm not in, choosing otherwise to mind my own. And, if you really know me, you'd would realize that I don't like to be involved with pretty much: everything. My girlfriend can attest to that. #firstjokeoftheblog
I would help someone out in a pinch if I saw it happening or if it was happening to me. To actually, get out of bed, put on my blue sweat pants, tee shirt and Bruins cap on would be a "to do" and to me above and beyond the call of duty. I tend to think, someone else will take care of it, there can only be one hero. The one that decides to get out of bed.
The other reason I didn't get up was because she didn't have a frantic tone to her voice. It sounded more mundane, like she's said this many times over, kind of like that woman that works at the supermarket that calls for customer help in the dairy isle. It had that vibe to it.
The other thing I figured out was that I'm actually staying in a low income housing building. I can't prove it but that's what my senses are telling me based on the last couple of day's events. It's low incoming housing posing as an extended stay hotel. Thanks Craig's list! I found the deal there, Craigslist.org. What kind of name is Craig anyway? Craigslist has steered me wrong more times than Tim Tebow has thanked the Lord.
Only in Florida can you stay at such a place. Florida, the inspiration for the show, "Cops". Remember that show? When reality t.v as "real". Staying here I get the feeling that I am indeed on a reality show. I sleep in my clothes just in case the cops come to my door and accidentally arrest me. I don't want to be that guy with no shirt on. I won't have them pixelate my face either. I need the television credit.
Later in the morning I met up with my old tennis coach. He's a brilliant man and knows tennis inside and out. At one point he coached the Bryan Brothers, if you know tennis this is a huge deal. Also, he's just a cool guy to hang out with and talk about the world, that sort of thing. One of the reasons I came to Florida was to meet up with him and take a couple of lessons, because quite frankly, my forehand has been horrendous for a few years now. That problem got solved and I'm back on the path of having a world class forehand, in my age bracket of course, don't want to get too cocky. But, there will be some payback dished out this summer I assure you.
There was a breakthrough or two today for sure and it makes me feel great. I feel when my tennis game is on, I'm on in the game of life.
I would help someone out in a pinch if I saw it happening or if it was happening to me. To actually, get out of bed, put on my blue sweat pants, tee shirt and Bruins cap on would be a "to do" and to me above and beyond the call of duty. I tend to think, someone else will take care of it, there can only be one hero. The one that decides to get out of bed.
The other reason I didn't get up was because she didn't have a frantic tone to her voice. It sounded more mundane, like she's said this many times over, kind of like that woman that works at the supermarket that calls for customer help in the dairy isle. It had that vibe to it.
The other thing I figured out was that I'm actually staying in a low income housing building. I can't prove it but that's what my senses are telling me based on the last couple of day's events. It's low incoming housing posing as an extended stay hotel. Thanks Craig's list! I found the deal there, Craigslist.org. What kind of name is Craig anyway? Craigslist has steered me wrong more times than Tim Tebow has thanked the Lord.
Only in Florida can you stay at such a place. Florida, the inspiration for the show, "Cops". Remember that show? When reality t.v as "real". Staying here I get the feeling that I am indeed on a reality show. I sleep in my clothes just in case the cops come to my door and accidentally arrest me. I don't want to be that guy with no shirt on. I won't have them pixelate my face either. I need the television credit.
Later in the morning I met up with my old tennis coach. He's a brilliant man and knows tennis inside and out. At one point he coached the Bryan Brothers, if you know tennis this is a huge deal. Also, he's just a cool guy to hang out with and talk about the world, that sort of thing. One of the reasons I came to Florida was to meet up with him and take a couple of lessons, because quite frankly, my forehand has been horrendous for a few years now. That problem got solved and I'm back on the path of having a world class forehand, in my age bracket of course, don't want to get too cocky. But, there will be some payback dished out this summer I assure you.
There was a breakthrough or two today for sure and it makes me feel great. I feel when my tennis game is on, I'm on in the game of life.
