I was recently told a story about a young woman's experience upon entering Seminary you might find interesting.
On her second week there, she, along with her fellow freshman classmates, was summoned to the fellowship area where the Mother Superior assigned the newcomers their chores. The chores were mostly what you would expect, things like kitchen and maintenance duties as well as alter duties in the cathedral.
What made this seminary different was that it belongs to the order of The Sisters of Mercy and graduates become registered nurses as well as nuns. Accordingly, part of the students' duties is working in the nearby assisted living facility for retired priests and nuns, a place where they can get hands-on nursing experience.
As anyone who has ever been in such a facility knows, the nurse's duties can range from feeding and giving medications to their patients, to bathing and dressing them. It turned out that such was the case for Sister Clara who had to bathe and dress an old priest after he soiled his bed.
After about a week or so, it became apparent that Sister Clara was devoting an inordinate amount of attention to the old Father and, being somewhat concerned, the Mother Superior called the youngster into her office for a conference.
When quizzed about the amount of time being spent on this particular patient the young nurse explained that whenever she bathed the Father he would get an erection, something not uncommon and something the nurses were taught to ignore. However, this case was different as the Father was particularly well endowed and it was sort of a running joke among the Sisters.
According to my source, the conversation went something like this;
Mother Superior; "Yes my child, we are all aware of Father Benjamin's condition, so tell me, what happened."
Sister Clara; "Well, as I said, when I was bathing him, he got very excited. I tried to ignore it, as you instructed Mother, but he insisted that it was the key to heaven and that I had the lock. He said if he could just put his key into my lock we would both experience heaven. And you know what Mother? He was right!
Mother Superior; "Why that son-of-a-bitch! He told me it was Gabriel's trumpet!"
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
Monday, April 26, 2010
I Do Hereby Proclaim Ronald Reagan, Public Enemy #1
I cringe every year when Earth Day rolls around. It isn't because I don't like Earth Day, in fact, I revel in it. No, I cringe because I was there for the first one. The promise of a new day. A new horizon of enlightenment. Wrong!
A new PBS program featuring the founders of Earth Day on its 40th anniversary once again drove home to me the immense damage done to our country by Ronald Reagan and his head-up-your-ass neo-con cronies. Punch's post on "Just Say No" reminded me just how regressively stupid that administration and most of its policies were.
Richard Nixon was the first president to aggressively pursue an alternative energy policy, followed by Jimmy Carter who declared "war" on energy. The result was the formation of an Energy Department and a bevy of programs and tax credits for alternative energy research and development.
For the first time, through your own efforts, you could make your electric meter run backwards and be credited for sending energy back to the grid.
As Michelle Obama's garden symbolizes healthy eating, Carter placed solar water heaters on the roof of the White House to encourage all of us to seek new ways to conserve and reduce our energy footprint.
Less than half a decade later, with much fanfare and media attention, Reagan had the solar cells removed. I guess his ding-bat wife's astrologer said it wasn't in the stars. But that wasn't all he had removed. He also removed all of the energy tax-credit programs and reduced the Energy Department's budget by 80%, leaving only a shell of staff in place.
Altogether, by the end of this eight-year disaster, our nation's energy and environmental progress had been set back by 30-years or more.
The recent health care debacle again highlighted just how far we've regressed. To those who claim that Obama is trying to do to much, I offer the following, legislation passed or spawned during Lyndon Johnson's 6-year presidency:
The Civil Rights Act of 1964, banning job discrimination and segregation in public places.
The Voting Rights Act of 1965, outlawed literacy and other voter qualification tests designed to disqualify African-Americans.
The Civil Rights Act of 1968, banning housing discrimination and extending constitutional protections to native Americans.
The Economic Opportunity Act of 1964, creating the Office of Economic Opportunity which spawned the Job Corps, Volunteers of Service to America, Neighborhood Youth Corps, Model Cities Program, Food Stamps, and Community Action Agencies.
Elementary and Secondary Education Act of 1965, providing federal funding to education.
Head Start, a significant pre-school education program.
Higher Education Act of 1965, federal funding for higher education, created the Pell Grant program.
Social Security Act of 1965, created Medicare and Medicaid.
The National Endowment for the Arts
The Corporation for Public Broadcasting
The John F. Kennedy Center for the Performing Arts
The Hirshhorn Museum and Sculpture Garden of the Smithsonian Institution.
