Escaping Florida

This is it – the day to push on out of Florida. Destination: Tallahassee. Tomorrow we'll finally leave this place that we've called home for the past couple of weeks.

Final prep to close up, lock doors, windows, and plug the final drains with tin foil. I can only assume, after further thought, that this is to keep the creepy crawlies out. And then there was the putting cling wrap over the toilet bowl, and tank. This is done, A.) Because I am told to do it, but also B.) Because (and this is purely hypothetical) it prevents the alligators from accessing our home and stealing the bag of frozen vegetables which have been living in the freezer for months now. I know how tricky these gators are, and also how much they love frozen foods. With one millimeter of shrink wrap they will be forever deterred. It is their weakness.

Then came the spraying of liquid death. Ant killer. This explains the miniature holocaust that greeted us when we first rolled up, late at night. Now we were to spray this poison – everywhere. Along walls, window sills, in the bathroom, outside the house. As fun as it was to spray this poison with, more or less, a super soaker the taste of doom in my throat afterwards? I could have done without that.

A good amount of water later, and I was good to go.

But where were we headed? Yeah we could just push straight on to Tallahassee, or even out of state to Mobile Alabama (home of Forrest Gump – having finished reading the novel, it is no less ridiculous than last reported to be) but where was the fun in that?

Katherine had said she wanted to see an Alligator, and we were still to spot one. Not that we really knew any good places to spot them around here. On our way north, we would be passing through the greater Clearwater area, where years of my life were spent. I have many memories of gators back then. But where – where were they? Sure, I could have emailed my parents and asked them, but I continued to forget. With no time left, I tried to remember. The name Pinellas Park kept shooting into my head. Thrown into the GPS it turned out Pinellas Park wasn't a park, but instead the name of a town.

Once more, the fantastic GPS was able to show me a number of parks near Pinellas. Of all the names, Sawgrass Park seemed to stand out. Though I had not been there for well over a decade, I was sure that I had been there before. Saying good bye to Port Charlotte, we were on our way.

In the car, I read some of the “Politically Incorrect Guide to American History” which works to dispel myths that we all believe, such as the settlers stole land from the Natives. As it turns out, it was all bought, and the natives welcomed the settlers in a number of cases, as they stood between the expansion of other warring tribes. Glad that I picked this book up for a buck fifty at the library I continued to read on. I do so love dispelling myths. Even since I was at Head-Smashed-In Buffalo Jump in Alberta, learning that Natives did not use all parts of the animal (in many cases just cutting out buffalo tongues, and letting the rest rot away in the sun) I have loved reading some historical truths.

One chapter down, we switched to listening to video game podcasts. Having been – more or less stationary – for weeks, we had hours of them building up.

When we reached Sawgrass, I realized that while this was one of the two parks I had visisted as a kid, it was not the one I was thinking of. This one had a board walk that extended through the park, over marshlands. Well – if it were the rainy season the walk would be over marsh. Right now, it just kept us a foot or two above the fern covered ground. Trees closed in from all around, covered completely in Spanish Moss.

Without marsh, there was unlikely to be any gators. Still, we were not without hope. As we set out on our trek a man bicycled by us, “is that a camera you got there,” he asked.

Confused, I paused a moment before replying, “yes?”

“You want a picture of a gator?”

“That's the idea.”

He then pointed us a quarter mile down a path that ran along the small river which fed a retaining pond. Apparently there was one just down that way. Thanking him we made our way off. There, sitting in the water, like a log was an alligator. Watching it for a few moments, we took our pictures and high fived a successful mission.

Still, I was not content. There was a park that I had visited often as a youth, and I wanted to return to it. Not knowing the name, I switched the GPS to map mode and searched all the surrounding lakes. There was one area with two close together, named Taylor park. The two lake configuration, as well as the name struck something inside me, and off we went again.

It was here that I had set off for, originally. Ironically there were no gators to be seen here. Still, being back here was reward in and of its own. Never did I think I'd be back here. The roller blade trail where I spent a lot of time not knowing how to stop, and crashing to the ground, was just as it once was, and the picnic tables where I used to sit playing an old baseball game on my long forgotten SEGA Game Gear were still exactly where they'd always been.

I had Katherine take a picture of me standing beside a tree that I had a picture taken beside half a life ago. The only difference now, aside from a terrible amount of hair, is that my shorts these days are a more respectable grey rather than all sorts of rainbow neons – as was the style at the time, you must understand.

Walking around the pond, the memories all came flooding back. Being close to gators, the trees being torn down by tropical storms, a kid informing my father and I that America owned Alaska – over and over, no matter how many times we agreed with him...

And then it started to rain. We booked on out of there pretty fast after that – completely soaked by the time we returned to the car.

Back on route to Tallahassee. Hours of podcasts later, we were there – with Shark Week on Discovery to greet us. Apparently sharks have seven sense. The coolest? Electrosense – they can sense your soul, and wish for nothing more than to eat it! Well – they sense the electrical field that surrounds you. You can hide, and you can be silent, but you're always giving off the electrical field, and those bitey fish? They're always there to find it. Fantastical!

Cleaning in Port Charlotte

A final day in Port Charlotte. I wish I could say that it was a final day in Florida, but trying to push out of state all in one shot? Well that seems like a pretty crazy idea. Florida is a terribly long state. The Simpson's describes it as America's Wang – fair enough.

Final load of clothing in the Washing machine – who knows when we'll have the luxury of clean clothes without any cost again? But then – then comes the sweeping, and the vacuuming, and the covering drains with tin foil. Why cover the drains with tin foil? Well, I haven't entirely worked that out – but it was on the checklist of things to do when closing up this place here, so who am I to question it?

And packing – for the last few weeks I've been free of living out of a back pack. I didn't go so far as to use drawers or closets, but a pile of things strewn on the floor, without fear of having them stolen, or 'cleaned away', well that's was a luxury. Now I had to repack, separating t-shirts into one pouch, shorts into another, boxers into a final. It seems that I had more clothing now than ever before. I could not go an entire week without having to re-wear a single item. Well, except for shorts – but they'd need only do a few days a pair. Back, even a few weeks ago, I had five shirts and one pair of shorts.

In the re-pack I also allowed myself the privilege of leaving one shirt behind in Florida, which will make its way back to me some time in 2011. This shirt has haunted me for months now, always being the last to be worn. When I left back in September, I liked it. It was a rather warm shirt, but has since become too warm, too scratchy – I dreaded ever having to put it on. It was my greatest fear that I should look to my bag and have only it remaining. But now, with newly purchased items, its days of torment are behind me! At last, I am free.

Free at last, free at last.

With as much cleared away as could be we headed out to Wal-Mart. This had nothing to do with needing to throw out bags of garbage, I can assure you that. There is no way that we would do that, as dumping home garbage in public places is illegal. Still, after weeks of rinsing out all metal cans, and plastic jugs – hoping to recycle them (it turned out we had no recycling bin) – we had amassed a great number of them. They were crushed by our make shift stomp-factory where we embraced our inner third grader. Finding themselves bagged for disposal they needed a receptacle. But, again, we would never toss them in one outside of Wal-Mart.

At the Wal-Mart we decided to grab ourselves a going away treat – a small slab of Birthday Cake (the type with the terrible plastic-tasting icing that Katherine oh so loves), a cake in the shape of a puppy, a pint of Phish Food Ice Cream, and a box of strawberries. Seeing our purchase, the man at the checkout counter laughed, “Man, I'm coming to your place later. This is how to throw a party.”

