florida

sometime in 5.00
crab

subject is captivated for almost an hour by a thousand hungry mating crabs.  note his enormous claw and beady little canadian eyes. a hand-cast shadow is enough to depopulate them.  subject is also wooed by an odd white crane, who seductively stalks whippy slim fish.  subject's brain assumes the consistency of clay, sand, and saltwater, and she smiles.
 

saturday 1.13.01
you can like country, you can like gospel, you can like hip hop dreck, you can like old cock rock, and you can like new cock rock.  if you turn off the radio and watch the scenery, you feel lost as the chain stores flip by in their nuclear colors, only to repeat and re-repeat on an endless grid.

sunday 1.14.01
tampa public access tv.

caller: yes, i just wanted to know if elvis is black.  next month is black history month, and we're celebrating the martin luther king, and the ruby parks, and i want to know why we're not celebrating elvis, and whether there's any truth to the rumor that he had black heritage.

reverend: i think you need to stop worrying your head about the martin luthers and the elvises, when the kingdom of heaven is at hand.  because i do assure you, whether or not he was black, elvis is burning in hell right this minute.  next caller, please.

thursday 1.18.01
subject signs her lease and weds herself to the south for 378 days.

sunday 1.21.01 0030
subject witnesses a verbal spar between two mcdonald's patrons, culminating in the classic putdown,

"hey, jumping in line is lame man.  you're lame man.  l-a-m-e, lame.  who do you think you are?  you're lame"
"this is america, man, the land of opportunity.  i sees an opportunity and i takes it."

fortunately the sheriff is onhand (it's mcdonald's; it's saturday night) to eject the rowdies.

monday 1.22.01

patti looks down

we're nesting.

wednesday 1.24.01
the news anchors here haven't learned how to cultivate suspense.  or they don't want to scare the retirees.

saturday 1.27.01
today a dozen dirty brown pelicans jumped like puppies for fish heads by the dock.

sunday 1.28.01
i saw it from afar.  i hoped in that desperate way of tourists, that it was a manatee.
bobbing  in the shallows, a tall dead palm.

1.31.01
pub(l)ix finest

it took the deli wench 5 minutes to slice cheese, which she lovingly drapes over individual pieces of plastic, so at no time do two pieces of cheese touch. at home, they slice a lump, hand you a stack in a plastic bag, and you're grateful.
 
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