The Department of Transportation
The Clean Air, Water Quality and Clean Water Restoration Acts which included:
The Wilderness Act 1964
Endangered Species Act 1966
Land and Water Conservation Act 1965
Solid Waste Disposal Act 1965
Motor Vehicle Pollution Control Act 1965
National Historic Preservation Act 1965
Presidents Nixon, Carter, and Ford each thought these programs important enough to not only fund them, but even expand them. Ronald Reagan did everything he could to cut funding and even eliminate them altogether.
The Reagan administration gave birth to the mean-tempered, mean-spirited political modus-operandi that doesn't answer a question but attacks the person who raises it. His administration gave birth to the immoral greed and gluttony brought to the tipping point by the looters of the Bush administration.
Therefore, on this 40th Anniversary of Earth Day, I, Mr. Charleston, do hereby proclaim Ronald Reagan public enemy #1 and do hereby issue a posthumus citizen's arrest for the president who did more damage to my country than any other politician in my lifetime.
A new PBS program featuring the founders of Earth Day on its 40th anniversary once again drove home to me the immense damage done to our country by Ronald Reagan and his head-up-your-ass neo-con cronies. Punch's post on "Just Say No" reminded me just how regressively stupid that administration and most of its policies were.
Richard Nixon was the first president to aggressively pursue an alternative energy policy, followed by Jimmy Carter who declared "war" on energy. The result was the formation of an Energy Department and a bevy of programs and tax credits for alternative energy research and development.
For the first time, through your own efforts, you could make your electric meter run backwards and be credited for sending energy back to the grid.
As Michelle Obama's garden symbolizes healthy eating, Carter placed solar water heaters on the roof of the White House to encourage all of us to seek new ways to conserve and reduce our energy footprint.
Less than half a decade later, with much fanfare and media attention, Reagan had the solar cells removed. I guess his ding-bat wife's astrologer said it wasn't in the stars. But that wasn't all he had removed. He also removed all of the energy tax-credit programs and reduced the Energy Department's budget by 80%, leaving only a shell of staff in place.
Altogether, by the end of this eight-year disaster, our nation's energy and environmental progress had been set back by 30-years or more.
The recent health care debacle again highlighted just how far we've regressed. To those who claim that Obama is trying to do to much, I offer the following, legislation passed or spawned during Lyndon Johnson's 6-year presidency:
The Civil Rights Act of 1964, banning job discrimination and segregation in public places.
The Voting Rights Act of 1965, outlawed literacy and other voter qualification tests designed to disqualify African-Americans.
The Civil Rights Act of 1968, banning housing discrimination and extending constitutional protections to native Americans.
The Economic Opportunity Act of 1964, creating the Office of Economic Opportunity which spawned the Job Corps, Volunteers of Service to America, Neighborhood Youth Corps, Model Cities Program, Food Stamps, and Community Action Agencies.
Elementary and Secondary Education Act of 1965, providing federal funding to education.
Head Start, a significant pre-school education program.
Higher Education Act of 1965, federal funding for higher education, created the Pell Grant program.
Social Security Act of 1965, created Medicare and Medicaid.
The National Endowment for the Arts
The Corporation for Public Broadcasting
The John F. Kennedy Center for the Performing Arts
The Hirshhorn Museum and Sculpture Garden of the Smithsonian Institution.
The Department of Transportation
The Clean Air, Water Quality and Clean Water Restoration Acts which included:
The Wilderness Act 1964
Endangered Species Act 1966
Land and Water Conservation Act 1965
Solid Waste Disposal Act 1965
Motor Vehicle Pollution Control Act 1965
National Historic Preservation Act 1965
Presidents Nixon, Carter, and Ford each thought these programs important enough to not only fund them, but even expand them. Ronald Reagan did everything he could to cut funding and even eliminate them altogether.
The Reagan administration gave birth to the mean-tempered, mean-spirited political modus-operandi that doesn't answer a question but attacks the person who raises it. His administration gave birth to the immoral greed and gluttony brought to the tipping point by the looters of the Bush administration.
Therefore, on this 40th Anniversary of Earth Day, I, Mr. Charleston, do hereby proclaim Ronald Reagan public enemy #1 and do hereby issue a posthumus citizen's arrest for the president who did more damage to my country than any other politician in my lifetime.
Thursday, April 22, 2010
The Weatherman Sucketh
It was a typical summer evening thunderstorm. The kind that happens nearly every day this time of year. You could hear it roiling in the distance. Soon, gusting wind rattled the shutters and whipped the trees. Lightning flashes remind me to turn off anything you can't afford to lose. CRACK! And make it quick.