As we ate our diabetes enhancing desserts, watching the cartoon Archer – as well as catching up on the latest True Blood – the weather outside took a turn for the worst. Rain began to pour down in great sheets, while lightening filled the blanks in the darkness. It reminded me of last night, when the sky filled, momentarily with a pseudo daylight. Without any sound of thunder the sky flashed white, all around, before returning to darkness. The eerie strobing continued on as we stood outside, watching – rain nowhere to be seen.

When finally the thunder made itself heard, the spell was broken, and we returned inside where we sliced the head off our sugar-filled puppy and began to dig in. Morbid, creepy, and relatively delicious (until the stomach aches to follow.) What more could one ask for on a final day?

To The Beach

Second last day in Florida – and with the last day demanding time to pack, and clean, and get ready to move on, this is the last day to relax. Clearly there was only one thing we could do... Head to the beach.

Fifty five minutes outside of Port Charlotte is the town of Venice. We went through it on our way to Sarasota. Without the need of a Scott Pilgrimage we were free to actually hang around and laze on the beach today. Beaches are not really my thing. Or maybe it's the water. No, to be truthful, it's the salt water. It tastes gross, it feels – for lack of a better word – icky. It's not my thing. And you just sit around and get heat stroke.

Still, I'm told many a girl enjoys lounging on the beach, and Katherine is no exception. So off we went, her driving up to it while I read some more of Forrest Gump to us.

Now – look – you've seen the movie, you think you know what's what – but I assure you this book is nothing like the movie. Not after about page one hundred. Up to that point you can see where it's going, and you can recognize the tale for what it was. Then, I can only assume this to be true, the author started experimenting with drugs. Lots of drugs. Heavy drugs. And the tale takes a turn for the WTF.

Forrest goes to jail, and since he is a genius with math (the novel Forrest is more of a Rainman) NASA blackmails him into going up in a rocket with a female astronaut and a monkey. (Karl Pilkerton would be proud.) Next thing you know, they're being blasted up up an away, but wait – the monkey was switched by accident. Instead of a well trained female gorilla it's an angry male the pulls the circuits apart. Oh noes! Then the ship is falling to Earth, but Forrest uses his math skills to save it, landing in New Guinea.

A bunch of cannibals take them as prisoners, but luckily one of them was taught at Yale during World War 2 and will spare their lives so long as Forrest doesn't lose to him at Chess. As luck would have it, Forrest is a Chess master too. So for four years they live there, the female astronaut hooking up with one of the people who wanted to eat her.

Then the Chess Cannibal has Forrest grow cotton, for which a barge is constructed. Forrest is in the middle of losing a game, when he escapes under the pretense of having to pee, gets the monkey, the woman, and her new lover onto the boat – but is stopped. Just as the Yale cannibal is about to eat them all, the Pygmies come and capture everyone. Yale cannibal is thrown into a cooking pot and eaten, but before he dies he tells Forrest to play harmonica to woo the king of the Pygmies.

Forrest does this, and says they are a band. The monkey plays the spears, and the woman plays the knives. The Pygmy king gives them these things, and they then use them to fight for freedom. Just as they are almost caught, NASA rescuers canoe through the jungle to save them in the nick of time – four years too late – claiming they had 'other things to deal with.'

The woman stays in the jungle with her new husband creature, and the monkey stays too. But fear not, for after Forrest goes through a phase as a professional wrestler, he meets the monkey again on the set of a movie that he stars in – until he ends up stripped Raquel Welch naked, by accident becoming black balled from the industry. Luckily he gets to keep the monkey – as they are best friends.

I'm still thirty five pages from the end, and it's starting to calm down again – but whatever the author was on for those fifty? My lord, if they don't just reinforce my opinion that drugs are bad!

Then we were at the beach. It turned out we had a great big beach umbrella, which was good, as the shade made sitting on the sand more bearable. It also made the sand far less painful to step on. Until a foot accidentally reached out into the sun. Yow!

Being honest, I think I kinda dug the beach. Being able to kick back and read (this time The Congo) and not worry about anything? Well there's something to be said for that. And having the ability to get up off the chair and wander down into the ocean whenever you wanted? That wasn't too bad either. I forgot how easy it was to float in salt water. Closing your eyes, and just laying there... that's a good feeling, so long as you can keep the creeping suspicion that a rip is pulling you out to sea from your mind.

I could have used three or four degrees colder water. It was as if we were swimming around in a bunch of three year olds urine. But, you know, that's fine – everyone else was doing it – so...

When we actually left – Katherine being the one to pull the plug – I found that my earlier preconceptions of this place were wrong. Give me some shade, and a good book, and I am more than willing to sit around all day doing nothing. The type of nothing where you don't feel like you should be doing something. S'good.

And then back home to start getting things together to leave the day after tomorrow.

Just before going to sleep we finished up the HBO series, The Pacific. I tell you what – I think they made a mistake on this one. Band of Brothers? That was great. But by the end of The Pacific, I couldn't tell you who the characters were, nor why I should care about them. It was just hour after hour of them in jungle shooting and killing. Opportunity missed. The bombing of Hiroshima, Pearl Harbour, Midway – these things needed touching on. I get it, you're showing that the marines did nothing but live in terrible conditions, fighting mostly unremembered battles – but then you get to Iwo Jima, and don't even show the flag being raised? Also – showing the Japanese perspective? That could have been a bloody brilliant thing to do. The German soldiers were humanized in Band of Brothers all the time.

I get the point of the series – but it would be like having band of Brothers be ten episodes of being shelled in the French forests. I remember two episodes from the Pacific that didn't blur together – the Australia episode, and the final one. Unfortunately I never made connections with any of the characters (real people) throughout this series, so seeing how they ended up didn't really have all that much of a pay off.

But that's me, gripe gripe gripe.

Enough of looking back, and more looking forward. Pretty soon we'll be pushing on to Alabama, and then off to New Orleans. There's still a great big country ahead of us, and I am looking forward to seeing it.

Florida: Planning for Vegas

With a lot of the trip planning done yesterday, it was time to get serious and make ready to leave this state of Florida – not to mention the state of passive stagnation that comes with this land of sunshine. I imagine it's this allure that drive seniors by the dying bus load down these parts in their twilight years.

Their elder years, not to be confused with years brought on by sparkling creatures of the – sometimes – night.

Our first, and really – only – step that we needed to take today was to head to the library and look at how much it was going to cost to spend a night in Las Vegas. Having a waypoint set (up until now it was Florida) where you have everything preset an taken care of is a great way to not get overloaded by travel. Even if you're just setting out day to day, it's important to have an anchor here or there.

We checked the prices of Vegas on the weekends – one hundred dollars for a Saturday night was good value. Then we checked just how much it would cost if we headed down during the week. While Vegas may seem pricey for weekend warriors, a night in a good hotel can cost as little as twenty dollars a night. Indeed these are the same rooms that quadruple in price for a Friday / Saturday stay. Clearly our next move was obvious. We would not be rolling up on a weekend, like suckers. Nay, we would come in on a Tuesday night, and be on our way Friday morning. Three nights for less than the price of one.

It wasn't enough to secure a hotel on The Strip. No – Vegas does not hold that much allure for me. I'm sure once I get there the coloured lights will hypnotize, while sparkling someone else's eyes, but now – over a thousand miles away – I just shrug my shoulders at the gambling capital.

What has us headed towards Vegas is a large man, with but one nail painted, and his cohort of lesser stature. These two have created a zombie short, and the most painful video game of all time – Desert Bus. They also work to educate the world through their television show Penn and Teller.