The Great Florida Trip of 2012- Day 6- The Car Show
I've been in Florida for four days. The weather has been nice, I wanted to say on the cool side but that just wouldn't make sense since the temperature in Massachusetts is only in the teens at the moment. So, compared to home the weather's been spectacular, yet I cannot relax. It's been a stressful few days. I'm trying to relax and have fun but I'm not feeling it. Most of my worrying is money related, am I going to have enough, can I pay my bills etc...The other source of my stress is these damn hotels. They've all been pretty much shit holes except for the Motel 6 in Martinsburg West Virginia. That was a great place. But since then, I'm 0 for 3. Whatever you do, don't choose a hotel where you can park directly in front of your door. I know it seems comfortable and it gives you peace of mind but in reality it stinks. The number one reason why is the other people staying at the hotel. The last place I was in, in Melbourne, twice I got woken up around 3am because of some selfish pricks and their rude ways. One night someone cranked their stereo up full blast and last night an idiot parked in front of my room and left their car idling for 45 minutes. The sound of an idling car is so annoying it's not even funny.
The place I'm in now, where do I start. First, the room had a funk. A smell that is consistent with an outhouse/horse barn. Yeah, nice, right? It's gotten better, who knows maybe my belongings and I have absorbed the stank and I'll be shunned in public tomorrow. Secondly, I don't think they cleaned the bathroom really well either. Should I complain? Yeah, maybe I should say something tomorrow and they'll come up here and clean the bathroom and give me an air freshener.
Third, it looks as if the television set fell on the floor. There's several. No, more than several, more like there's a shit load of little nicks in the screen that form a bunch of tiny islands. It looks like Hawaii times ten. Sometimes I don't notice them. I probably won't say anything. I'll probably just let it go and just stew over it.
Fourth, oh how do I say it so I don't sound like a pretentious elitist douche bag, there's an element of white trashiness, characteristic in all the motels I've stayed in. Seriously, when I arrived today there was a half dozen kids playing in the parking lot. What the fuck?! To top it off, there's an "interracial couple", nothing wrong with it, having a Jerry Springer moment just as I'm walking by. The woman had something to say to her man. Now listen, I don't care if you have to say something to your man or your lady but have some class and keep it inside. People like this don't care who's around, it blows my mind. The woman, "Hey!" Man ignores her. Again, "Hey! Don't you want to know what she said to me?" Again, man ignores her. "She said, I don't know how you do it. You do all the work and he does nothing!" I just kept on walking and thankfully wasn't around for any more saga. All I'm saying, it so cliche' it's humorous and somewhat sad.
Basically, what I'm saying, I have to get into a higher tax bracket. These situations would go away with a little more d0 ray mi. It would be nice to stay somewhere one day where I walk through a lobby to an elevator and up to my room.
All was not bad on this day six. I ate at my favorite restaurant, Souplantation/Sweet Tomatoes. All you can eat salad and soup bar. My goal is to go there enough so they give me a hat. You have to have goals in life. I'm sure they'll be more about Souplantation/Sweet Tomatoes in the upcoming days. And, there was the car show.
THE CAR SHOW
The only reason I stopped at this thing was because I had an hour and a half to kill before I could check into my "hotel". It was pretty sweet and I'm glad I walked around and observed the cars. I like cars.
It was well organized and there was a radio station there broadcasting live!!! There were even lovely, scantily clad ladies walking around bringing men drinks and $5 hamburgers. Also, if you tipped them enough you could get your picture taken with them in front of one of the cars.
I would've chosen this one. Someone has a sense of humor.
A random stranger came up to me and asked me if the car above, the one running over an infant in Florida State garb, if the roof had been chopped or not. What? You're asking me? I'm wearing sweatpants, a tee shirt and my Bruins cap, does it look like I know anything about cars? I replied, "I like sports. Do you like sports?" He looked at me like I ran over his infant son, then walked away.
Then I saw it. My dream car. A Camaro.
The place I'm in now, where do I start. First, the room had a funk. A smell that is consistent with an outhouse/horse barn. Yeah, nice, right? It's gotten better, who knows maybe my belongings and I have absorbed the stank and I'll be shunned in public tomorrow. Secondly, I don't think they cleaned the bathroom really well either. Should I complain? Yeah, maybe I should say something tomorrow and they'll come up here and clean the bathroom and give me an air freshener.
