Scene in Tompkins

I just watched a street kid get loaded into an ambulance. Junkie pretty much. No response. Even after the EMT stuck him with a needle and smacked his face to wake him up. The guy next to me took photos but they made him put it away. Seemed like we should leave the guy with some dignity, even if he didn't have much for himself.

Ciao, Florida!

Headed back to New York, a quick "thanks!" to Heather's dad for putting us up at his apartment for the last five days. He's a cool dad. Even though I was totally embarrassed one morning, walking in on him butt necked on the toilet, we all managed to have a good time together.The view off of his balcony reminds me of Georgia, pine trees, magnolias, only with I'm guessing more water, and chances are, alligators.

And a fond farewell to our Mitsubishi Eclispe convertible, oh how we'll miss you! I love a convertible. Back in the day, I grew up driving a bright yellow, 1974 Volkswagen Super-Beetle I'd named Sonny. Man, oh, man, I loved that car. I remember learning to pull up the hill of Hilo Court in that stick shift. My dad used to let me drive after soccer practice. He taught me how to drive in the VW, and in Old Blue, a 1976 Cutlass Supreme my folks bought from my Nana. The Cutlass got stolen. It was a indeed a smooth ride. As for the Beetle, I wrecked it, sure enough. Like most things I love, I loved it to pieces.

Live

Last night the Black Crowes played. I had a cassette tape of them back in the day, the album Shake Yo' Money Maker. I think I was in the 8th grade. I heard once that the music you identify with most, you heard at or before age 15. In that sense, anything post teenage years may be of your liking but will not have the same effect as would anything from your formative years. I can identify. The Black Crowes are in there for me. Along with Led Zeppelin, Stevie Wonder, Cyndi Lauper, Whitney Houston, Nirvana added to a strange blend of bluegrass, classical and heavy metal.

There's nothing better than live music. And getting to see a group perform live whose music has touched your heart. The Crowes played several songs that took me right back to Leafmore Creek pool and crushes on lifeguards. To July thunderstorms and evening cookouts. To lying in front of the t.v. on the floor watching the Braves on TBS.
My friend Emily McMahan was in love with the lead guitarist, Rich Robinson. And 18 years later, he's still looking good.

Tonight, Morris Day & the Time closed out the festival, best known for his hit Jungle Love, "O-E-O-E-O-E," followed by a fireworks extravaganza.

Work done

While on the plane down here, I remember thinking and even whispering, "My lord, Heather. I have never been on a plane with this many old people in my life." Wheelchairs, canes, walkers, looks like it's true. A whole lot of New Yorkers retire in Florida.

The flip-side to the retirement communities and in equal numbers are the plastic surgery recreated. Another Florida phenomenon. Young, trendy husbands buy wives face-lifts, boob jobs, tummy tucks. What?!? Were I married and my husband bought me any of that, I think I'd be insulted. It's a status symbol of some sort. And the men, too. They spend the same dollar for dollar at the cosmetic surgeon, hair salon, the car dealership. And I'm sure on manicures and waxing, too. What a trip!

But in all honesty, the most interesting is when the two collide: the plastic surgery recreated retiree. Joan Rivers is not alone. For me, though, there's just something normal about aging. I know, I know. I'm in my early thirties. What do I have to complain about? And, hell, who knows? Maybe one day I'll join the masses. But don't get me wrong, I already look forward to retiring! And yet I fear my career has yet to begin...

Happy 26th today, Heather!

Sunfest

Another cool aspect of this vacation is Sunfest. A five day music festival on the water, in combination with live music and Florida sun, I'm not sure what could make me happier! Last night we listened to a little Sheryl Crow, not my favorite but, hey. We grooved to George Clinton before that, though, and, man, they still funk it up! His lead guitarist opened the show in a diaper, nice! The cast of characters is truly a riot. He's got "Bid Daddy" on trumpet and 2 dudes who come out on stage to battle in pimp wear, one a James Brown fanatic, the other just a no-name pimp. No sure who won this round, but my vote goes to Big Daddy.

Away again

I am at the beach with my friend Heather. Her birthday is in a few days so we thought, "VACATION!" Here in West Palm, Florida, the sand is the color of my mom's hair of a few years ago. A lovely salt and pepper, a mix of rocks and shells, the sand, mind you, not Mom's hair. The sand is coarse much easier to brush of the skin than that of the Emerald Coast or St. Maarten. The color is darker and richer and still beautiful.

We are at Blowing Rocks nature preserve. A bird sanctuary and sea turtle breeding haven, porous rocks line the beach. From a distance they look like turtles themselves but up close more like sponges. As the tide rises and hits the rocks, water shoots through the pores in mini geysers. The ebb and flow of the water the ocean's heartbeat, slow and rhythmic, I am at ease.

Food on wheels

In New York City, the world is your kitchen. We eat on the train, in the park, in cabs, on the street, not to mention in restaurants. And you are never alone at it. We are a city of spazzes. Eating, talking, walking, scoping.

As we speak, or I write, anyway, I am eating a cranberry scone on the R train and drinking a coffee from the Mud truck. Portable food stands are essential to the NYC experience. Water dog vendors, halal food, coffee trucks, random meats on portable grills, any food desire and on any block is granted here. Can you imagine wheeling your job down the block to set up shop on the corner?