We are off to Vegas to see them live. Buying tickets for the VIP section (it's only ten bucks more, and comes with a colour book – ohh ahh – and lets us sit near the front... when will we get this opportunity again?) we cringed a little as each ticket was more than the combined price of our three night stay, but then – you know – we're going to see Penn and Teller. How cool is that?

That question, I will answer for you – very cool.

With tickets and hotel secured, there was but one small issue. We had now pushed back our Vegas date by three nights. Three fill in the blank days. What would we do with them? The obvious answer: stay in Florida and not pay rent. But how long could we stay sane under such 'domestic bliss'? We would have to get out.

A pen and paper were grabbed, dates re-planned, and everything made sense of. We would stay here two extra days, and then make our way with one buffer – just in case. Sure there are other buffers built into the plan, but to be honest – I just can't think of anything else to do here. Not without the proper time to get down to the Keys and back. Another time.

Before leaving the library, and the internet, there was one more thing to take care of. Something I'd been putting off for ten years. I needed to get my power boating license. Yes, a decade ago, it was put into action – but because of when I was born, I didn't need it until last September. Of course, last September, I left the country and there was still no real rush. Eleven years after I should have got it, I now find myself in front of the testing webpage, ready to pay my forty dollars and take the thirty six question test.

I have not had to take a test for some time, and even though you are allowed unlimited re-tries, an could theoretically cheat (you have forty five minutes to answer these questions, you could look up the answers whenever you wanted) it still made me a wee bit nervous. With the timer started, I looked at the first, then the second, having very little problems. You see – I actually read the forty five page manual earlier today. It seemed like the honest thing to do. And some of the questions were those hilarious random answers that your old history teacher may have been partial to adding. Q: When in limited visibility, what is the correct course of action? A. Slow down and change, adapting to conditions, B. Speed up and let everyone know you're coming through regardless.

With questions like this, it's hard to imagine anyone needing the retry – still it was a nice buffer. At the end of the test I had two wrong answers – one on a type of buoy not listed in the book, and the other on a part of a sail boat. Being allowed something like six wrong answers, this was not an issue.

With that done, I could step into the present, and never fear not being able to drive the boat again. All was once again right in the world.

Things being what they are, we got an incredible amount of things accomplished today.

I also shot off a few e-mails to those I know in California. After Las Vegas, that state won't be far away. No doubt we'll be there in no time.

Scrapbooking and Trip Prep

I'm makin' waffles!

Sadly I could not don the shirt that reinforced such a proclamation. No, for it was far too hot for such a shirt. In the screened off outside I poured batter, worked machines, and transferred finished products into an oven set for two hundred. Forty minutes it took from batter mixing to plating to get four waffles cooked. No sane family would ever make waffles. If I ever want them again, I will ensure to obtain two to four waffle makers. Doing them in bulk? That I could handle. The only type of person I could see doing this is the stay at home parent who gets up early, and has lunches to pack while the breakfast cooks.

Still – there's something good about mashing up half a pineapple, and chunking a bit more to make a tasty treat. Waffles are the best place to get rid of fruit closing in on its final deadline. I've heard jello is a good hiding place too, but I wouldn't know of that – I'm too impatient to wait for it to set, and the ice cube quick set method listed on the back of the box? It's never worked for me.

Today was just a day to get some final things sorted out. While Katherine stayed behind to read, and not-do-yoga, I headed to the library to finish uploading my pictures to facebook so as people I've not talked to in years – and two people whom I'm not sure who they are, but have been on my friends list since two thousand and seven (they mystery of whom they are – same university, and they're friends with each other – was too great to cast aside.) - can see me travelling around the world. They can also see close to one hundred pictures from wrestling now.

The pain of getting them up yesterday was gone. As soon as I saw the small out of the way link for the Java photo unloader I was golden. The new one? No good. You just select photos and upload. Heaven help you if you have any in portrait, you'll need to rotate them all by hand – the old one lets you rotate the thumbnails quickly all at once.

But never mind this.

During the uploading process I had no more Scotty P to read, however I did manage to upload more blogs, get the photos added to those, an write a new entry while waiting. Closer and closer I come to completing the back log of entries that has haunted me since I stepped away from Port Charlotte. Luckily, now that I'm back the days have become far less interesting, consumed with television, and books, and eating. So much eating. Meals are not the annoyances that get in the way of the things I'd rather do. No, meals are the thing that I'd rather do – the things that let us know time is passing. I know, I'm disgusted too.

Still – it could be worse, we could be going to fast food places, rather than just making sandwiches, and what not.

After the library I headed back, and we had to take a look at our plan to make our way across America. We are a week behind, even though we cut the week off in Boston. Florida has taken longer, and we've added a day here (D.C.), while removing a day there (A.C.)

Now that we know how we travel, we can make a better guess of how long it will take us to get from point A to point B. For the most part, the next two weeks on the road have been mapped out. They'll take us through Louisiana, through to Texas, out into the middle of nowhere to find aliens at Roswell, continuing on until we hit Vegas. There are other stops – of course – but that's the general path we'll be taking. Fourteen hour days of driving, as originally planned, have been split up. Surely we'll find something of interest along the way. And if not – well then, we'll make up a day here and there.

Both of us are itching to leave the comfort of Port Charlotte, but at the same time have become quite used to it. A coin toss, so to speak, will determine when we leave. Vegas – we're looking to go there on a weekend, and see a Penn and Teller show. Tomorrow we'll head to the library and check out if we can grab tickets for the show, and also a place to stay. If going a weekend following saves money, then the die is cast and we spend one more terrible (read: relaxing) week here (I'll try to think of some things to do to get us out of this town) otherwise, we have just one final day...

It's hard to say how it will turn out, but here's hoping. Once Vegas is planned, everything else will slowly start to fall into place. Pretty soon after that will be the long, oh so very long, crawl up the California coast. And then? Then we're almost home. It will be August soon – who saw that coming?

It seems like, even though it was in the title, I didn't talk about scrapbooking. That was done too.

Back in Port Charlotte

The note left on the windscreen worked. Garbage was on the street, and the car had been moved. All was well in the world once more.

Waking up early I started to – well I started to blog. There's no way around it. There had been a number of days to do, and the wrestling events required their own entries. Each night at Universal I was far too tired to do anything but sleep afterwards. And now it was all catching up to me. The lack of a fully functional D key still held me back. It still does. I can only guess how many times the word “an” exists where it should read “and.” Spell checker and my eyes help me catch a lot, but they're probably but a drop in the bucket. There's no way spell checker can help with the an/and problem.

When I'd typed up three entries I figured that would be good enough. To the library. But first to Books-a-Million where we were told a copy of Scott Pilgrim 6 would be kept waiting for us. I had lessened my excitement as we'd been foiled in this quest many times before – but now? Now? They had it! With glee I paid, and then off to use the public computers at thelibrary.

Katherine emailed her family while I fought to get the blog updated. I then noticed that I could toss Facebook images up once more. I had lost the ability to do that on my laptop back in Australia, or New Zealand, but here on these computers I could work some magic. Their new Flash Uploader? Terrible on these comps, and in two hours (max limit here) I barely got four hundred images up. OK – most people don't have a thousand pictures to toss onto facebook, but some of us do, alright?

During that time I was able to read Scott Pilgrim, though. And let me say volume six? It's the first really well written one. He has clearly matured as a writer over the past six years. The only problem – he retcons, and changes character motivation. As there was a four month gap in time, I can understand things would have changed – but my favourite character Kim was written out. She went from being a main character into showing up on maybe five or so pages. The author also manages to ret con the moment where Scott works to fight hard to win her love, changing it to a false memory implant.

