Struggling with the duality of certain situations.

I'm still processing the whole Florida trip, since it dredged up a whole slew of memories I had completely forgotten about since I grew up in Texas for my first decade or so. Certain sensory triggers got tripped and I found myself back in the body of an eight year old with a surplus of imagination and a deficit of friends to share any adventures with. It's not that I was particularly unpopular at that age, I had friends, but I did have a hard time relating to my peers. At one point a teacher called my parents in and informed them that I truly believed I was better off in the company of adults since kids were so simple. Or something like that.

Anyway, Photogal's dad lives in a posh gated community that is incredibly beautiful. It's the sort of place the wealthy go to "summer" in the winter, or retire to after reaching the summit of the corporate hierarchy. Photogal's dad is in the latter group.

We spent part of Friday riding around the community of bicycles and I was amazed at how quickly my thirty-four year-old frame was taken over by the rebellious spark on my inner twelve year-old. I zoomed up and down sidewalks and driveways and -- at one point -- the forbidden paths reserved only for golf carts piloted by the upper-crust. I wanted to moon passing imported sports cars and I wanted to toss rocks through plate glass windows and I wanted to break into uninhabited model homes and just wander around thumbing my nose at all the excess.

This strange duality manifested itself while we were there, though. While I had all these adolescent tendencies resurfacing, I was also overtaken by an overwhelming sense of the importance of remaining proper and well-behaved. I couldn't bring myself to throw my finished cigarettes, or even my spent matches, onto the ground. I found myself fretting over whether my choice of T-shirt would offend folks on the grounds, and I didn't want to embarrass my hosts by acting boorish or ill-mannered, no matter how much my own sensibilities were rubbed raw at times.

I'm afraid to deconstruct the experience too much, since any criticisms I have about the social milieu we were set into might be taken as an insult to our hosts, and believe me when I say our hosts were the exception to the rule when it comes to the sort of stereotype one imagines inhabiting the lifestyle of the wealthy retired Floridian.

Maybe this will offer some insight to the town we were in. On one tour we took of some waterways leading into the Gulf of Mexico, our captain said, "Now, as I;m sure you all know, Naples' economy is built entirely on coal mining." A confused silence amongst the passengers took hold until he followed with, "I'm joking of course. Naples' economy is built almost entirely on tourism. Which isn't to say that there isn't some mining, of a sort going on. We do have our fair share of gold diggers."

If you take that statement, extrapolate it to encompass all parties that are usually present within a social environment such as that, and picture me set in the middle of folks that participate in that activity or socialize with people that see nothing wrong with it (unless, of course, their mates are prey) you might begin to see why there were a few times I just clenched my jaw and kept my mouth shut.

Again, and I can't emphasize this enough, there was a whole 'nother scene (and I believe that this is the one that drew our generous hosts down there in the first place) that emphasizes nothing but relaxation and a comfortable setting in which to celebrate companionship in the post-retirement years.

So in Florida, for me and others, duality abounds.

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Much less heavy ... let's blow off some steam!

I just looked at the calender and realized, since I have guests filling in for me next week, tomorrow is my last Tuesday in 2006 DJing at The Pontiac! It should be an especially rowdy evening since Skid Marks will be spinning along with me, and I have quite a few old friends in town visiting for the holidays.

Also, don't forget, I have a show at SubT on Saturday with the most excellent My Cold Dead Hand, the most rowdy Dorian Taj, and the most lively The Sleepy Kissers.

Don't worry, I'll remind you again.

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A phrase that we never get tired of.

A "More Cowbell" timeline? Who knew? For the record, we at Tankboy Ltd. were early adopters -- some say next day-ers -- when it came to this particular phrase. While part of us wants to take credit for constantly surfing the pulse of the zeitgeist, others of us must admit that it rang true due to the simple fact that as a sometime drummer, we do indeed love it when there's "more cowbell."

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Last minute Holiday shopping?!

Now I know what to get all of my friends!


Thanks to JB for the tip. Um, tip. Huh. That sounds, um, wrong. How about I just say credz JB. Or, better yet, blame JB for this one. Yeah, that works.