7:10 AM |
If you have a father over sixty or so, you will have a regular meal schedule. At each meal, he will need to know where and when the next meal is. This is hell. I have to eat so much I can’t move. Skipped breakfast as father had not arrived yet. Had teeny tiny salad for lunch (and I am not a salad person) and teeny tiny dessert in a shot glass. Four o’clock went for surreptitious chocolate cake run with son. There is a crunch chocolate cake at The Plantation that will almost make me forgive them for being a shitty hotel. They serve it at all over the resort but the ersatz general store place has them in the deli case. We have been known to take it to go at all hours. I insisted that we sit to eat it this time. This cake is basically a mousse encased in a really great stiff smooth chocolate icing with a hazelnut meringue underneath. It is heaven. You must come to Amelia Island just for the crunch chocolate cake alone.
Prepared for dinner at restaurant called Salt. Put on stretchy black cocktail dress to accommodate meal. What is it with salt? For a number of years now, there has been an obsession with salt from Hawaii, salt from the Dead Sea, sea salt (not the same thing), flavored salt, pink salt, grey salt. There is even a book about the history of salt. Isn’t it enough that we have something with which to preserve our cod? Our doctors tell us to avoid salt. Now there are salt ashtrays, salt lamps, salt bowls and salt votive holders. And salted caramels. Now that I get. A salted caramel is like having your grandmother’s cookies at the beach. A salted caramel is like a good margarita (which you should never drink without salt or frozen). A salted caramel is the one you get from your little boy’s pocket. At the Salt restaurant in the Ritz, they give all the ladies a little plexiglass box of salt to take home. I still have mine from last year. Note to self: put pink salt on microwaved green beans.
Today was preview day at Gooding’s, the automobile auction house. I talked them into giving me four passes to the auction as well as neon green armbands for the cocktail parties. And the $100 catalog for free. The assortment of cars, however, is a bit disappointing. I checked out the 3-litre Bentley I was interested in, but is has a loooooong chassis, and is not a speedster. And the body maker is Gurney Nutting. I prefer Vanden Plas. Swoopier. Decided to buy one we already knew about. Sold two weeks ago. Nuts. Maybe a sign that I should by the Ghost instead.
I really want to tour again. I just like Woody. There is a woody convertible here that is pretty sexy. Checked similar one on eBay. $80,000 difference. What am I missing? I am missing that I already have Woody, and I love him very much. I’m not the cheatin’ kind. 
There is also a VW bus, although it’s not a bus. It is a dual cab pickup. Cool. 
Texted almost-real imaginary boyfriend asking if he was here. Where? Amelia. Was there yesterday dropping off my car. What car are you selling? Yellow Corvette. It’s perfect. Just looked at it ten minutes ago. Are you coming this weekend? Don’t know. Will find out tomorrow. Well, that whole exchange made me feel like the most desired woman in the world. Here I am 3 ½ hours away and he doesn’t know if he’s coming. Note to self: stop buying expensive lingerie.
Speaking of lingerie, I just read a series of articles in New York magazine about porn. It turns out that there is a big niche in older woman MILF (mothers I’d like to fuck) stuff. Aha! That’s the deal with my man-child. There is a niche in, well, me! Note to self: keep expensive lingerie.