I dig the Final Fantasy VII shout out here, but please – if you're an author and your realize that you scripted yourself into a corner, write your way out. Deus Ex Machina works well when it's a joke, as in the previous volume, but here? Having Kim tell Scott that they were never that great, and having her say they can never be together – after five volumes of Kim being silently in love with him, well that's just crap. Not to mention it meant dropping the angle where Ramona was so obsessed with Kim as well. Ugh, but that ret con – where Scott's battle was a false memory... I can't let that go. Not because I don't like the idea of it being a false memory – but because other characters in the “present” talk about the battle, which means it must have happened, and couldn't just be a fake memory of Scotts.

I've not been so disappointed in an ending since Strangers in Paradise, where they completely changed how it would finish (the first pages showed the end – but then September 11th happened, the author got sad, and decided to make a happy ending, which – again – would have been fine, if he rewrote a new beginning too. Ai ya.)

The things that upset me most, are those that had so much potential to be great. I look forward to the movie as it was all written as one. It's easy to forgive someone for changing their thoughts during a six year span. Things happen. And as I said, volume six? Quite well written. So there's that. Scott Pilgrim. Done.

After the library – and many more books bought at the book sale. Ai ya – what am I going to do? One was a sweet hard cover collected Lord of the Rings for only a buck fifty though – so that's good, yeah?

Well, after that excitement we headed off to Wal-Mart to buy some more food, then retired back to our home to eat said food, and finish watching season three of the Venture brother. After that? Off to sleep.

Books and Movies

Yet another day in Florida. They all just kind of blur together, but I don't really mind. Not when I can attempt to poorly play my sweet new Ukulele which can kind of sort of hold its tuning.

On this day three things of note occurred. Thing the first, it started to rain. Now this wouldn't be a problem if not for the fact that we had a tent drying out in the back yard. Another coat of sealer was required. The can says “most sealers require two applications. This one only requires one! This one is a liar. Still, it was really inexpensive, and thus using the whole can was not a problem. It also meant we could, without feelings of guilt, toss the can away.

The rain did work to prove that the tent was mostly secure. Now all we'll need is another opportunity to camp out, and this will all have been for a good purpose. But the heat – it's not getting any colder as we near August. I know, that surprised me too. You'd think the closer to August, and the farther south you go, the colder it would become. Apparently that's only if you go really far south. This above the equator stuff just doesn't cut it. Ironically, here the further south you go the hotter it becomes. Figures.

The tent was broken down quickly and laid over some chairs in an attempt to let it dry out a little, and not remain such a god awful eye sore, while we were out in Orlando over the next four days.

When the tent was down, of course, the rain stopped. That's how these things work.

Next up, over to Wal-Mart to return the defective UNO. We walked in with the receipt, the mismatched deck, then grabbed a good deck and got them switched. It seems to me as if we could have just grabbed a good deck, made a bad deck, and walked away with a free deck of cards, showing the receipt. It reminds me of the days when people would go to Chapters, grab a big book from the back of the store and “return it.” Free money.

In the mall we swung by the movie theatre. I'd heard from far too many sources that Inception was a great movie, and that it needed to be seen. Who was I to argue with such a waterfall of voices? But the next showing wasn't for hours yet. We would return. Probably. Well, maybe. It depends on how lazy we would become.

On the way out of the mall Old Navy may have been hit up – it seems that were one to have a teacher ID or a student ID they could save 25%. Of course Kath had forgot her student ID (having just completed her Masters at UofT) and as for myself? I've been kicking myself on and off this whole year for not thinking to bring my teacher ID, or buy a fake student ID on Khosan Road in Bangkok.

Dinner – watched a few episodes of The Community, and then back to the mall. Inception would be viewed. That it was starting six minutes after we got there was perfect.

It was a pretty good movie. My only regret? That it's so hard to be shocked. I feel like every convention has been exploited. The audience was gasping at some scenes, and I was wondering how they failed to see them coming? By the end of the first ten minutes, the whole movie should be obvious. There are also obvious signs the whole way leading you to understand how it will end (which should be obvious very early on – or from trailers, if you're one of those with access to such things.) But – that doesn't mean it wasn't a delight. I just wish I could watch it with the virgin eyes of those around me who were somehow shocked by the ending (never mind the children hadn't aged, and that they were dressed the same as an earlier memory.)

It felt like The Matrix. For so many people it blew them away. For me? It just reminded me of Dark City and Thirteenth Floor. The last movie to really shock me was Memento – which I had the luxury of watching in a theatre as a random, “hey I've never heard of this, let's check it out,” pick. Had I waited a week or so longer, it would have all been spoiled by the media that was loving it at the time.

There was also a time travel movie, where these guys build a time machine in a storage locker? I can't quite recall how it all played out – but I remember it was confusing. I can't recall of that meant it was good, like Memento or just boring, like the Waking Life.

I do look forward to reading the Internet's take on Inception though, and getting a detailed break down of all the “rules” for dreaming. Recommended on account of being pretty fantastic, and all sorts of pretty.

Plus, arctic soldier are always great. They remind me of GI JOE.

When the movie ended, rather than going to sleep like we should have – six aye em is not getting any further away, and that's when we have to be on the road tomorrow to get to Orlando – we stayed up and finished watching The Community. It's a pretty funny tv show, provided you're ok with character motivation changing every episode, and a lot of things not really making all that much sense. Good silly fun. I'm down.

Around one we set the alarm and went to sleep. Five. That's a lot of hours to sleep anyway, right?

It used to be...

Florida Consumerism

We headed back to the library. This, of course, meant we headed past the library book sale again. It's about time I hit up a run down of all the terrible terrible things we have bought. You need to know the quality of books we're buying. I'll try my best to justify them here, but know that no amount of justification can really make sense of five Michael Crichton novels. Two or three? Maybe. Four – that's pressing it. Five? There's no excuse.

Congo, Michael Crichton – Killer apes. The movie was terrible, but after the success of Jurassic Park people thought it just might work. On screen it did not, but if I can get enjoyment from terrible science fiction series, then I'm sure there's something there. There just has to be.

The Lost World, Michael Crichton – The sequel to Jurassic Park. No T-Rex hits the mainland here. I remember this book being swift and sweet. I read it during a storm on an island accessible only by little ten horse power tin cans in the middle of a native reservation. It's time I give it a read again. Dinosaurs are awesome.

State of Fear, Michael Crichton – I don't know what this is about. It's got a back that lists praise from a few sources, so there are no plot summaries here, but for fifty cents it has so many pages. Might as well give it a go.

Time Line, Michael Crichton – Yet another in the list of novels that were turned into movies that didn't make the cut. I liked the premise of this movie, and if the novel can expand on it, in the ways I've always hoped it would... then there is some hope. Now not all his novels made terrible adaptations. Sphere was pretty true to the novel, but it wasn't a great novel. I loved it when I read it as a wee one, but the end that made nothing matter at all really bothered me, and set me up for a life time of anger with the “it's all a dream” / didn't matter plot cliche. Also we got the 13th Warrior from Crichton's Eaters of the Dead. I do love this movie, but I'm not sure how it would hold up as a novel. I must find out some day. Mind you there's no SF there, not in the movie anyway. And then there's the Andromeda Strain that gave him the first big push – I know nothing of this. I have avoided the terrible 80s costumes all my life.

Prey, Michael Crichton – I think Stargate owes every single replicator story line to this novel. Maybe not, maybe something else came first, but this is what the back of the book makes it out to be. Katherine picked up this novel. In fact the next four are hers as well.