Third, it looks as if the television set fell on the floor. There's several. No, more than several, more like there's a shit load of little nicks in the screen that form a bunch of tiny islands. It looks like Hawaii times ten. Sometimes I don't notice them. I probably won't say anything. I'll probably just let it go and just stew over it.
Fourth, oh how do I say it so I don't sound like a pretentious elitist douche bag, there's an element of white trashiness, characteristic in all the motels I've stayed in. Seriously, when I arrived today there was a half dozen kids playing in the parking lot. What the fuck?! To top it off, there's an "interracial couple", nothing wrong with it, having a Jerry Springer moment just as I'm walking by. The woman had something to say to her man. Now listen, I don't care if you have to say something to your man or your lady but have some class and keep it inside. People like this don't care who's around, it blows my mind. The woman, "Hey!" Man ignores her. Again, "Hey! Don't you want to know what she said to me?" Again, man ignores her. "She said, I don't know how you do it. You do all the work and he does nothing!" I just kept on walking and thankfully wasn't around for any more saga. All I'm saying, it so cliche' it's humorous and somewhat sad.
Basically, what I'm saying, I have to get into a higher tax bracket. These situations would go away with a little more d0 ray mi. It would be nice to stay somewhere one day where I walk through a lobby to an elevator and up to my room.
All was not bad on this day six. I ate at my favorite restaurant, Souplantation/Sweet Tomatoes. All you can eat salad and soup bar. My goal is to go there enough so they give me a hat. You have to have goals in life. I'm sure they'll be more about Souplantation/Sweet Tomatoes in the upcoming days. And, there was the car show.
THE CAR SHOW
The only reason I stopped at this thing was because I had an hour and a half to kill before I could check into my "hotel". It was pretty sweet and I'm glad I walked around and observed the cars. I like cars.
It was well organized and there was a radio station there broadcasting live!!! There were even lovely, scantily clad ladies walking around bringing men drinks and $5 hamburgers. Also, if you tipped them enough you could get your picture taken with them in front of one of the cars.
I would've chosen this one. Someone has a sense of humor.
A random stranger came up to me and asked me if the car above, the one running over an infant in Florida State garb, if the roof had been chopped or not. What? You're asking me? I'm wearing sweatpants, a tee shirt and my Bruins cap, does it look like I know anything about cars? I replied, "I like sports. Do you like sports?" He looked at me like I ran over his infant son, then walked away.
Then I saw it. My dream car. A Camaro.
The Great Florida Trip of 2012- Day V
The day began like any other day, filled with hope, optimism and the promise of producing something great in regards to the written word. I awoke feeling good about the night before, fart dream and all. I felt like I moved forward the night before, like I got better, like I did my job.
I woke around 10am, by design, and starting writing the day four blog. A couple of hours later, after completing the blog and catching up on my scrabble and words with friends games, I put on my blue sweat pants, a tee shirt, my Bruins cap, grabbed my notebooks and headed out the door. My plan was to walk down to the Starbucks I stopped into the first night I was in town. Along the way, I'd stop into Bank of America, withdraw some funds and be on my way.
My first step outside I noticed a chill in the air and after a few more steps I contemplated grabbing my hoodie but I decided not to. I knew once I got rolling I'd warm up and I was right. As I walked I thought of all the good things yet to happen and about all the goals I'm going to meet. Better yet, I dreamed about extraordinary accomplishments.
I didn't realize it but I had been walking for almost 40 minutes and no sign of the Bank of America I had seen on a previous night while driving. I began to doubt myself and consulted my phone. It's amazing that I can do that, when in doubt check your Blackberry, it has all the answers. Fortunately, I was on the right path and just three tenths of a mile away. I also realized that the Starbucks I was hoping to go to and get some work done was at least another mile away. By this time I was famished, and if you want to know why read day four and the barbecue incident. Luckily, there was a diner across the street and the name of it had me sold. It was called Fred and Ethel's. I knew exactly what I was going to order before entering, a BLT on rye with fries and that's what I got.
