Every year, on the last Saturday in February, my friend pulls the world together for the latest and greatest holiday, the Celebration of Life.
Food abounds. Kegs pour endlessly. Music wafts through the air. Christmas lights lead the way through the enchanting garden all the way to the abandoned train tracks that lead your mind down the overgrown trail... We contemplate where we've been, we look at where we might be going, but we always know that back down at the party we are going to celebrate the good things.
The rest of the world hasn't caught on just yet, but this year all that changed with the Rabid Fox Attack.
It all started with a whiz. One celebrater wandered into the woods, following the lights and flowers, when out of nowhere a "dog" bit him on the ankle. He soon realized, however, that no dog had a tale so bushy. Walking toward the party to warn the masses, he was bit again, and again and again.
The fox then attacked another celebrater, this time a clever guy trying to document the moment on digifilm. This time the fox was wildly slung like a wet rag attached to his foot, ripping his jeans into shreds before getting trapped under the wheelbarrow.
There it stayed, scratching at the sides, for hours. The children were playing "Run Away From the Fox". The women were all sort of forlorn, with long, worried looks on their face that the fox might be scared. And the men stood around discussing ways the fox might die.
Animal Control eventually showed up and took the fox away in a net. But it made front page news in the Tallahassee Democrat's Sunday Paper.
Now, we are all worried about our friend who might have rabies. He has to get a lot of shots.
But we will celebrate forever the year of the Rabid Fox.
Monday, March 3, 2008
First Beach Day of Winter
When I lived in California, winter didn't end until mid-June, when Spring/Fall rolled around, literally rolling through the streets with the fog. And even then a day at the beach meant sweaters and blankets.
It was only February, 16th as I laid on the beach in a bikini. The air was a bit breezy. I did occasionally pull my towel over my shoulders to sheild the cold air. But it was still February and I was on the beach. Only in Florida.
There were five footballs around us, most being thrown obnoxiously close to our heads and towels. Two girls in alternating swim suits (pink bottoms, black tops, black bottoms, pink tops... you get the picture) threw their football with exceptional lack of skill as they flung their hair side to side. A few tourists in sweatshirts fed the seagulls, much to our chagrin, and we laughed as the birds flocked the surrounding area. A guy on a unicycle motioned to one of the mix-matched bikini girls for the football, which proceeded to knock him off the unicycle with a weary "Ohh!!!" and thud.
The beach was packed. It was the day of the Breast Cancer Awareness National Marathon. There were pink flags everywhere. Some dude had created a three-story bicycle (use your imagination, it probably comes close) and was wheeling it down the sidewalks. Walkers made their way across the soft, cool sand. The board shorts were out. The surfers cozied up against the peer. The folding chairs were beginning to make their indentations into the edge of the continent.
And Floridians were welcoming the warmth of eternal summer. Just another day at the beach... in February.
It was only February, 16th as I laid on the beach in a bikini. The air was a bit breezy. I did occasionally pull my towel over my shoulders to sheild the cold air. But it was still February and I was on the beach. Only in Florida.
There were five footballs around us, most being thrown obnoxiously close to our heads and towels. Two girls in alternating swim suits (pink bottoms, black tops, black bottoms, pink tops... you get the picture) threw their football with exceptional lack of skill as they flung their hair side to side. A few tourists in sweatshirts fed the seagulls, much to our chagrin, and we laughed as the birds flocked the surrounding area. A guy on a unicycle motioned to one of the mix-matched bikini girls for the football, which proceeded to knock him off the unicycle with a weary "Ohh!!!" and thud.
The beach was packed. It was the day of the Breast Cancer Awareness National Marathon. There were pink flags everywhere. Some dude had created a three-story bicycle (use your imagination, it probably comes close) and was wheeling it down the sidewalks. Walkers made their way across the soft, cool sand. The board shorts were out. The surfers cozied up against the peer. The folding chairs were beginning to make their indentations into the edge of the continent.
And Floridians were welcoming the warmth of eternal summer. Just another day at the beach... in February.
Shangrlatida
I love music. Especially good music. So, when a good friend told me I had to check out the Shangrala CD Release party at Jack Rabbits on February 15th, I headed her advice. Particularly because she doesn't usually recommend things of this nature, so when she does, I pay attention.
There is something even better than just good music, in general. It's good music that comes out of your home town. It just feels better. For some reason it has this connectedness. Not that I have any claim to this goodness, but it makes me feel a little cooler that I get to experience it before others, perhaps. (Although not that many others, as I have just discovered it.) Or that years down the road, pending possible great success, I can say I knew them when. Or whatever it is. Its just a great thing.
Shangrala is really good. And they're from Jacksonville. Even betta.
There is something even better than just good music, in general. It's good music that comes out of your home town. It just feels better. For some reason it has this connectedness. Not that I have any claim to this goodness, but it makes me feel a little cooler that I get to experience it before others, perhaps. (Although not that many others, as I have just discovered it.) Or that years down the road, pending possible great success, I can say I knew them when. Or whatever it is. Its just a great thing.
Shangrala is really good. And they're from Jacksonville. Even betta.
Bumper Pool
I always thought Bumper Pool was an Irish Game. I so associate it with my time in Oakland, my time at McNally's, the best Irish Pub possibly in the whole world. Even the building is green.
There was where I learned to play bumper pool, and there was where I thought I had left it. It was one of those sweet somethings of that yesteryear of California.
And then I found one at Petes Bar in Atlantic Beach. And Petes kind of contains so many of the things McNally's meant to me. Just people being people. A great Jukebox. Cigarette smoke (that I hate, actually, but still). Good, cheap beer. A certain ease. Oh - and let's not forget - Erotic Photo Hunt. Thank you.
There was where I learned to play bumper pool, and there was where I thought I had left it. It was one of those sweet somethings of that yesteryear of California.
And then I found one at Petes Bar in Atlantic Beach. And Petes kind of contains so many of the things McNally's meant to me. Just people being people. A great Jukebox. Cigarette smoke (that I hate, actually, but still). Good, cheap beer. A certain ease. Oh - and let's not forget - Erotic Photo Hunt. Thank you.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