I have been traveling on about $165 a day for 33 days. Today I am staying in a hotel for $440 before taxes and anything else they can tack on. My room has no wireless. I can, however, connect via Ethernet using a thoughtfully provided retractable cable. I didn't know laptops still have Ethernet ports. Mine certainly doesn't. The front desk said that the management is working on this and that I can sit in one of the many comfortable lounge chairs in the lobby and even order a drink "to make you comfortable." I don't know about you, but drinking and blogging, or more dangerously drinking and texting, do not a good mix make. So here I am, in a comfy leather chair listening to live elevator music and about 50 people eating dinner and getting trashed.Why would I be staying in a $440 room? Because this weekend is the Amelia Island Concours d'Elegance. It is held at the Ritz Carleton but as in many events there are more entrants than there are rooms. Forget about getting one if you are not showing. Strictly one per car, if you're lucky. The overflow dribbles all over the island. Last year I rented a condo with two bedrooms so that my son and I didn't have to bunk together. Well, share a bathroom. Two beds we can deal with. One bath, a bit of a problem. Have you ever had to share a bath with a teenager? Then you know what I'm talking about. I have to get up two hours in advance to spend my half hour in and out and then my kid can take his hour and a half. I sincerely believe that the key to a great marriage is his and hers bathrooms. This year, I decided to take a hotel room in the same place, The Plantation. It is a disaster. All the rooms are reached from the outside, making life in the rain a bit of an issue especially in heels (which every woman in Florida wears). Our room had a lovely view of the beach and was really pleasant with the balcony door open. One problem: There is a mechanical scaffold going up and down outside our room. It was quite a surprise when, sitting in my panties and not much else (perhaps some jewelry), I see three construction workers standing dead at eye level with me. When they were going above or below me, the noise was obscene. I called downstairs. Please hold. Let me see. Please hold. Please hold. Well, the best we can do is to move you to another room. What did they think I wanted, to halt construction completely? I like to get my room organized when I first check in. That includes hanging my clothes in the closet and staging my toothbrush and other invaluable products in the bathroom. I had to repack. The hell if I was going to go to the trouble of putting all my hanging clothes back in my suitcase. I grabbed the garments, fancy wooden hanger and all, and dragged them into the hall, er, stairwell. The promised bellman with new keys was nowhere to be found. I dropped it all on the floor and called back down and asked just tell me which fucking room I am going to. 301. 301 is on the opposite side of the hotel from 431, our previous room. That would be okay, except you have to thread your way through the lounge in order to get there. Clothing and cursing are flying. Made it in and unpacked again. Immediately fell into stupor. Knock on the door. Two bottles of water and a handwritten note from The Management to thank me for being a frequent stayer. I'm sleeping. Leave me the fuck alone if you're not bringing something good.
Concours d'Elegance are a bit of an odd bird. The Pebble Beach Concours was started by some lady who was bored and had her friends bring their cars over for everyone's delight. I think they raised some money for charity too. While Villa D'Este and Pebble Beach have the undisputed highest level of vintage car shows, the Amelia Island Concours is still one of the elite ones. A concours is rather like a beauty pageant. Many owners never drive their vehicles. They are referred to as trailer cars. The only hitch is that you have to be able to start the car when it is being judged. When you prepare a vehicle for show, the smallest details are taken into account. I have seen uniformed teams take the grass out of the tires with tweezers (true). When there is a row of screws, each head is positioned with the slot in the same direction. Many cars have been restored to the tune of several million dollars. This is after the cost of the car itself. You have to be invited to get your car shown. Some people take this very seriously, breaking down in tears when they are accepted. There are classes, like European Post-war Open (as in convertible), European Post-war Closed (as in hard top), Ferrari, Horseless Carriage and so on. There are also featured marques each year. This year, Amelia is featuring Allard and Kurtis. Also anything having to do with Bobby Rahal. Each class has a third, second and best of class award. Then there are the big awards like Best of Show and some other stuff like Most Photogenic, etc. It is just like Toddlers & Tiaras if you ask me.
If you actually drive your car, you can participate in the Tour D'Elegance. This is so that the owners can park their cars in some attractive town and let the locals admire their vehicles. Just like a cruise. Driving in the tour is a bit like playing roulette as if you get a piece of gravel to your body you can forget about getting a Big Prize at the show. In order to make driving a little more palatable, you get an extra ribbon on your car in case there is a tie at the show. The guy with the ribbon wins. Because judging is done halfway through the show, the ribbon makes visitors think your car has already won something. The oohing and aahing is good for your ego. There was a Concours in Maryland where one of the stops was at a remarkable historic private home. You reach it via a mile long gravel driveway. Uh, huh. A million dollar mile for the poor guy who catches a stray rock.
Now, Woody is not a concours car. Never will be. I drive Woody. This is very unfortunate as I am identifiable. The game is parking at the Ritz. You can't do it. No way, no how. Each room gets one tag and I can't get in for meals or to pick up my 90 year-old father. So I get very good at gaming the system. Not with Woody, though, because I can't pretend I already had my tag and lost it or something. So I now have a black Impala rental car. Last year I dealt with one of those Swiss border patrol guys who couldn't figure out how I kept on doing it. He was not very happy.
I did see some interesting things between the airport and here though. Citrus World has Wind Chimes and Attractive Shell Crafts. Bob's Barricades puts up white diamond shaped signs with their name on them on the road even when there are no barricades. The Sheriff's office is a series of mobile homes. The Tax Collector's is a gorgeous huge new building. There are port-a-potties next to a for sale sign. House or port-a-potty? In this economy, particularly in Florida, the port-a-potty is probably worth more. There are so many great little restaurants and tourist information centers that I am dying to stop. But I am now on a schedule. It sucks.