The heavy drops pinging off of the chimney cap are followed closely by a torrential downpour. The cats make a bee-line for the door and stake out their respective places to preen and curl up for a nap. It's time to settle in for a quiet evening at home, in this case, with an old black & white murder mystery on television.
I know that watching TV during a lightning storm is risky business. I could lose my mystery, and my television, at any moment but I feel confident the surge protector will save the TV from anything but a direct hit and I'm willing to chance it. After all, nothing short of unplugging everything and stacking them in the middle of the room can save appliances from a direct hit.
No, the interruption I was unprepared for came from a different source altogether.
Just as the plot was beginning to thicken and the dirty deed was about to be done... my Friendly Weatherman appears on the screen, accompanied by a squawking alarm sound, to inform me that it's raining! And furthermore, it's not only raining here but all over the rest of Baja Georgia as well. He assures me that I'm not to worry because he will be there all evening so as to let me know the instant there are any further developments. All of this was accompanied by the very latest in animated charts and graphs and arrows and squiggly lines. After all... "We Care."
The program returns to the screen only to have half of it covered by the station logo and a little map of Baja Georgia that shows all of the counties in which it's raining, and a crawl (complete with elevator bells) at the bottom of the screen informing us of all of the above.
Just about the time I'm beginning to pick up the pieces, they cut to commercial.
I'm livid. I've missed the essential plot development of a murder mystery I was really looking forward to so that someone could give me information that anyone but a blathering idiot already knew in the first place. The whole thing turns me into a blathering idiot and I begin to hallucinate, aloud, about the joy of getting my hands around my Friendly Weatherman's throat. (All of this to the delight of my wife who has now found something more entertaining to watch than a movie.)
Later in the evening, after the storm has passed, another crawl appears on the screen (with elevator bells) informing us that several streets downtown are impassable due to flooding. Now that's worthwhile information, done properly.
The whole thing is a matter of taste. Is it really necessary to interrupt programming for every thunderstorm that comes along?
I, for one, have become really weary of sensationalized weathercasting altogether. Wouldn't it be nice, for a change, if instead of predicting a 40% chance of rain the weatherman announced a 60% chance of sunshine?
The heavy drops pinging off of the chimney cap are followed closely by a torrential downpour. The cats make a bee-line for the door and stake out their respective places to preen and curl up for a nap. It's time to settle in for a quiet evening at home, in this case, with an old black & white murder mystery on television.
I know that watching TV during a lightning storm is risky business. I could lose my mystery, and my television, at any moment but I feel confident the surge protector will save the TV from anything but a direct hit and I'm willing to chance it. After all, nothing short of unplugging everything and stacking them in the middle of the room can save appliances from a direct hit.
No, the interruption I was unprepared for came from a different source altogether.
Just as the plot was beginning to thicken and the dirty deed was about to be done... my Friendly Weatherman appears on the screen, accompanied by a squawking alarm sound, to inform me that it's raining! And furthermore, it's not only raining here but all over the rest of Baja Georgia as well. He assures me that I'm not to worry because he will be there all evening so as to let me know the instant there are any further developments. All of this was accompanied by the very latest in animated charts and graphs and arrows and squiggly lines. After all... "We Care."
The program returns to the screen only to have half of it covered by the station logo and a little map of Baja Georgia that shows all of the counties in which it's raining, and a crawl (complete with elevator bells) at the bottom of the screen informing us of all of the above.
Just about the time I'm beginning to pick up the pieces, they cut to commercial.
I'm livid. I've missed the essential plot development of a murder mystery I was really looking forward to so that someone could give me information that anyone but a blathering idiot already knew in the first place. The whole thing turns me into a blathering idiot and I begin to hallucinate, aloud, about the joy of getting my hands around my Friendly Weatherman's throat. (All of this to the delight of my wife who has now found something more entertaining to watch than a movie.)
Later in the evening, after the storm has passed, another crawl appears on the screen (with elevator bells) informing us that several streets downtown are impassable due to flooding. Now that's worthwhile information, done properly.
The whole thing is a matter of taste. Is it really necessary to interrupt programming for every thunderstorm that comes along?
I, for one, have become really weary of sensationalized weathercasting altogether. Wouldn't it be nice, for a change, if instead of predicting a 40% chance of rain the weatherman announced a 60% chance of sunshine?
Monday, April 19, 2010
The Arrogance of Science Pisses Me Off
The other evening I watched a PBS program about the deep-space Hubble and the mysteries of the universe it has helped expose and solve. In this program a noted astrophysicist proclaimed that with the Hubble telescope, and other highly sensitive radio telescopes, we have now been able to “see the beginnings of the universe.” Then he stated that, “We now know the universe is 13 billion years old.”