It was delicious. The fries were cooked perfectly, the bacon, the extra pickles and coleslaw were awesome. To top it off, great coffee. I was happy, pleased and most importantly, full.
I sat and people watched. A family came in. They pushed in an old women I'm assuming was the grandmother of the group. Then I assume her son and two grandchildren, or her son, daughter and the daughter's husband. I'm not sure what the relationship was but that's what I'm going with. The old woman looked very old. She could hardly sit up in her wheel chair. She leaned to one side and the woman kept getting up to straighten her out and feed her at the same time. Her son, who was an older man himself, would wipe her face after a few bites. These people were constantly helping all the while eating their own lunches. I've never seen anything like it. Then I began to feel sad. I took off my glasses so I wouldn't have a sharp view of the place. Everything was a blur. I started to get mad because life is cruel sometimes, because that's what this woman was reduced to. It brought back memories of the last time I saw my grandmother, how she didn't look like herself. How she didn't know who she was or how she didn't even know who I was.
I was impressed how this family cared for this woman, taking time to put her first and feed her. They did it matter of factually too. It made me think. Could I do that? I would have to, no question. I left with a feeling of thankfulness and a greater sense of family. No words in the notebook though.
I walked back to the hotel re-planning my afternoon. I'd get a coffee and go to my room and write. I did write a few a ideas but nothing I was proud of. The coffee was good and my thoughts turned towards another show.
The show was at the Port St. Lucie Civic Center in a side ballroom that probably held a couple of hundred people and was close to full. The majority of the crowd, I would say, the average age was fifty something. I got nervous and retreated to my notebook to look for some suitable material. I knew I had to change it up. I felt better and hit the stage. It was an unmitigated disaster and one of the worst sets I've had in a long time. Basically, I ate my cock. Like, really ate it bad. I made the rookie mistake of taking my little black notebook on stage with me. At one point I turned and looked at it because I was bombing hard and maybe there was something on that list that would work. I didn't see anything because I couldn't see any of the words. Well, that's kind of a no-no on a Saturday night and feel like a piece of crap because of it. Being called out on it is even worse. I don't look at notes on stage. I haven't done it in a couple of years. I have no idea why I did it last night.
As I write this, I think of the family at the diner. My little trials and tribulations are put in perspective, they don't matter. It was just one show. I'll wake up tomorrow and head back to work. I'll wake up with the same hope and optimism.
I woke around 10am, by design, and starting writing the day four blog. A couple of hours later, after completing the blog and catching up on my scrabble and words with friends games, I put on my blue sweat pants, a tee shirt, my Bruins cap, grabbed my notebooks and headed out the door. My plan was to walk down to the Starbucks I stopped into the first night I was in town. Along the way, I'd stop into Bank of America, withdraw some funds and be on my way.
My first step outside I noticed a chill in the air and after a few more steps I contemplated grabbing my hoodie but I decided not to. I knew once I got rolling I'd warm up and I was right. As I walked I thought of all the good things yet to happen and about all the goals I'm going to meet. Better yet, I dreamed about extraordinary accomplishments.
I didn't realize it but I had been walking for almost 40 minutes and no sign of the Bank of America I had seen on a previous night while driving. I began to doubt myself and consulted my phone. It's amazing that I can do that, when in doubt check your Blackberry, it has all the answers. Fortunately, I was on the right path and just three tenths of a mile away. I also realized that the Starbucks I was hoping to go to and get some work done was at least another mile away. By this time I was famished, and if you want to know why read day four and the barbecue incident. Luckily, there was a diner across the street and the name of it had me sold. It was called Fred and Ethel's. I knew exactly what I was going to order before entering, a BLT on rye with fries and that's what I got.
It was delicious. The fries were cooked perfectly, the bacon, the extra pickles and coleslaw were awesome. To top it off, great coffee. I was happy, pleased and most importantly, full.
