Getting into the Groove, originally posted 7/14/08

Vacation has officially started here on day 2.5 in New Smyrna Beach, Florida. We sang ‘he comes the sun (Granny piped in ‘do’n'do do’) all day yesterday in hopes of becoming red like lobster, but to no avail.

Instead, after a hearty cajun blackened salmon over a garden salad, I walked with Kellen to the local grocery store, my mouth salivating as i neared the beer aisle. Picking up a 12 pack of Landshark, Jimmy Buffett’s tasty answer to Corona, i headed to the checkout line, staffed by two aged, kindly, men…and btw they both looked to have the mental capacity of my 5 year old brother.

I showed him my I.D.; no problems so far, then he requested my sister’s, who is of course under 21. Explaining i was taking the booze back to my parents’ apt didnt help. So after he called over the pimply-faced yet ambititous assistant manager so i could again here a southern drawled ‘no’, i ditched my sister and walked next door to Moe’s Liquor Store //Slash// Lounge. Yes, apparently the regulations are different here in Flow-Rida (you can also smoke, as long as you do not serve more than 3 different appetizers?)

Total local dive bar, and i loved it. Ordered a shot of Jim Beam. The crazy barkeep woman overpoured a juice glass (not sure of booze equivalent–snifter? no) and precious brown water spilled over the counter. She told me not to say anything… as if! She gave me the beer and ’shot’ aka like 8 ounces of whiskey. total bill? $5.50 lol. so there i am, starting to talk to the local populace, shooting the shit with the ~50 yr old couple, then talking about biking through europe with this leathery faced and tattooed guy. I ask him what bike he rides, ready to tell him all about my parents and their harley adventures, until he answers with “Schwinn”. hmm….not as stereotypical as i thought. i learned i couldnt judge a hick by his confederate flag tattoos.

next up is a guy everyone called, Pirate. Long dreads, glassy eyed from the rum, i introduce myself, and without any crowds or spurring on, he simply says “Arghh.” okay. i like him, but more as a fixture in the corner than someone to discuss neocolonial economic plans with. (you like apples?)

finally i get a text from my sister, asking where i am and if im drinking alone (per dad’s inquiry). im not sure if i should love my fam for their concern, or worry that they know me enough to ask if im drinking alone. i think the glass will be half full and be happy they care.

my cousin and his fiance swing on by, and 10 songs on the jukebox (5/$1) and 3 games of pool, we’re ready to call it a night. The cyclist and Pirate have left in the meantime, giving us 3/4 of a pitcher of Coors Light, which leads me to believe Pirate was a huge faker of all things ‘argh’. honestly? you can’t finish a pitcher of coors light, you bum? you were the one always left in port when they were all gallavanting around the Carribean, weren’t you?

i have also had great success gambling, +$700 down here already, but my grandmother, bless her heart, is worried the ppl that lose online will coming looking for me, to ‘get me’. if by some freak prophetic occurence this does happen, split up my poker account evenly. the password is *********. cheers