Idiot Patrol 2000a

Florida: Spring Break This

There is a certain logic to dreams. Sometimes, in rare occasions, dream logic spills over into reality and we are left, days later wondering how he could have done what we did, and whatever possessed us to do it in the first place.

The weekend beginning March 3 was such a weekend. First of all, it began with the case of The State of Maryland v Godzilla. Godzilla had been accused of failing to adjust speed in an accident that destroyed a State van and nearly dented the bumper of an El Camino. Godzilla was exonerated post-haste, and since the case was tried in Southern Maryland, he made his way to a pre-arranged location in Richmond, VA to meet up with me and to begin our annual pilgrimage to baseball’s spring training.

This year’s plan’s were different, as we had several ancillary mission objectives. Objective One: as I had never seen the Keys we were to drive out to Key West. Objective Two: a co-conspirator (codename: Princess) had taken seasonal employment (or had been taken hostage, depending on how you see it) in West Palm Beach, and we felt it was our duty to visit and remind her about what being an idiot is all about. Also, we were going to wear suits. And there was something about sombrero. As in last year’s mission we also had to take in a baseball game, and stop at a Steak ‘n Shake.

So, Godzilla showed up to the rendezvous point (my place of wage earning). We took the exploratory vehicle to get it’s oil changed, I changed into my suit, and we took off.

Let me take a break for a minute to talk about the importance of double checking your supplies before leaving. Always double check, always. G and I packed beef jerky in a cooler. The plan was to put the jerky in the cooler, drive to a gas station and fill the cooler with ice and soda. Well, I saw G pick up the cooler, and he saw me pick up the cooler but neither put it in the car. This was our first setback, which was remedied at a Food Lion in Emporia. Godzilla bought some donut holes to alleviate the pain. They didn’t help. The fruit pies were another story.

Then we drove. And drove. Just after dark we reached our first destination, South of the Border. If you’ve even driven on I-95 through North or South Carolina you’ve seen the signs. Hopefully, you’ve stopped (you have to- it’s the rule) so we’ll say that the description is for people who haven’t made the trek. South of the Border is an oasis of neon along a very flat and uninteresting highway. This is where the seething underbelly of sly commercialism erupts. They sell things simply for the sake of selling them. Most of the items are decorated ashtrays and shot glasses. It’s kind of like they’re selling kindergarten art projects, but after seeing the signs for a couple hundred miles you have to buy something, mostly to prove you were there. I bought an ashtray for three reasons. First of all, I wanted to prove I was there. I’m a sucker like everyone else. Second of all, I want to support South of the Border. It’s an entire town that has grown just to sell stuff to gullible tourists. It’s such a wonderful idea. Third, I needed an ashtray.

Godzilla opted for a theme purchase – a sombrero. He’s be yapping about driving around in a sombrero in his convertible for far too long. Now he can. After making our purchases we walked along, checking out the faux fancy restaurant. Okay, so everything is fakey there. And yet, who got the stares? We did. The sight of two guys in dark suits (one of which is carrying a sombrero) was a little more than the people who had been driving all day to wrap their minds around. A giant, neon, stereotypical Mexican, on the other hand, fits nicely in their gestalt.

Then we drove some more. We stopped at the first rest stop in Florida and changed into Florida wear. Then we drove some more. Jacksonville is profoundly beautiful at night, from the highways. You get to drive over and under bridges, you see the lights of the city, including a bridge that is lined in purple neon. Jacksonville is so beautiful because all you see for the next eight hours is flatness. It’s basically Kansas with palm trees. But flatter.

After we reached south Florida, we switched drivers as had been pre-arranged. Miami scares me, so I spend the next hour curled up in the fetal position in the passenger seat. Sunrise was in Miami, and then we headed out to the Florida Keys.

This was my first experience in the Keys, and it was spectacular. There is so much natural beauty, interrupted by towns that are obviously kicked back. The only drawback is the highway itself. There is very rarely space to pass anyone, so there is the possibility of spending mile after mile behind someone who for some reason feels that 10 miles under the speed limit is the appropriate speed. Fucking RV’s.