A Modern Treasury of Great Detective and Murder Mysteries, Ed Gorman – you know it's great when there's neither enough great detective or great murder mysteries to go it alone. Looking at the faded dust jacket (didn't BTTFII claim we should have moved on from these by now?) one wonders if quality control was as high back then as it is now.

Star Trek: Voyager – Mosaik, Jeri Taylor – The life and times of Captain Janeway written by the creator of Voyager, so you know it's totally in canon! Wowzers. I don't know what's worse? Having bought this book, or that knowing the purchase is precursor to having to read the entire text? So much potential for terrible here. Really, that's the only potential. Back in the early days before the re-launch of the Star Trek series in novel form little effort was put into the texts. Still – creator and all.

Best English Short Stories, Gordon an Hughes – Another treasury from the darker dust jacketed times. These are the books that rot mildewed in your basement. Ashamed to throw them out, but not compelled enough to make room on your shelf for them.

Geisha, A Life, Mineko Iwasak – A biography of a Geisha. There may be some hope here.

Forrest Gump, Winston Groom – I have wanted to read this since I realize Forrest Gump was not an original movie, but based on a novel from 1984. By page six is differs from the movie (Forrest is 6 foot 6, over two thirty pounds.) Even the first line contradicts the film, rather than life being a box of chocolates, and all that, Winston Groom writes, “let me say this: being an idiot is no box of chocolates.” What makes the book wonderful is that due to the diction one needs to read it aloud with proper accent. And I am.

The Beautiful Miscellaneous, Dominic Smith – It's a Trade Paperback which normally means it might be modern enough to be awesome. The cover? The rainbow spelling of miscellaneous, it makes me feel this could be a real cracker of a read. Son of a genius, terrible accident, starts to perceived the world differently. I'm hooked.

Anonymous Lawyer, Jeremy Blachman – The last book we have bought (thus far.) It's another Trade Paperback. Not good enough for mass market, but at the same time, that means it should have a reading level above grade five, and ideas that could be seen as subversive. It's written in the form of a blog, by a lawyer. It's supposed to be funny. Written by a blog author. You know what, maybe there is little hope for this, but it will be a quick read. So there's that.

Sandstorm, James Rollins – Ahh yes, I almost forgot about this one. Katherine picked up this gem because it had a three dimensional cover. One of those scratchy plastic things they used to put on collectible cereal boxes, or the box for the Jurassic Park, Lost World, VHS.

I'd like to say that's all we've bought since coming to Florida, but with little to do, we've spent a lot of time in malls and shops. The benefit of this is that I finally picked up a ukulele – Mahalo U320C with little gig bag, and an extra set of strings. It came to eighty bucks. Because it was so poorly tuned in store, I asked about how to tune it and was shown the magic of the friction screws, and told how to properly tune this beast. I would have screwed it up and busted it, me thinks, were I to have not asked.

I don't want to explain how long it took me to figure out I had to use the pegs on the two lighter strings too, even though they were in tune (a whole key off.) Now I can play This Magic Moment like a pro-star. Kinda sorta. I can play it anyway. Give me a song without Ds or Bs and I'm golden.

But it didn't stop there either. Today we headed out to Edison Mall in Fort Myers. It's named due to the fact that one Edison, T used to frequent the area back in the proverbial day. Now it's home to Hot Topic. Yes – Hot Topic. Look, it's not that I want to admit I shop there, but they do have great T-Shirts, and ever since Stew from Germany, and Japan, an back home, got me the Canada t-shirt, thus making them a viable option again, well I've been looking around.

One shirt had little robot GIR so excited, screaming, “I'm making waffles!” Well – I love waffles. And GIR. There was no choice. At least I avoided the Scott Pilgrim shirt. It was eight bit wonderful, but I would have felt like a poser. Were I to have read the book over the past six years, sure – but I only picked up at the end, and I still can't even find the sixth book. Three more shops were hit up in the Fort Myer area without success. Two not having it, one sold out. With the movie less than a month away, what's wrong with these people?

Katherine, too, grabbed a few shirts – one of a cute cartoony Link being all pissed off, the other of a Perler Sprite GIR which I will have to create when we get back. She may have also got a GIR water bottle, and wallet. Who can say?

This is what we've become. Consumer whores. And it's kinda sorta wonderful. On the other hand, we're supposed to be staying in Florida to save money. Funny that. Well, with just tomorrow left to hang around, before our four days at Universal we'll be on the move once more in no time. How sweet that will be.

In unrelated news, there is a giant monster stork that lives outside our home, whose foot long beak threatens to cut through the screen like a warm knife, and butter. I am not terrified of this monster, no matter how much it looks like the evil Marabou stork of death. Not at all. But if we could just keep it away? Well that would be great, thanks.

Florida Beaches and Library Internet

Up and at them, early in the morning. Our destination today? The beach. Finding a great big umbrella attached to a vampire destroying, or sand securing, spike sealed the deal on this one. We could go to the beach, read some books, look at some water, and – you know – be beachy.

Of course, there were a few things I needed to take care of first. Dropping Katherine off, I headed over to the library to use the internet. There were three issues I had to take care of, not the least of which was the hospital from New Zealand trying to charge me for services I had already paid for. My records are clearly marked paid in full. One wonders what happened on their end. Some trans-pacific faxing is in order.

Couple the three issues that needed a quick fix (I'll have to return tomorrow to follow up on them) with getting blogs and photos live, then mix in the fact that my data sticks were giving me problems as I attempted to secure the latest episode of True Blood, fold in the travel time and by the time I returned to the beach my quick little outing had taken two hours.

For me, they were hours of annoyance and frustration. For Katherine, they were pretty relaxing. She enjoyed the water, and from what I can piece together, conversed with a gargantuan Rastafarian about better beaches in the area.

The one we were at was the small dinky one, but it was the only I had any idea of how to get to. This giant told her about Englewood, which we would have headed over to if not for the fact that it was forty minutes away. Not just forty minutes away, but only five or ten minutes from where we were yesterday.

Last time we were in Port Charlotte, my parents took us both to a long beach ripe with shark teeth. That's where I wanted to head – but not knowing the name, we contented ourselves with the fact that, surely my parents would reply to my email and inform us. Perhaps this weekend would be the perfect time to wander those shores.

Done with her relaxing, and limited beach activities, Katherine threw her gear in the car. The beach would be a pipe dream for me on this day. In failure, I drove across the bay bridge, and stopped at a restaurant with a back patio overlooking the ocean. I had been here once before, and it might just be the best kept secret in the area. Unfortunately it will stay as one, as I've never paid attention to what it was called. Crossing the bridge towards Fisherman's Village, from Port Charlotte, it is directly on the right, seemingly part of a hotel.

Do not let the hours on the door claiming that it opens at 3pm fool you. From 11 – 3pm this steak house serves lunch. And what a lunch. A half pound burger and fries for 4.99, or a foot long sandwich, which turns out to be a foot and a half long, for 5.99. You'd expect to pay more than double for this food, and then toss on another fifty percent for location, but no – there's no need. Not only that, but you'll have the sea side patio almost to yourself. It seems no one knows about this place. They must have the worst marketing of all time.

If you find it, be sure to return often. I'd hate to roll up one day, finding it gone. Feel free to grab a pint of Land Shark Lager while you're at it. Personally I'm not a fan of those golden clear bottle beers, but I do like a good SNL skit. Next up, Samurai Beer?

Bellies full and happy, we wandered Fisherman's village, finding a map of all the surrounding beaches. Now if only we knew the name of the one we were after. The game store on the board walk drew us in. So many games, but so high a price. I'd like to play them all, especially Goblet or Gobbles or whatever that checkers/Russian doll game is called.