Poppycock.
The program went on to describe how the “Big Bang” theory came to be and how, with the Hubble’s deep-space images, it is now a proved theory, a "fact."
Balderdash.
Then, the program contradicted itself by explaining that many of the worlds astrophysicists now believe that the universe’s expansion appears to be slowing and they postulate that it has begun to contract and that the reverse of the big bang will see the universe shrinking back into itself, contracting to what, they don’t know.
Bingo. They don’t know.
When it gets right down to it, they don’t know diddly, much less Bo Diddly. Nearly every scientific “fact” that I was taught in high-school has since been disproven. And not just astronomy, but every other area of human scientific endeavor as well. To wit:
From the journal Physical Review Letters: A team of Russian and American scientists has discovered a new element that has long stood as a missing link among the heaviest bits of atomic matter ever produced. The element, still nameless, appears to point the way toward a brew of still more massive elements with chemical properties no one can predict.
And, of course: CRADLE OF HUMANKIND, South Africa — Nine-year-old Matthew Berger dashed after his dog, Tau, into the high grass here one sunny morning, tripped over a log and stumbled onto a major archaeological discovery. Scientists announced Thursday that he had found the bones of a new hominid species that lived almost two million years ago during the fateful, still mysterious period spanning the emergence of the human family.
Here’s the rub. It isn’t the continuing and evolving discoveries and scientific theories that troubles me. In fact, I love it and regularly scan the Science sections of the great newspapers to check out the latest and greatest. A visit to the Hubble website is a regular entertainment for me. Absolutely astounding.
It isn’t even so much that each new theory is treated as “fact” when, in fact, they are just “theories”, mostly based on other theories. The accumulated knowledge of mankind is nothing more than a house of cards that can come tumbling down any time a new bedrock “fact” is discovered, re: Galileo, the radio telescope, the Hubble, the neutron telescope, etc., etc. The list and examples go on and on.
No, what troubles me is the arrogance with which scientific “facts” are presented and are elevated to nearly unassailable, religious status by their followers.
A recent bru-ha-ha here in Baja Georgia pitting Evolutionists against Creationists brought the matter to a head for me and galvanized my position on the side of the Creationists.
I’m not on the side of the Creationists because I believe in Creationism over Evolution, I don’t. It’s the arrogance with which the Evolutionists present their case that pisses me off. Not only do they deride Creationism as “mystical superstition” while presenting their foundation of mud as “fact”, but they won’t even allow the other school of thought into the classroom to be studied and discussed.
Not allowing the study of religion and the hypothesis of Creationism into the classroom is not only narrow-minded and wrong, it’s just plain stupid.
What on earth has shaped our cultures, our values, our humanism, more than religion?
Whether you are a believer or not doesn’t matter. It exists. It’s real. And, understanding and accepting each other’s beliefs is far more important to the harmony and growth of mankind than any so-called scientific “fact”, including Evolution.
Poppycock.
The program went on to describe how the “Big Bang” theory came to be and how, with the Hubble’s deep-space images, it is now a proved theory, a "fact."
Balderdash.
Then, the program contradicted itself by explaining that many of the worlds astrophysicists now believe that the universe’s expansion appears to be slowing and they postulate that it has begun to contract and that the reverse of the big bang will see the universe shrinking back into itself, contracting to what, they don’t know.
Bingo. They don’t know.
When it gets right down to it, they don’t know diddly, much less Bo Diddly. Nearly every scientific “fact” that I was taught in high-school has since been disproven. And not just astronomy, but every other area of human scientific endeavor as well. To wit:
From the journal Physical Review Letters: A team of Russian and American scientists has discovered a new element that has long stood as a missing link among the heaviest bits of atomic matter ever produced. The element, still nameless, appears to point the way toward a brew of still more massive elements with chemical properties no one can predict.
And, of course: CRADLE OF HUMANKIND, South Africa — Nine-year-old Matthew Berger dashed after his dog, Tau, into the high grass here one sunny morning, tripped over a log and stumbled onto a major archaeological discovery. Scientists announced Thursday that he had found the bones of a new hominid species that lived almost two million years ago during the fateful, still mysterious period spanning the emergence of the human family.
Here’s the rub. It isn’t the continuing and evolving discoveries and scientific theories that troubles me. In fact, I love it and regularly scan the Science sections of the great newspapers to check out the latest and greatest. A visit to the Hubble website is a regular entertainment for me. Absolutely astounding.