Finally we made it to Key West. For the first time in hours you stop driving straight over islands and you start to drive around it. We finally parked the car, and walked around. Key West is beautiful and not in the way I would have expected. I was basically expecting a beach town, like Ocean City or Virginia Beach. But, roads are too narrow and twist too much to allow for the strip mall sensibility that infects most cities. From where we walked around, there wasn’t even a beach, just a port. That was fine by me. After wandering around we settled into a bar (it was 11am) and got ourselves set up with rum for me and Corona with lime for Godzilla. Godzilla wrote some postcards to people we knew who weren’t in Florida at the time. After a few drinks we made the phone calls. I called my friend Sean. He wasn’t in so I left a message: "I’m in Key West, and I’m drunk."

We headed up to West Palm Beach. Finally, after a pizza dinner with the Princess, we slept. For Godzilla, it had been 40 hours since the last time that he slept. It was two or three fewer for me. Sleep was good.

The next morning, we woke up and headed into one of the best days of my life. We went to see the saviors of baseball in the midst of their spring training. The Baltimore Orioles are the saviors of baseball. Ask anyone. After the strike, it was Cal Ripken’s streak that brought people back to baseball. I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking of the home run race. Here’s the problem with the home run race theory: baseball is not a flashy sport and the home run race is flashy. Baseball is a kicked back game, a game of consistency. Cal’s record reminded America about why they need baseball. Too bad Peter Angelos can’t stop trying his damnedest to ruin the once proud team. Fuck Peter Angelos.

And who is one of the gods of Oriole’s baseball? Earl Weaver. If you don’t know who he is, then look him up. You’re already connected to the internet. Just type Earl Weaver into any search engine. If you get too many entries try adding "Hall of Fame" or "1970 World Series" then maybe you’re starting to understand. We got to the park and saw the sign: Earl Weaver Day. He was there, he threw out the first pitch. Then, he sat 7 rows in front of me. He could have sat in some roped of section – he had that right. But instead he sat with the fans. I asked him to sign my ball cap, and he did. Those of you who know Earl Weaver will appreciate that he didn’t stay for the whole game. After 5, he was outta there.

Also, I sat next to the most wonderful girl in the world. I almost proposed to her. I swear. Godzilla claimed to be already engaged to her. The comment we overheard about, "that being the last time I bet on baseball while drunk," just about made our heads explode.

Following the ballgame, we drove around West Palm Beach and then got drunk. That day was a good day: we didn’t even have to use our AK.

The trip back was mostly uneventful. It was a sane trip. We left at noon and got in around 2 am. In case you are wondering, that is excellent time. It was good for us, but bad for you since there is no story. We didn’t even stop at any interesting places. I guess some other stuff happened. I was pretty drunk and didn’t sleep for much of it, so if I left something out, I just don’t care.

Godzilla’s Addendum

I care. But Dr. Sketchy hasn’t really left much out. But, as this annual pilgrimage from the cold territories to the land of sunshine and baseball being my idea, I feel it necessary to add some comments of some sort. I suppose what wasn’t mentioned was the vast benefits of this style of "vacation". You see, when you don’t sleep, you can cram a lot into 4 days. On Saturday, after we had gotten done with Key West we had basically lost all sense of reality. Both temporally and otherwise. We weren’t really aware of what day it was. We had assumed that we had slept the night before and had eaten lunch, when in fact we had done neither. We had some drinks, and I guess that’s close enough. Basically, our trip didn’t seem like 4 days. It seemed much longer than that. I suppose that’s what happens when you average day lasts well over 24 hours.

Also, I think I need to say a few words about Key West. Key West, as those of you who have been there know, is a little bizarre to say the least. I was fully expecting the freaks to be out en masse. I think we were there too early in the day or something (about noon). There weren't hardly no freaks at all! I was expecting to see all sorts of odd-balls in crazy get-ups. Or at least Silverman. But I guess what they say is true: the freaks come out at night, the freaks come out at night. Also, there was a disturbing lack of hotties. Where were the hot chicks? It’s Key West, dammit! I guess they were all sleeping it off or something. What a rip-off.

Otherwise, I really don’t have much to add, except that Georgia is still under construction. Since when did 10 miles of road cones constitute "construction"? I don’t get it. It must be a speed trap scam. Fuck Georgia.