So, tomorrow the hoopla starts. Let the parking games begin! Game on Mr. Van Damme.
Found:
- The second set of duplicate keys for Woody in washing machine
- Original set of keys for Woody in suitcase (I wouldn't have made the great key hunt in New Orleans without them, though)
Meanwhile, our darling Snooki is gracing the cover of Rolling Stone straddling a rocket. Also eating a pickle (not at the same time, but that might be sort of interesting). No subtlety there, but I guess Rolling Stone will be making a lot of samoleons on this one. Snooki is writing a romance novel called A Shore Thing. Snooki a writer? An oxymoron definitely. And I'm not convinced there's any romance on "The Jersey Shore". Swapping bruises and venereal diseases, sure. But romance? I'm going to lead a protest to keep Fabio off that cover. We all know that it has come to this in the perverse breeding of our reality stars.But what about the Bible? My ex-mother-in-law, rest her soul, was fond of the devotionals that gave a bit of scripture with a bit of Chicken Soup For The Soul. Perhaps The Situation is going to give us something like this:
Wine is a mocker, strong drink a brawler, and whoever is led astray by it is not wise.
-- Proverbs 20:1
Drink beer and you will be set right, and wisely led astray.
-- The Situation
Or how about this for a post-revelry affirmation:
...But God, who is rich in mercy, for his great love wherewith he loved us, even when we were dead in sins, hath quickened us together with Christ.
--Ephesians 2:4-5
It's all good.
--The Situation
I needed to get a bit more clarity on the subject, so I googled. Oh, shit. The Situation Bible is a sort of lifestyle bible like The Preppy Handbook. Speaking of which, did you know you can get beaucoup bucks for the original 1980s version? I think mine fell in the trunk with my mother's good sweaters that she wore on her honeymoon in Bermuda which we then had to throw out when the sump pump didn't pump our basement. Anyhow, The Examiner clarifies it all. Mike "The Situation" Sorrentino describes the book as "The Bible for Situation Nation." Its real name is Here's the Situation: A Guide to Creeping on Chicks, Avoiding Grenades, and Getting in Your GTL on the Jersey Shore. And get this is. It is already ranked number 5 on the list of Amazon's top Self-Help and Psychology books. I looked it up. The book is $8.15, down from cover price of $15. You can buy two! The customer reviews alone are worth checking it out on Amazon. "Finally, something worse than cancer," "I'm a 14 year old in the 8th grade and I love it," "I had run out of toilet paper and noticed that someone and left a copy of this wonderful book on the floor."
But wait. According to the Examiner, The Situation reveals his struggles from losing his job to losing his girl. "I rose above a number of issues in my life. I come from a bad situation and instead of sulking, I rose above the problems and made a bad situation an unbelievable fairytale." Hmmm.. sound like someone we know from Bethlehem? Maybe The Situation Bible is not so far fetched after all.
Remember that old Simon and Garfunkle song? I'm sure there were lots of term papers written about the zen meaning of the whole thing and it is rather depressing with that hello darkness my old friend stuff. I however, like to choose just the lyrics I like and forget all the rest. I like the people hearing without listening part. I hear without listening. But I didn't on the road. I want to count up the number of people I actually listened to on my trip. I'm guessing it is about 200. In a month. I don't think I've listened to 200 people my whole life. I mean really listened.Driving around in my very ordinary pickup doing my very ordinary errands, I have been driven mad by the noise. I put on my favorite Motown and had to hold my hands over my ears. Tried NPR. Tried BEN-FM playing whatever they feel like. Can't compete with the thoughts in my head. This is a habit I picked up while driving Woody. Woody has AM. I think it works because I can hear static, but there are no AM stations to pick up anymore. I thought I would listen to portable XM. Didn't work. On one or two occasions resorted to iPad, once with one earbud in. Couldn't figure out how to do that shuffle thing so I ended up listening to Shania Twain sing that song about girls going out and letting their hair down and having lots of fun over and over and over. Took me two days to get it out of my head again. I also didn't answer my phone for a month except for family drama and listening to my ex-husband give the weather report (although most of that was by text). I have driven in silence. No one can believe it. I can't believe it. But it is amazing what you think about when you're not thinking about your grocery list, what time the dry cleaner closes, if you should go to the gym this morning or this afternoon (knowing that if you decide this afternoon it means you won't go at all). As amazing as it was, I can't remember what I thought about. I just did. I hardly talked at all. And I can't now. And I have no one to listen to.