It isn’t even so much that each new theory is treated as “fact” when, in fact, they are just “theories”, mostly based on other theories. The accumulated knowledge of mankind is nothing more than a house of cards that can come tumbling down any time a new bedrock “fact” is discovered, re: Galileo, the radio telescope, the Hubble, the neutron telescope, etc., etc. The list and examples go on and on.
No, what troubles me is the arrogance with which scientific “facts” are presented and are elevated to nearly unassailable, religious status by their followers.
A recent bru-ha-ha here in Baja Georgia pitting Evolutionists against Creationists brought the matter to a head for me and galvanized my position on the side of the Creationists.
I’m not on the side of the Creationists because I believe in Creationism over Evolution, I don’t. It’s the arrogance with which the Evolutionists present their case that pisses me off. Not only do they deride Creationism as “mystical superstition” while presenting their foundation of mud as “fact”, but they won’t even allow the other school of thought into the classroom to be studied and discussed.
Not allowing the study of religion and the hypothesis of Creationism into the classroom is not only narrow-minded and wrong, it’s just plain stupid.
What on earth has shaped our cultures, our values, our humanism, more than religion?
Whether you are a believer or not doesn’t matter. It exists. It’s real. And, understanding and accepting each other’s beliefs is far more important to the harmony and growth of mankind than any so-called scientific “fact”, including Evolution.
Thursday, April 15, 2010
The Results Are In - Tea Party Members Are More Intelligent
News Flash:
Tea Party supporters are wealthier and more well-educated than the general public, and are no more or less afraid of falling into a lower socioeconomic class, according to the latest New York Times/CBS News poll.
Their responses are like the general public’s in many ways. Most describe the amount they paid in taxes this year as “fair.” Most send their children to public schools. A plurality do not think Sarah Palin is qualified to be president, and, despite their push for smaller government, they think that Social Security and Medicare are worth the cost to taxpayers.
Tea Party supporters’ fierce animosity toward Washington, and the president in particular, is rooted in deep pessimism about the direction of the country and the conviction that the policies of the Obama administration are disproportionately directed at helping the poor rather than the middle class or the rich.
The overwhelming majority of supporters say Mr. Obama does not share the values most Americans live by and that he does not understand the problems of people like themselves. More than half say the policies of the administration favor the poor, and 25 percent think that the administration favors blacks over whites.
Tea Party supporters are wealthier and more well-educated than the general public, and are no more or less afraid of falling into a lower socioeconomic class, according to the latest New York Times/CBS News poll.
Their responses are like the general public’s in many ways. Most describe the amount they paid in taxes this year as “fair.” Most send their children to public schools. A plurality do not think Sarah Palin is qualified to be president, and, despite their push for smaller government, they think that Social Security and Medicare are worth the cost to taxpayers.
Tea Party supporters’ fierce animosity toward Washington, and the president in particular, is rooted in deep pessimism about the direction of the country and the conviction that the policies of the Obama administration are disproportionately directed at helping the poor rather than the middle class or the rich.
The overwhelming majority of supporters say Mr. Obama does not share the values most Americans live by and that he does not understand the problems of people like themselves. More than half say the policies of the administration favor the poor, and 25 percent think that the administration favors blacks over whites.
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
Loaded For A Laugh
He informs them that to enter the Kingdom of Heaven, they have to
answer just one question, "What is Easter?"
The first blonde says, "Easter is when we have a big feast, and give thanks, and eat turkey, and..." St. Peter says, "No. That's Thanksgiving," and banishes her to hell.
The second blonde says, "Easter is when we celebrate Jesus' birth, and we give each other presents, and we...." "That's Christmas!" says St. Peter, and banishes her to hell too.
The third blonde says, "Easter is a Christian holiday that's about the same time as the Jewish Passover. Jesus was having dinner with some of his friends when this Judas guy betrayed him, and the Roman police arrested Jesus. Then they hung him on a big cross, and after awhile he died. Then they buried him in a tomb behind this really large boulder, and now..."
"Very, very good," exclaims St. Peter.
The blonde then continues..."Now every year the Jews roll away this large boulder, and Jesus comes out, and if he sees his shadow, we get six more weeks of basketball."
Friday, April 9, 2010
Naked Man Going Home
One of the most revered works of art in the world, Michelangelo's David, is going home.
After a two-year visit in the United States, David will return to his native Italy. The move has caused quite a stir among U.S. trade protectionists who are up in arms over unfair and unequal shipping rates. It seems it is costing twice as much to ship the statue home as it did to get it here, and they want to know why.