But no, we satisfied ourselves by simply looking, and retired back home to watch the delightful Vampire television show I had procured. With that done, I set to typing away, while Katherine decided to ride an imaginary bicycle. Some type of yoga, I suspect. Or pilates. That sounds like a word that might fit. I'm not really sure, aside from that there is a mat involved.

This seems like an excellent time to break open that copy of Congo I bought yesterday. Super smart killer apes. What could be better?

Pilgrimage to Sarasota

Last night I put the laundry on, sealed the tent, and got the dishes going. Well, the tent leaks, and the clothes are sitting in a vat of water, as for the dishes – they're actually clean. So there's one good thing. Just have to put them away, and – there – now time to address the other problems.

The washing machine does not change cycles by itself. I do not know why. I do not know how to fix it. I do know that I can manually click the wheel over to start it draining, then click it over to start the rinse, clicking once more to drain and then spin. But so help me if I move the wheel too far and have to go 360 to get back. The thing is liable to start filling with water and spinning at the same time.

Some trial and error was required here, but at last I had clean-ish clothes. Into the dryer. And go. Luckily, that worked without any problems whatsoever.

In the backyard I crawled into the tent, and sprayed the sealer from the inside this time. I'd never done this before, from the inside, but the tent suggested it via a tag on its inside. Who am I to argue with the tent? If this fails we have a seam sealer – but if that fails too, that's it, we're out of ideas.

It doesn't help that I discovered a small hole on the inside when I was crawling around. But just to be interesting, it's the side without the hole that has a tendency to leak more.

I would have to let this dry, and then ignore it for the rest of the day before checking if it worked. I have no desire to go back outside and set to work on that tent again this day. No – my desire, instead, was to track down Volume Six of Scott Pilgrim. It came out just yesterday and should be on store shelves now. There are no comic stores in Port Charlotte – they'd all since closed down. Also there are no book stores here either, save for the one Christian book store, which I do not think would carry what I was after.

Having read the first five volumes, Katherine and I were eager to finally finish off the series, but to get that book we would have to go to the Barnes and Nobles in Sarasota, almost an hour north of us.

Sarasota is the birthplace of the Barnum and Bailey circus. Some of the bridges there were even built with circus elephants. Surely a town like that would have some other use for us. Into the car, and off we went.

Barnes and Noble, an hour later, did not have the book that we were after. They had the earlier volumes, but whoever was responsible for stocking shelves did not see fit to fast track this book in their order. Still, this store was right beside a Best Buy where I bought some more memory for my camera. I should now have enough to carry me to the end of my trip.

In Best Buy I did a Google search for comic shops in Sarasota – four hits were found. We had a new mission. Planisphere was first, on Tamiami. It was just down the street from where we searched. It was – it – was – a men's clothing store now. O.K. That's fine, one down, three to go. Next up Helen's books and comics. The name of this store made me think it was going to be nothing more than a used comic shop, but I had to know. On main street we searched for it. No, no, no, a few more addresses, and – there! The... building with the for sale sign in the window. O.K. That's fine. That's great. Two down, two more to go.

Our next shop must still exist – it only opened a few months ago. Comics-R-Russ. Presumably the owners name was Russ?

As we walked into this shop, located beside the, “we buy your gold!” shop I feared the worst. The owner was the perfect comic book guy. Large, and balding. He also looked a bit too much like Ron Jeremy for me to be perfectly comfortable. His hand drawn maps to the store listed such land marks as Burger King, to help navigate. The interior of the shop was shelf after collapsing shelf full of back issues. There was one small rack of new releases.

I asked about Scott Pilgrim, and he asked what volume I was after. I said the new one. He asked, “three or four?” Obviously if I wanted the new one, and three and four were both out, it would be four – not three – if he were anywhere close to being correct. But no, I wanted six. He said he'd just started to hear about it, with the upcoming release of the movie. But no, he didn't have it.

He suggested the fourth shop on our list. And off we went, confident now that it would exist.

The fourth shop, The Dark Side, was located in a strip mall. This one was clean, bright, and wonderful – it reminded me of Heroes World back in Markham, Ontario. A comic shop you don't have to feel terrible about entering. As soon as I got in, I was greeted and asked if I needed anything: the new Scott Pilgrim?

They had it, they said – but it was now sold out. One day and their full order, gone. We could get it next week? But we would not be here next week. Not in Sarasota anyway. They suggested Borders, another book store.

They too did not have it. Six stores, six failures. If I were back home, I could have grabbed it from Heroes World, Silver Snail, or The Beguiling without issue. There are also three or four fall back shops I could have checked, but as they remind me of Comics-R-Russ, I'd rather stay away. No offense Russ, it's just, your store? A little creepy.

Our trip wasn't a complete failure. Sure, the comic shops didn't pay off, and historic downtown Sarasota was just a street named Fruitville with themed roads like Orange and Lemon, shooting off from it – but there were the keys. The islands off in the water.

Driving over a bridge onto them, we slowly made our way from top to bottom. A leisurely way back home. The homes here – they looked as if they belonged in the richer parts of Los Angeles. Not here in hurricane prone Florida. With large gates, these houses towered above the ground, uncommon in this world of single level flats. Some had great fountains and sculptures out front, gardeners in full uniform keeping the lawns presentable. Others? They had plastic manatees holding the mail box.

It was the coastal side of the road with the large properties. The bay side were far smaller and more in place here. I wondered what it would be like to live in a shack across from a mansion?

Two keys we travelled gawking all the while, annoyed at those buildings with gates shut, preventing us from drooling over their homes.

At the southern most tip of the southern most key, there was a public beach. Not as spartan as all the private ones, chained off to the public, that we had passed earlier, but still a beach. Parking the car, we took to the sand, and looked out into the ocean, transitioning betweens blues, greens, and crystal whites with every breaking wave and shimmer of the sun.

In the warm water, pelicans took to quick flight, diving down into the surf, coming up chomping away on their new meal. Children built castles far too close to the waters edge, rebuilding them with each crashing wave, and couples sat together with the babies introducing them to the wonders of the ocean.

Pictures were taken, and we stood long enough to say that we were there. But the day was growing long, and we wanted to get back home. With some 49 cent (wow! it's like 1998!) McBurgers in our belly, we raced back along the highway.

Back at base, I napped, Kath read, and we then finished watching Season Two of Venture Brothers – while starting a show called Community. I realized near the end of one episode that I had seen part of this before in a sleep deprived haze, somewhere over the Pacific. I distinctly remember waking up and trying to make sense of it all on a plane some weeks prior. Much better in context, when not fighting for every waking moment.

And then to bed.

My sleep cycle is changing here. Without in house internet, or television, I find myself sleeping when I'm tired, and waking when I'm not. A standard day starts at seven, and ends around eleven. This could be things coming back into cycle – or it could just be that I'm not over being sick. I'd like to assume the latter thank you very much. I'm willing to change, but not that much.

Florida Day Two - Settling In

I made waffles! I had been craving waffles, talking about waffles, living all things waffles for the last week or so. I had seen no waffles. Then, then today I made them. And ate them. And, you know what? Not all that good. Never mind that it took a while to get used to this machine again, but they just were not all that wonderful. I will deny this, of course, but it's true.

In the back yard, we got the tent set up so that it could air out, and spread its filthy musky smell for the world. Katherine tried to take a picture of an Ibis. She was making a loud terrifying noise that she later told me was her Ibis call to make it look over. Obviously the bird had know idea what kind of monster had been let loose, an flew away to safety. Ibis call? Fail.

We wiped down the tent to clean it off. Soapy water, was used. Then, as it dried, we headed off to the library.