This reentry thing is really strange. I am really confused. Resorted to favorite stress-busting activity. Purchased shoes. Very expensive shoes. Lots of them. And more very expensive lingerie. Hope springs eternal. I miss my almost-real imaginary boyfriend and there is a possibility we will be meeting again this week. Or his very attractive and recently-divorced dad? That's twisted. They get the Manolo heels. My real life gets the needlepointed flat ones, although I almost always buy those on eBay. The real shoe store promotion ended today so I had to quick get all the ones I want. Note that I need none whatsoever. I had a special shoe closet built (modest by The Real Housewives of Orange County standards) to hold all my Stubbs flats. The shelves are now piled two high. I bought five new pairs today, using the codeword SPRING for 30% off. You can't change your mind because they only give you store credit. Have you heard that since your mother bought your training bra from Martins? I should have called the plumber on the frozen pipe to my guest powder room but no-oo. Had to shop. Probably won't have any guests for awhile anyhow.
This is Michael. Isn't he a doll? Michael sells very expensive shoes at Neiman Marcus. Obviously, that is where we met. We talked for a lot longer than it takes to try on and buy expensive shoes. Michael thinks that Manolo Blahnik is a shoemaker first and a designer second. Christain Louboutin is a designer first and shoemaker second. I think people wear the Louboutins because of the red soles (they advertise the price more or less, like Jimmy Choo-choos). Oprah wears them. Michael says she only puts them on after she is seated. I believe it. Michael is from the Midwest. He suggests traveling there. I believe him. Michael is not the kind of guy who would send you to uninteresting places. His partner (husband? not sure if they tied the knot) is Asian and so will not travel in the south. I'm not sure I get it. I'll have to ask Michael to tell me more. This is very interesting. I will speak to very, very few people I met on the road ever again. I will make a concerted effort to do that here. This is the next thing for me I think.I picked up the watch I left for a battery in the beginning of January. The diminutive Asian lady there wore one white cotton glove with which to pick up the gleaming timepieces from their cases. Before I left on my road trip, I purged my wallet of all that crap that you carry around and hardly ever use. You know, the grocery store bonus card, the ice cream card that they stamp every time you buy one and you get a free one after 10, the expired museum membership card, the old dry cleaning slips, the book of stamps that had stuck to the inside of your wallet and you can't use anyway, credit card receipts and your Costco card (although that's a pretty useful one).With my stripped-down wallet, I had no claim check for the watch. She brought it out and asked if it was the one. I think she should have asked me what it was and then brought it out. There is a guy in there in a white jacket, like a doctor's. I think he's the watch putter-togetherer. I had to fill out a long affidavit certifying that I am who I am. And also that I will not sue them if the watch doesn't work anymore. It was $37.10. I paid cash. This caused a huge confusion because I don't think they have any cash there. My money went to the back room and I waited maybe ten minutes which is a long time. I spoke to the tall black man there while I was waiting. He wants to go on a road trip too. Oh, and I asked the lady about the Unclaimed Baggage watch. She said it is definitely worth much more than $20,000. Note to self: really try to find the $7,700 (they dropped the price by $200 today).
I also needed to get extra yarn for a project I've been working on for months. It is for my wicked step-mother and it has a picture of her plane on it. She just got a new one. I can't sew fast enough. Anyhow, I talked to the yarn store lady. Both of her children are at Hobart, not below the Mason Dixon (as I required for my son). One of them is happy go lucky like me. He has ADD which I think almost every boy has, give them recess already. Some kids at my kid's school got expelled for selling ADD drugs which are really amphetimines. They do this because school is such a bitch these days they have to stay up all night studying. It's a good thing my kid isn't much of a student. Anyhow, her son went with a friend to a ski house they have and got lost. He just went someplace else. My kinda guy.
My used to be best friend is moving to Wilmington NC. I think. I'm not certain because she's not my best friend anymore and I heard this from my current best friend. She (the mover) has the most incredible place here and a steady boyfriend. He is going to go too I think, but he does a lot of business up here and also has a house in Cape May and a loft in Manhattan. Why on earth is she moving there? Maybe no one listens to her.
Unloaded huge amount of crap from Woody. Need to sort through it. Found a whole lot of sticky Tootsie Pop sticks and some great art. I think I can live without Woody, but I don't think I can live without talking to people any more. Note to self: Read cover story in New York magazine about how we can't think because of all the stuff we take in. Also note to self: talk to enough people that I don't have to write this serious stuff much. Hurts my ears.
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