I sat and people watched. A family came in. They pushed in an old women I'm assuming was the grandmother of the group. Then I assume her son and two grandchildren, or her son, daughter and the daughter's husband. I'm not sure what the relationship was but that's what I'm going with. The old woman looked very old. She could hardly sit up in her wheel chair. She leaned to one side and the woman kept getting up to straighten her out and feed her at the same time. Her son, who was an older man himself, would wipe her face after a few bites. These people were constantly helping all the while eating their own lunches. I've never seen anything like it. Then I began to feel sad. I took off my glasses so I wouldn't have a sharp view of the place. Everything was a blur. I started to get mad because life is cruel sometimes, because that's what this woman was reduced to. It brought back memories of the last time I saw my grandmother, how she didn't look like herself. How she didn't know who she was or how she didn't even know who I was.
I was impressed how this family cared for this woman, taking time to put her first and feed her. They did it matter of factually too. It made me think. Could I do that? I would have to, no question. I left with a feeling of thankfulness and a greater sense of family. No words in the notebook though.
I walked back to the hotel re-planning my afternoon. I'd get a coffee and go to my room and write. I did write a few a ideas but nothing I was proud of. The coffee was good and my thoughts turned towards another show.
The show was at the Port St. Lucie Civic Center in a side ballroom that probably held a couple of hundred people and was close to full. The majority of the crowd, I would say, the average age was fifty something. I got nervous and retreated to my notebook to look for some suitable material. I knew I had to change it up. I felt better and hit the stage. It was an unmitigated disaster and one of the worst sets I've had in a long time. Basically, I ate my cock. Like, really ate it bad. I made the rookie mistake of taking my little black notebook on stage with me. At one point I turned and looked at it because I was bombing hard and maybe there was something on that list that would work. I didn't see anything because I couldn't see any of the words. Well, that's kind of a no-no on a Saturday night and feel like a piece of crap because of it. Being called out on it is even worse. I don't look at notes on stage. I haven't done it in a couple of years. I have no idea why I did it last night.
As I write this, I think of the family at the diner. My little trials and tribulations are put in perspective, they don't matter. It was just one show. I'll wake up tomorrow and head back to work. I'll wake up with the same hope and optimism.
The Great Florida Trip of 2012- Day Fowa
Just a special note...I'm better at writing in the morning, so these accounts are blogged the following day. My mind is clearer in the morning, in fact, a lot of writing books tell you that you should write the first minute you get up. The problem with that is I'm always peeing in the first minute, so I usually starting in the second minute, sometimes on the third minute, depending on how much I had to drink the night before. Today I started on the 49th minute because of last minute wheeling and dealing of setting up the best motel deal for me. And, I can successfully say, I did. But, that's day five material, I'm here to talk about day four.
It occurred to me, yesterday(day 4) that there's a vast difference from being on vacation and working. I'm in Florida to work. I've been here on vacation, so I know the difference. Vacation is fun because you forget about the work, you put it away. That part of the brain is dark, the lights are off, there's nobody home. It feels good and you're at ease. Working, is different. Calls have to be done, goals have to be accomplished and bottom line, money and or important connections have to be made. It's a stress and a bit of a bummer because I'M IN FLORIDA.
It's the routine that counts. Doing the same routine that I do back home is key. It put me into a good place and I feel good this morning. I feel like my old self again. Two things make me feel at home: tennis and comedy. I did both of them yesterday. The tennis was less than stellar but it felt great to be outside amongst the palm trees and hit tennis balls. I do love palm trees.
The comedy portion of last evening was a lot of fun as well. A friend of mine from Boston, who lives here now, introduced me to a local fellow/comedian who kind of acted as my informal guide for the evening. He's a very gregarious and energetic chap who shares the same passion for barbecue as I do. He recommended a place right down the street from where the gig was called, "Slow and Low". Perfect name for a barbecue joint. We met there before the show. Long story short, the ribs were spectacular, just like he said they'd be. We shared many laughs and I'm happy to say I met a new friend here in Florida. Typical guy bonding conversation, it was cool.