The Port Charlotte library is a magical one – mostly because of its book sale. The books they sell here are ones you'd actually want to read. For fifty cents I picked up Lost World (the Jurassic Park sequel I'd been thinking of, since reading the first back in Japan), and another Crichton book – Congo. It, like Lost World, was a terrible movie, but I'm led to believe the books are much better. State of Fear also found its way into my bag. I also grabbed the latest two issues of Wired magazine (a quarter each – I almost bought each for full price in airports over the last few months.)

In the library we connected to wifi, and sent off all the emails that needed sending. Got in touch with the world back home, let them know we were alive. I checked the Kennedy Space Centre webpage to see if there were any rocket launches, but there were not. Not until mid August. This is both good and bad. Bad, because I won't see a launch. Good because they're annoying to get to, and plan for, and then have them canceled. So on and so forth.

The prices for Universal Studios, however, gave pause. The price of a week is close to that of a day. We'll now have to plan how long we want to spend there. Two parks, two days each, I imagine? Three nights in motels – two drive back on the final night. For the ten/twenty dollar difference in price, that should be fine. It also seems that there are some twenty dollar motels out that way. But when to go? Not over a weekend – motels cost more. Perhaps Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday? But as it's only Tuesday now that will be some time before we go. Thursday, Friday, and Saturday still remain. There's always the drive to the Floria Keys, but doing that on a weekend seems foolish too. Best to save that until the next Thursday after Universal in case we need to sleep down there.

So much to do, so seemingly little time – we could spend weeks here, pausing our road trip almost indefinitely. The desire to be lazy grows and grows.

I found a store that sells Ukuleles, but they're over priced, ninety dollars rather than the sixty or seventy it should be. Should I just get it? The internet says it's a good instrument. Would I notice those thirty bucks? It's hard for me to make the plunge knowing I'm being screwed. Perhaps a bigger city would have it cheaper, but where will I find a bigger city? Our next stops out of here are for the creepy southern states as featured in True Blood, and if what I'm led to believe is correct, those areas are full of evil, devilish monsters!

We headed back to Wal-Mart, and picked up some more food, and card games. Yatzee: Hands Down, and Sorry Revenge (both pretty good, but not Monopoly good) and then Uno. Which we played, and realized sucked for some reason. The reason? There were only red and yellow cards. Some jerk had switched the two packs inside for the same ones. Annoying though it was, it was also kinda funny.

Though it means we'll have to return.

I was planning on heading back that way for the Best Buy, as I need some new memory for my camera. I'm down to three hundred frames remaining, and that just wont do. No sir, that won't do at all.

On the tent, the silicon sealant was sprayed. We'd then let that dry, and test to see if it was magically waterproof yet. On the other hand, why test for water now, as the sky gets dark, best to leave that for morning. The washing machine was set to wash, and the dish washer was enabled as well.

Come morning there would be clean dishes, clean clothes, and a dry tent.

At least one of those three anyway.

Florida Begins

At six in the morning I wake up to the ringing of the door bell. I can't remember what I wore, if I wore, when I answered the door. A man was there. The owner of the car. He asked if we were staying here. I said yes. He mumbled something about moving his car down the street. I didn't know who he was, where he was from, or why he shouldn't already have a place for his car – I didn't question it. I was on four hours of sleep at this point, I moved the car, put ours back in, locked up, locked the house, and passed out in bed once more.

At a more reasonable hour I woke up, and took stock of what we had in the fridge, what we would need to buy. There is no phone, no tv, an no internet here (though I believe there is some interwebs in the local library.) I swept all the ants away, while Katherine vacuumed as many as she could out of the carpets. Then? Then we went to IHOP. This place is killing our food budget, and no doubt killing us. But their cheese steak is far better than those served in Philly. And their breakfasts? Wonderful – and pretty cheap too.

Also, it was on the way to the mall. The mall was sad, and dead, and depressing. The Target? That was alright. But pretty overpriced. I did buy Monopoly Deal, however – a Monopoly card game I'd seen some Chinese girls playing back in Venice, Italy. I couldn't ask them how it worked, they spoke no English, but it looked fun.

Then to Wal-Mart. Here things were cheaper than Target, and we picked up some silicon sealant for the tent, as well a head lamp, and all sorts of Rolled Back food.

With our fridge now stocked, we set down to serious business: Monopoly Deal. We must have played a dozen games, enjoying them all. I recommend this five dollar card game. We play with just the two of us, but the box claims it's good for four. While I'm sure it's more fun that way, it still stands out as a great two player game.

Frozen pizza was baked, and devoured. Then we set to watching the first four episodes of True Blood, which I'd downloaded some time ago, preparing for the time when we would have no tv, yet still be in need of some visual entertainment. We also watched the first episode of The Pacific. Though not nearly as good as the first episode of Band of Brothers, I have high hopes for the continuation of this series.

We didn't do much, and that's alright. Taking some time to relax – for me, the first time since New Zealand? I'm alright with that. I do fear we'll get lazy the longer we stay here though. And we will be in Florida for some time. There needs to be a few days spent at Universal Studios, and then a day at Kennedy Space Centre (maybe? Hopefully.) We need to go to the Keys, and we might as well stay here to plan the next phase of our journey, as it's – you know – free and all.

We'll become so lazy, I fear, that it will jar us to start moving on again. We'll see.

Katherine caught a lizard.

Charleston to Florida

We got up, and we got out, leaving the creepy motel as quickly as we could. Now you may think – they serve hot breakfast, and have a pool. What exactly made this place so creepy? Were there pictures of little children cut out of magazines posted along the top of the walls? No – no there were not. So what was it then?

To be honest – I couldn't tell you. Let's just say, for sake of argument, that we didn't leave out of fear, but because we wanted to get to Charleston as early as possible.

Rolling into Charleston at eight thirty in the morning is the perfect time to arrive. The visitor centre is just opening, and the big girls who work behind the desk are feeling at their most cranky, having been ripped out of pleasant dreams only moments earlier. Yes, they're a lovely bunch, most of the time – but speak to them when sleep still hangs in their eyes, and all you get is a few highlighter marks on a pull out map. There is no information, and no idle chit chat, just here you are, there you go.

Still – those marks were starting point enough. Rainbow Row, the Market, and the Battery. The main places of interest in Charleston.

We found free street parking (being Sunday, all street parking was free) and wondered who these people were that were paying ten to twenty dollars for the lots, half full even at this early hour. Probably the same people who pay for wifi at the airport.

Rainbow row. This is the most photographed part of Charleston, and it's obvious to see the second you step up. Everywhere you look there is a tourist, or a large group of tourists, holding one or more cameras. Many cameras all snapping away at the sides of these buildings painted in bland, unobtrusive pastels. Now, they were all different colours, which is what is said to make this little strip so wonderful but:

I had not ha a good sleep in ages, we lost our relax day in D.C. because the manager of the motel failed to honour his bargain to lower the price for an extra night, and as such I was tired. Not just tired – but I'd been on the move for months now, and it was all finally coming t a head. Maybe it's that the sky was grey. Maybe it's that the sun was on the other side of the town, making any and all photos of these coloured houses more muted than they already were, or maybe it's that I was just cranky – but I tell you what, I could not have cared less about these houses.

Yes yes, pretty and all. Katherine like them quite a bit – but they were just houses. They were like the homes you see in Eastern Canada – except the ones there are vibrant, and beautiful. This? What was the point of all this?

Half an hour from that moment I would drink a large lemonaid, hydrate myself, get some sugar in me, and Charleston would become a magical wonderland of delights. Sadly, that was still some time to come.

