Go, B.C.!

After Christmas, I came back to the Boro for a day of work on Thursday, then left out again on Friday to get back to F-L-A. For Christmas, my friend Amy had bought us tickets to the Champs Sports Bowl between Michigan State and Boston College. Amy spent some time in Boston, and is a B.C. fan (baseball is a decidedly schizophrenic affair for her. She also spent years in Cleveland and Chicago. Baseball apparently matters a great deal to the denizens of each of those communities). So, off we went.

Along I-95, past the Hilton Head Island, then Savannah exits, right near Brunswick, Georgia, lies the South Georgia town of Woodbine, home to a couple of gas stations and a barbeque joint. I opt for the petrol first. I look at the pump for a place to stick my debit card. Nada. Hey, old school! I pump my gas and am greeted by a pleasant lady who looks like a character out of an old Dukes of Hazzard episode, wearing a T-shirt that says, "Everyone's entitled to be stupid, but you are abusing the privilege". So, I ask if she'd mind if I snap her picture. No problem.

You can't see it in this shot, but she also had a petition to reduce cigarette taxes taped to the wall next to the register. After I snapped her mug, she said the shirt was popular, as I was the second person to take her picture that day. For some reason, this haunting scene did not deter me from taking us to the barbeque joint next door. There would be consequences.

Welcome to paradise (er, I guess that's actually a few miles South of here).

We missed the first few minutes of the game, but have great seats. 15 yard line, about 15 rows up.

Great seats! BC wins! My Friend Amy.

Sadly, the Woodbine barbeque turned out to be an unfortunate choice. I'm pretty sure the pork plate included pork, but I think "pork" was broadly defined. The net result was a tour of many of the restrooms throughout the Central Florida greater metropolitan area (it turns out that this was not a port-o-let as I'd imagined. Tragic).

After a really fine evening meal at Houston's in Orlando, we opted for the a simple breakfast the next morning. Perkins, it seems, must have a minimum weight requirement. At 235, I had no problem getting in. Amy had to sneak in behind me. Whilst there, I ordered the blueberry pancakes slathered in all sorts of unhealthy, coronary-inducing additives. But it was a trick! Look closely at the pancakes...

Hey! This blueberry's not blue! Turns out that the frozen blueberries are stored next to the frozen peas. This little guy had at least six brothers and sisters adding unnecessary vitamins to my breakfast. Naturally, the peacakes were comped. Still, my tummy had only just recovered from the Woodbine incident...

Friday through Saturday morning were good, though. Saturday afternoon and Sunday? Later (if anyone's watching).

Long Strange Trip

Okay, the Grateful Dead lyrics have been overused. But what are you gonna do? Difficult, sometimes, to find something more appropriate. For the second and third times in the last couple of weeks, I left the Boro and headed to the Sunshine State.

On Christmas' Eve, I headed to Tampa to hang out with my brother, AndyMan. We stopped by his Baby-Mama house first, sampled the very fine appetizers set out by his ex's current husband, then off for more excellent food at Bonefish Grille. On Christmas Morning, I ventured into the lair of my ex's (and her husband's) Orlando timeshare to see my four children. This is clearly not how Norman Rockwell painted it on the Saturday Evening Post around mid-Century. Does anyone stay married to their first spouse anymore? The nuclear family seems to have gone the way of Dick Cheney's hair. I'm divorced, and, personally, much happier than when I was married. I was also a general practice lawyer for years before going back to the public defender's office, and I got a lot of people divorced. Still, did I, did any of those people I got divorced, did we try hard enough?

I remember my friends John and Sam from Leto High School. Their parents were of Croatian Catholic stock- not the types to embrace divorce. I stopped by their house one day to let them (John and Sam, not their parents) kick my butt in ping-pong, and stayed for supper. Their parents didn't speak to each other at all. I'd hear the highly accented, "Would you tell your father to pass me the bread", or something to that effect (I'm not sure I heard their father say anything to anyone). Apparently, they'd lived that way for years. Years. It puzzled me how- or why- they could still be married, because my parents, like so many others, had divorced. I've seen various studies on the effect that divorce has on children (Divorce is terrible for kids. Don't get divorced. Kids are resilient. Go ahead and get divorced). I'm not sure what the divorce statistics are for children from "broken" homes, but I'd bet they're not great. Even if those stats are not greatly out of line with the divorce rates from unbroken homes, the one thing that the statistics can't show is the foundation that kids whose parents haven't divorced have that kids from broken home don't seem to have. John and Sam seemed more trusting, somehow. Sure, their parents didn't get along, but they were there- both of them. They could count on that. And, there was a light that John and Sam had in their eyes that seemed only vaguely familiar to me.

Got some cool pictures from the trip, but got lost along the way. Maybe tomorrow.

Where's Waldo?

I was raised in Tampa, Florida, and occasionally ventured to Northern climes, but not frequently. In my returns to the land of my youth, I have learned lessons lost upon me in those bygone days. I've learned, "Where's Waldo". No, not the cherished icon of seek and find the little striped dude; but where are the speed-traps. Like many of the lessons I've learned, this is one I learned the hard way, and the Sunshine State got a few of my hard-earned ducats as a result. On my most recent trip from the Palmetto State to Tampa to see my amazing ultra-runner brother, AndyMan, I passed some poor sap who didn't know that you just shouldn't speed on Highway 301 between Jacksonville and Gainesville.

Remember the red and white clad cartoon you picked out of a crowd?

Well Waldo ain't the only Waldo. Waldo has a permanent address in along Highway 301 in North Florida.

There's Waldo!

Waldo has an insidious cousin, Lawtey, who also lives in North Florida. Lawty actually comes with a warning:

Lawtey! Lawtey!

The sign is accurate and not subtle, but like Sammy Hagar, some folks just can't drive 55 (or really, 55, 45, 35).

Merry Christmas, Sucker!

Check out "50" next to the store up on the left. Poor dude evidently can't read. At least this bear-bait cleared the road for me.

Our Tree

My brother and I had a Christmas tradition, back in the day, of finding the Charlie Brownest tree we could. My identical twin boys, Tyler and Taylor, and I have revived the tradition. If there is a less significant Christmas tree out there, I'd like to see it. Merry Christmas to all.

Santa Claus is leaving your town

Every couple of years I'm Santa. Well, actually every year since the birth of my oldest child I've been Santa, but every couple of years I'm Santa for people other than my young 'uns. Here's Santa with world reknown ultra-runner Andy Mathews. Andy's been very good this year, and Santa may bring him a bag of potato chips this year. Doubt he'd eat them.

Back to the Boro

I was born in Montana, raised in Tampa, and currently reside in a small town in the lowcountry of South Carolina. Walterboro (the 'Boro) has about 5,100 residents. It's a moderately interesting place. I work in the public defender's office representing poor people charged with crimes. Some of them did it. Some of them didn't do it. Some are not very nice, a lot of them are just regular Joes with a huge plate of bad luck.

Had some preliminary hearings today in the Boro and in Green Pond, a whistlestop in Southeast Colleton County. Green Pond boasts a post office, a Baptist Church, a nasty railroad crossing, and a big country store, Wood Brothers' Store. At Wood Brothers' store, you can purchase pickled pig's feet, fishing supplies, barbeque sandwiches or fishing licenses. Wood Brothers is also where the magistrate holds court in Green Pond. The store owner, Richard Woods, used to be the magistrate in Green Pond, but he recently retired after many years of service.

How you do this?

...and why?