The only problem of the night was after I ate. You see, being on the road, your eating routine changes, and for some reason, maybe it was the hot barbecue sauce I smeared all over my juicy succulent baby back ribs, I had to run to the bathroom. It was horrific but I want to make perfectly clear that it didn't diminish the meal whatsoever. It was just having normal good food that did the trick. I thought that was the end of it but little did I know.
As my new friend and I were walking into the establishment where the comedy show was, I innocently squeezed out a slight fart. But, it wasn't quite a fart. In which I exclaimed, "I think I just shit myself!" To which my new friend replied, "Go check it out, dude." Then proceeded to laugh and laugh and laugh. To his credit, he did check on me when I was on the "thrown". I said, "I dodged a bullet, it was just a wet fart." He laughed and almost shit himself. Was it an omen for the comedy show?
Quite. I had a great set, other than a bit of a lull when I did the newer personal material that needs work, but I was pleased nonetheless. My buddy went up and did a guesty and ripped it as well. We celebrated our triumph by having a beer and watching the headliner, a Mr. John Ferrentino, who mixes magic and comedy and is quite good at it.
Well, what happened next was insane. My new friend farted. He owned up to it, which I respect. But, this "thing" was so bad it was good. Good in the sense that it did its job as being gross. You guys know what I'm talking about, right? It's one of those stinkers that 50 years from now I could run into this guy and say, "Remember that fart?" And he'd know exactly what I was talking about. This fart definitely had that, "do you remember where you were" characteristics reminiscent of past horrific events in world history. Oh, this guy's name is Duncan. I won't give his last name but it starts with the letter "J". Duncan J. @funduncan.
One more thing, this fart influenced me. Seriously. I, and this is no lie, had a dream last night that I was at a bar. A dude cut a tremendous fart and people scattered. The next group of people I was talking to, someone did the same and we scattered again. Then, a guy came up to me and asked me if I farted and I said, "Yes, and tell Patrick I said you're welcome." Whatever that means I don't know but I dreamed, I had a dream about disgusting farts that you remember. Crazy. Thanks Duncan. This guy's a good man and I thank him again for the hospitality he showed me.
Here's where I did the show:
It occurred to me, yesterday(day 4) that there's a vast difference from being on vacation and working. I'm in Florida to work. I've been here on vacation, so I know the difference. Vacation is fun because you forget about the work, you put it away. That part of the brain is dark, the lights are off, there's nobody home. It feels good and you're at ease. Working, is different. Calls have to be done, goals have to be accomplished and bottom line, money and or important connections have to be made. It's a stress and a bit of a bummer because I'M IN FLORIDA.
It's the routine that counts. Doing the same routine that I do back home is key. It put me into a good place and I feel good this morning. I feel like my old self again. Two things make me feel at home: tennis and comedy. I did both of them yesterday. The tennis was less than stellar but it felt great to be outside amongst the palm trees and hit tennis balls. I do love palm trees.
The comedy portion of last evening was a lot of fun as well. A friend of mine from Boston, who lives here now, introduced me to a local fellow/comedian who kind of acted as my informal guide for the evening. He's a very gregarious and energetic chap who shares the same passion for barbecue as I do. He recommended a place right down the street from where the gig was called, "Slow and Low". Perfect name for a barbecue joint. We met there before the show. Long story short, the ribs were spectacular, just like he said they'd be. We shared many laughs and I'm happy to say I met a new friend here in Florida. Typical guy bonding conversation, it was cool.
The only problem of the night was after I ate. You see, being on the road, your eating routine changes, and for some reason, maybe it was the hot barbecue sauce I smeared all over my juicy succulent baby back ribs, I had to run to the bathroom. It was horrific but I want to make perfectly clear that it didn't diminish the meal whatsoever. It was just having normal good food that did the trick. I thought that was the end of it but little did I know.
As my new friend and I were walking into the establishment where the comedy show was, I innocently squeezed out a slight fart. But, it wasn't quite a fart. In which I exclaimed, "I think I just shit myself!" To which my new friend replied, "Go check it out, dude." Then proceeded to laugh and laugh and laugh. To his credit, he did check on me when I was on the "thrown". I said, "I dodged a bullet, it was just a wet fart." He laughed and almost shit himself. Was it an omen for the comedy show?