After a two-year visit in the United States, David will return to his native Italy. The move has caused quite a stir among U.S. trade protectionists who are up in arms over unfair and unequal shipping rates. It seems it is costing twice as much to ship the statue home as it did to get it here, and they want to know why.
Sponsors for the visit include:
Friday, April 2, 2010
Weekend at Punch's (in pictures)
Tis the time of year when gearhead hearts are all aflutter as the racing season gets underway full steam. That means it's again time for me to visit my old high school buddy Punch, yes, the same Punch of the infamous A Theatre of the Absurd, as we continue our tradition of attending the St. Petersburg Grand Prix and the kick-off of the Indycar season (Although they kicked-off this year a week earlier in Brazil)(Couldn't make that one).
The Grand Prix is the last of the triple-crown of automobile events we go to each year, the first being the Rolex 24hrs. of Daytona, which we didn't attend this year as it was cold and raining, followed by the Amelia Island Concours de Elegance, one of the finest car shows in the nation, and last but not least, the St. Petersburg Grand Prix in the beautiful town of St. Pete, Florida. It's a great weekend and one I look forward to each year.
Since Punch and I are both photographers, we thought it would be fun for each of us to do a post about the weekend, with no collaboration other than the post date, and see how our interpretations differ or resemble each other.
So here's a little travel log of my weekend at Punch's. You can catch the flip-side at A Theatre of the Absurd.
The trip from Baja to St. Pete takes you through the heart of the state and it was a beautiful spring day as I set upon my journey. My first stop was at a great little county park on Lake Lochloosa. It's a regular stop for me on this trip as it's easily the most beautiful rest stop I know of. The small strip of land between Lochloosa and its sister, Lake Orange, forms Cross Creek of Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings fame. By just breathing the air here, you can almost feel The Yearling come to life.
Continuing down Hwy. 301 I came to the little town of Citra, aptly named for the orange groves in the area and one in particular which surrounds a little Old Florida gift shop where the orange juice is fresh squeezed, right out of the grove. Just outside of town I passed by a beautiful field of day lillies and had to stop and take a photo.
After that, it was I-75, a 75mph parking lot, all the way into Tampa. I decided to go through Tampa, rather than the by-pass, on my way to Bradenton, where Punch resides, because I wanted to drive across Tampa Bay and the Skyway bridge, a truly spectacular drive. There are two fishing parks with restrooms on the north and south shores made up of the remains of the original bridge which was destroyed when a ship hit it. It was about 3:30 in the afternoon when I got there and it seemed like a good spot for a little nap before the final leg.
As a happy happenstance, the weekend of the Grand Prix is also the weekend of the DeSoto Festival in Bradenton. It's a typical downtown street festival with vendors and music and beer. What makes this one special is its location, on the beautiful Bradenton waterfront.
Punch tells me the highlight of this festival used to be a reinactment of the landing of DeSoto at nearby DeSoto National Park, where the conquistidors would storm ashore and rape and pillage the Indians. Just good ole boys never meanin' no harm. Fortunately, some time ago, political correctness won the day on this one and they now settle for drinking and dancing... and lots of seafood.
Saturday dawned bright and early as we prepared for our assault on the Grand Prix with a hardy breakfast at a nearby favorite diner. It was over coffee and the newspaper that we decided there wasn't anything happening at the race on Saturday except a bunch of lower-tier support races that neither of us was interested in. We figured we could save $30 each on tickets by blowing off the day and quickly voted to scrub the mission.
So, now what to do? After a review of the options, we decided to revisit a really quirky attraction east of town called Solomon's Castle. The last time we tried to go, we drove the 50 miles there only to find the place closed. This time luck was on our side.
The castle is the life's work of an eccentric artist named Howard Solomon who was sold a piece of Florida swamp land about thirty years ago and who has spent the remainder of his life trying to keep it above water during the rainy season. The place and everything in it is constructed of junk, scavaged from all over the territory.
The castle's siding is aluminum printer's plates that Howard gets from the local newspaper office. The result is a gleaming castle befitting Camelot.
The grounds are covered by pieces of art, each constructed of junk. If you look closely you can see that the Tucan below is constructed of a shovel head, two leaf rakes and a sling blade.
There's stuff everywhere. We took the tour and the castle itself is full of Solomon's art, a lot of it quite good. It's really dark inside and we couldn't use a flash so I was unable to get anything usable. Punch had a faster lens so maybe he got something to show you.
Mr. Solomon's wry sense of humor is on display everywhere.