As we walked towards the battery, people were snapping away with their cameras, and I wondered what it was that they were seeing that I wasn't. What were they taking pictures of? I could see elements I wanted to shoot but they were too far hidden by the angle. Or far too dark. There were fans over porches, and there were red striped chairs behind white washed rails, but nothing was within reach of my cameras lens.

I walked down the street, wondering where all the southern stereotypes were. I wanted big men in suits under those porch fans, drinking lemonaid, freshly made, screaming, “I declare.” I wanted women in their fancy dresses, and big hats, walking down the streets. I wanted – something that made this place feel different from anywhere else I had been. This was The South, dagnabbit, and I wanted it to feel that way. Never mind that my interpretation of Southern America happens to be set in a fictional nineteen fifties.

Looking at the canons, and the guns facing out to sea at the battery, I wondered if I'd travelled the world too late. I'm sure there are hidden gems still out there, but the ease of it all... well, nothing is supposed to be easy, is it? Were we to travel to small towns far off the path, and risk Deliverance style ends, we might surely be welcomed into some obscure American homesteads – but to play safe, well that will only ever get you so far. So here we were in Charleston, appreciating it for what it was, as a man dressed as a pirate with a voice like Bill Clinton led a tour for paying visitors. A horse and buggy pulled another group through the streets, pointing out banks, and pubs, and churches along the way.

It may be that the town seemed so empty because it was Sunday. With more than two hundred and fifty churches in the area, Charleston is a city that takes its religion quite seriously. And there it was. Everything I had wanted to see, all at once.

The pretty ladies in their Sunday best were walking up the stairs as a cacophony of church bells started to ring with no rhythm, an no song. 10:07 they began, and who knows when they ended. The whites entered the church, while the black men rounded the back to garden, and sweep up the mess. Standing on the porch a large man in a pink and white pinstriped suit welcomed us, and tried to usher us inside. It was the fictional nineteen forties right here on the corner of Church and Broad. But it wasn't. It was real. It was two thousand and ten. And it seemed, with eyes straight ahead, as if time had stood still.

I desperately wanted to go inside. Not because of any religious reasons, but because it was a cultural experience. And because we had been invited by a preacher whose largeness made me think he would be of the screaming persuasion, The type who talks in all caps and exclamation marks.

Though I was dressed in shorts, and a short sleeved shirt, it was still alright. Katherine looked far more the part, in a lovely red dress, and straw hat which fit right into my vision of the past. But she would have none of it. Even just to look around, and take pictures, she avoids churches. And if there happens to be something going on inside, well then it's a fight just to pause and look through the door.

While I felt I was missing out on some spectacular experience, which may or may not have led to faith healing [note: it would not have, for that you need to meet at the ol' van, down by the river, just before midnight – or something like that, I'm sure] it was for the best. Every moment spent here was a moment later we would finally reach our destination of Port Charlotte Florida.

Before leaving we hit up the market, which is where the giant lemonaid came from, which changed my view of this town far more than the church scene did. There were shops with various spicy condiments, horseradish jelly, and the finest peppers this side of wherever fine peppers are grown. There were stalls with art, and collections of baseball cards – Hank Aaron, Mickey Mantle, Joe DiMaggio.

Fans spinning over head tried to cool those walking below, with little effect. The drink tasting of pure lemon curd fulfilled that goal. And as we walked we stopped to look, try a deep fried peanut here or there, and then headed on.

Back at the car we plugged in our destination, looked at the estimated arrival time of 9pm, and cringe. Twelve hours ahead of us, and we still weren't quite ready to leave the state. Not when there was an outlet mall only minutes away.

I may have said time and again that I hate shopping. But I contradict that whenever I find a store I like. It's not that I hate shopping, it's just that there's not much I enjoy shopping for – couple that with my desire to spend as little money as possible, and you've got yourself a reluctant shopper. Even at the outlet mall, as Kath checked out stores for shoes, I wanted to kill myself. Why had I suggested this? She likes shopping about as much as I do – but she had a reason to shop right now. It made it bearable for her. Sure there was a Chinese food lunch (veggies and butter, beef, and spaghetti – well I ate it was backwards chopsticks, and it came from a place called [something] wok, so it wanted to be Chinese food anyway.) That wasn't enough though.

Then – the Eddie Bauer store. It's possible that fifty percent of my clothes these days come from there. Of all places that fit me, they fit me best. In we went. The first thing I saw? A lime green button up, quick dry, 50 UPF shirt. This must be mine. But thirty dollars... “Get it,” Katherine nudged, also liking it. Fine. There was no choice. A blue one sat beside it, but coming only in XXL, rather than single X, it fit – but far too big. Comparing it, it was larger and longer than the dress Kath had on.

Only the green shirt for me – Shorts, $34.99, now 50% off! What value! What savings. Last time I was in Port Charlotte, before Christmas, I had to throw away a pain of Eddie Bauer shorts that had served me well over the years. They had finally ripped through and died. But here were new ones. I checked all the styles seeing if I could replace the same ones. Finally it dawned on me that these were that style, but while some of the orange inner stitching had remained, the orange zipper was now the colour of the fabric, and the shorts I loved would never be the same again.

Accepting this, I grabbed two pairs. I will not allow myself to have these rip and feel the same upset as when the last died. For seventeen fifty, these were a quarter of the price I paid the last time around. With two pairs, I was now prepared for the American summer – I had only one pair up to this point. On the way to the front I saw flip flops for seven bucks. I'd never worn them, but these looked alright, and were branded with the EB signature. How could I resist?

When I get to Florida, I'll have to take stock of my clothing and figure out what I need, what I don't.

Then – finally – we headed off. The ETA displayed by the GPS reading 11pm for Port Charlotte. It was going to be a long drive into the night. And it was barely after noon.

The drive was mostly uneventful, except for a half hour stop for food. And then hours of nothing once more. Until - “Peach cider, twenty miles.” I followed these signs, Katherine missing them all, giving updates as we drove. “In just seventeen miles we'll be at the cider,” I said.

“How do you know this?!” Her frustration, but also desire for cider that is not apple, getting the best of her.

When finally we arrived, I admitted there had been signs, and that – no – I had never stopped here before, nor, “all the time,” as I may have claimed.

Inside there were five types: peach, cherry, apple, blackberry, and some sort of special grape. We bought one of each. None were all that fantastic, but all begged experimenting. Their dips, and mixes, and sauces – pepper dip, spicy tomato, these were the highlights for me. But they went unpurchased (with free samples and no shame, I made sure to try them all.)

Then it was back on the road. ETA midnight. Great.

I took over driving. And then the rain picked up. From seventy miles and hour, we dropped back to sixty. Then to fifty. Trucks blazed by, every one turned on their four way flashers in an attempt to not be hit, and we just carried on. What else was there to do? The rain broke – it came back – it lessened. Hours later, I had to switch driving with Katherine, and I napped. Then I drove, and then she did once more – the final push. I woke up as we pulled into the driveway, behind another car, just after one thirty in the morning.

Why was there another car? Did my parents finally buy a Florida car? Was someone sleeping in our house? I couldn't be bothered to care. Time for sleep.

As we headed in, turned on the water, and flushed the toilet three times to empty it of rusty yellow water, we noticed all these black specks on the ground. So many. So many black specks. Dear lord, they were ants! Dead ants! Dead ants everywhere. Millions of them. What was more disturbing was the one or two live ones crawling around on top.

I quickly found a broom and made a pile of them on the floor, so as I could use the washroom without stepping on corpses. And then – bladder emptied – we vowed to deal with them in the morning. For now? Now it was time to sleep.