Quite. I had a great set, other than a bit of a lull when I did the newer personal material that needs work, but I was pleased nonetheless. My buddy went up and did a guesty and ripped it as well. We celebrated our triumph by having a beer and watching the headliner, a Mr. John Ferrentino, who mixes magic and comedy and is quite good at it.
Well, what happened next was insane. My new friend farted. He owned up to it, which I respect. But, this "thing" was so bad it was good. Good in the sense that it did its job as being gross. You guys know what I'm talking about, right? It's one of those stinkers that 50 years from now I could run into this guy and say, "Remember that fart?" And he'd know exactly what I was talking about. This fart definitely had that, "do you remember where you were" characteristics reminiscent of past horrific events in world history. Oh, this guy's name is Duncan. I won't give his last name but it starts with the letter "J". Duncan J. @funduncan.
One more thing, this fart influenced me. Seriously. I, and this is no lie, had a dream last night that I was at a bar. A dude cut a tremendous fart and people scattered. The next group of people I was talking to, someone did the same and we scattered again. Then, a guy came up to me and asked me if I farted and I said, "Yes, and tell Patrick I said you're welcome." Whatever that means I don't know but I dreamed, I had a dream about disgusting farts that you remember. Crazy. Thanks Duncan. This guy's a good man and I thank him again for the hospitality he showed me.
Here's where I did the show:
The Great Florida Trip of 2012- Day Three
At approximately 11am, I entered the state of Florida. It was a smooth penetration, sorry I couldn't resist the sexual innuendo. I don't know, maybe driving into Florida turned me on a bit, who knows. However, my lust for Florida was quelled when I saw this sign: 
Who knew.
What a feeling it was to shred the hoodie and roll down the windows and let the warmth in. I'm talking about the weather now, not sex. There's something that automatically clicks when I'm in this type of weather. It plays tricks on my mind, because all I'm thinking about is the upcoming summer, and that's weird because summer is another five months away. I forget when I get back it'll be winter and that I'll have to wait weeks before I get this feeling again.
What is it with firework stores next to hotels? Last night, I spent the night next to a fireworks outlet and today when I got to the hotel, yes, you guessed it, fireworks store. Why are firework stores open all year round? Are Halloween stores and Christmas stores open all year round? Yes...yes they are. Whoops. There goes that argument about stores being open all year round because of just one big day. I was hoping to find some funny but...wait, no I don't see why firework stores are open all the time, no there's no reason to light an M-80 off in January. Unless. You're a complete and utter douche bag or a gang member. Or both.
I guess down these parts, yeah I said, down these parts, I guess one can tell what a town is like by the amount of firework stores they have. In my hometown we have two strip clubs, so who am I to judge Melbourne, Florida. I'm guessing they have a bail bonds place too?
Who knew.
What a feeling it was to shred the hoodie and roll down the windows and let the warmth in. I'm talking about the weather now, not sex. There's something that automatically clicks when I'm in this type of weather. It plays tricks on my mind, because all I'm thinking about is the upcoming summer, and that's weird because summer is another five months away. I forget when I get back it'll be winter and that I'll have to wait weeks before I get this feeling again.
What is it with firework stores next to hotels? Last night, I spent the night next to a fireworks outlet and today when I got to the hotel, yes, you guessed it, fireworks store. Why are firework stores open all year round? Are Halloween stores and Christmas stores open all year round? Yes...yes they are. Whoops. There goes that argument about stores being open all year round because of just one big day. I was hoping to find some funny but...wait, no I don't see why firework stores are open all the time, no there's no reason to light an M-80 off in January. Unless. You're a complete and utter douche bag or a gang member. Or both.
I guess down these parts, yeah I said, down these parts, I guess one can tell what a town is like by the amount of firework stores they have. In my hometown we have two strip clubs, so who am I to judge Melbourne, Florida. I'm guessing they have a bail bonds place too?