Over the years, so many people wanted to see the castle that Solomon thought he could get rid of them by charging admission. It didn't work. So he gave in and opens the place to the public about 6 months of the year. It's become a favorite tourist destination and in order to feed the herd, he built the pirate ship restaurant and terrace seen here. We weren't hungry but were told the food is quite good.
Next stop was a favorite watering hole known as the Limestone Grocery and Country Club which is literally located in East BFE.
It's a quaint little place with no sign of groceries but plenty of beer and a great front porch on which to consume them. Apparently it's a great biker hangout on Sundays when they serve the BBQ that was cooking out back.
The Limestone Limo.
On our way back into town, we passed by the local racetrack/dragstrip where there an event going on. We peeled a hard left (As hard as you can in a Buick six) and decided to check it out having pre-determined that we wouldn't pay more than $10 each to get in. Turns out admission was $12 and gave you access to anywhere in the park. Done. We had to get our racing fix since we blew off St. Pete.
I was really surprised at the quality and quantity of the machines there. These boys are serious about this stuff. A damned expensive hobby.
It's been many a year since I attended a drag race and I couldn't believe how fast they are, at least the fuel guys. And also the motorcycles. Christ, those fuckers are crazy. And they run the full quarter-mile, not the 1,000 ft. the heavy metal cars do these days.
It was late in the afternoon and I opted to relax and enjoy the event rather than be a photobug. I do wish I had taken some photos of the crowd however. I expected a bunch of grease-covered rednecks and indeed, they were there, but not so for most of them, some really cute chickies and one old geezer in his favorite pose of holding up a building.
Race day dawned overcast, drizzly and cool. Undecided about whether to spring for the $100 ticket (includes paddock pass) on a day that rain is forcast, we wandered the St. Petersburg waterfront where the sound of high-pitched racing engines filled the morning air. Ahh... I love the smell of ethanol in the morning.
The waterfront was quiet, only a few crazies like us wandering around in the rain. There are few cities in the country as pretty as St. Pete, even in the rain. We looked over the bayfront where, among other things, we found great works of art. Nothing like a naked fat girl to get a boy's blood moving in the morning.
Then the rain began in earnest and we headed for cover in a local bar where we could enjoy a couple of bloddy marys while listening to the few cars still running on the nearby street course, and enjoy the company of like-minded patrons and our delightful little 23-year-old bartender whom neither Punch nor I had the presence of mind to photograph. (How's that for a run-on sentence? Faulkner ain't got nothin' on me.)
The drizzle turned into rain, the rain into torrential rain, and the race was cancelled and rescheduled for the next day, Monday. Had it been a bright sunny day, as last year, this is where we would have been.
As it was... this is where we watched the race Monday morning. Older and wiser has its rewards.
The Grand Prix is the last of the triple-crown of automobile events we go to each year, the first being the Rolex 24hrs. of Daytona, which we didn't attend this year as it was cold and raining, followed by the Amelia Island Concours de Elegance, one of the finest car shows in the nation, and last but not least, the St. Petersburg Grand Prix in the beautiful town of St. Pete, Florida. It's a great weekend and one I look forward to each year.
Since Punch and I are both photographers, we thought it would be fun for each of us to do a post about the weekend, with no collaboration other than the post date, and see how our interpretations differ or resemble each other.
So here's a little travel log of my weekend at Punch's. You can catch the flip-side at A Theatre of the Absurd.
The trip from Baja to St. Pete takes you through the heart of the state and it was a beautiful spring day as I set upon my journey. My first stop was at a great little county park on Lake Lochloosa. It's a regular stop for me on this trip as it's easily the most beautiful rest stop I know of. The small strip of land between Lochloosa and its sister, Lake Orange, forms Cross Creek of Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings fame. By just breathing the air here, you can almost feel The Yearling come to life.
Continuing down Hwy. 301 I came to the little town of Citra, aptly named for the orange groves in the area and one in particular which surrounds a little Old Florida gift shop where the orange juice is fresh squeezed, right out of the grove. Just outside of town I passed by a beautiful field of day lillies and had to stop and take a photo.
After that, it was I-75, a 75mph parking lot, all the way into Tampa. I decided to go through Tampa, rather than the by-pass, on my way to Bradenton, where Punch resides, because I wanted to drive across Tampa Bay and the Skyway bridge, a truly spectacular drive. There are two fishing parks with restrooms on the north and south shores made up of the remains of the original bridge which was destroyed when a ship hit it. It was about 3:30 in the afternoon when I got there and it seemed like a good spot for a little nap before the final leg.
As a happy happenstance, the weekend of the Grand Prix is also the weekend of the DeSoto Festival in Bradenton. It's a typical downtown street festival with vendors and music and beer. What makes this one special is its location, on the beautiful Bradenton waterfront.
Punch tells me the highlight of this festival used to be a reinactment of the landing of DeSoto at nearby DeSoto National Park, where the conquistidors would storm ashore and rape and pillage the Indians. Just good ole boys never meanin' no harm. Fortunately, some time ago, political correctness won the day on this one and they now settle for drinking and dancing... and lots of seafood.
Saturday dawned bright and early as we prepared for our assault on the Grand Prix with a hardy breakfast at a nearby favorite diner. It was over coffee and the newspaper that we decided there wasn't anything happening at the race on Saturday except a bunch of lower-tier support races that neither of us was interested in. We figured we could save $30 each on tickets by blowing off the day and quickly voted to scrub the mission.
So, now what to do? After a review of the options, we decided to revisit a really quirky attraction east of town called Solomon's Castle. The last time we tried to go, we drove the 50 miles there only to find the place closed. This time luck was on our side.
The castle is the life's work of an eccentric artist named Howard Solomon who was sold a piece of Florida swamp land about thirty years ago and who has spent the remainder of his life trying to keep it above water during the rainy season. The place and everything in it is constructed of junk, scavaged from all over the territory.
The castle's siding is aluminum printer's plates that Howard gets from the local newspaper office. The result is a gleaming castle befitting Camelot.
The grounds are covered by pieces of art, each constructed of junk. If you look closely you can see that the Tucan below is constructed of a shovel head, two leaf rakes and a sling blade.
There's stuff everywhere. We took the tour and the castle itself is full of Solomon's art, a lot of it quite good. It's really dark inside and we couldn't use a flash so I was unable to get anything usable. Punch had a faster lens so maybe he got something to show you.
Mr. Solomon's wry sense of humor is on display everywhere.
Over the years, so many people wanted to see the castle that Solomon thought he could get rid of them by charging admission. It didn't work. So he gave in and opens the place to the public about 6 months of the year. It's become a favorite tourist destination and in order to feed the herd, he built the pirate ship restaurant and terrace seen here. We weren't hungry but were told the food is quite good.
Next stop was a favorite watering hole known as the Limestone Grocery and Country Club which is literally located in East BFE.
It's a quaint little place with no sign of groceries but plenty of beer and a great front porch on which to consume them. Apparently it's a great biker hangout on Sundays when they serve the BBQ that was cooking out back.
The Limestone Limo.
On our way back into town, we passed by the local racetrack/dragstrip where there an event going on. We peeled a hard left (As hard as you can in a Buick six) and decided to check it out having pre-determined that we wouldn't pay more than $10 each to get in. Turns out admission was $12 and gave you access to anywhere in the park. Done. We had to get our racing fix since we blew off St. Pete.
I was really surprised at the quality and quantity of the machines there. These boys are serious about this stuff. A damned expensive hobby.
It's been many a year since I attended a drag race and I couldn't believe how fast they are, at least the fuel guys. And also the motorcycles. Christ, those fuckers are crazy. And they run the full quarter-mile, not the 1,000 ft. the heavy metal cars do these days.
It was late in the afternoon and I opted to relax and enjoy the event rather than be a photobug. I do wish I had taken some photos of the crowd however. I expected a bunch of grease-covered rednecks and indeed, they were there, but not so for most of them, some really cute chickies and one old geezer in his favorite pose of holding up a building.
Race day dawned overcast, drizzly and cool. Undecided about whether to spring for the $100 ticket (includes paddock pass) on a day that rain is forcast, we wandered the St. Petersburg waterfront where the sound of high-pitched racing engines filled the morning air. Ahh... I love the smell of ethanol in the morning.
The waterfront was quiet, only a few crazies like us wandering around in the rain. There are few cities in the country as pretty as St. Pete, even in the rain. We looked over the bayfront where, among other things, we found great works of art. Nothing like a naked fat girl to get a boy's blood moving in the morning.
Then the rain began in earnest and we headed for cover in a local bar where we could enjoy a couple of bloddy marys while listening to the few cars still running on the nearby street course, and enjoy the company of like-minded patrons and our delightful little 23-year-old bartender whom neither Punch nor I had the presence of mind to photograph. (How's that for a run-on sentence? Faulkner ain't got nothin' on me.)
The drizzle turned into rain, the rain into torrential rain, and the race was cancelled and rescheduled for the next day, Monday. Had it been a bright sunny day, as last year, this is where we would have been.
As it was... this is where we watched the race Monday morning. Older and wiser has its rewards.
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