block island honeymoon

Erin did the final ad for the Block Island Times wedding edition. Here's hoping I get some off season weekend bookings.
And the chimney finished first.



Sorry, what with my nieces visiting and mouse shit all over the new house, my attention has been otherwhere. I'll resume presently, like maybe on Wednesday.
Meanwhile here's a picture of the top of the Pope's canopy at Yankee Stadium, shot from Elaine's balcony.


boiled chicken

And speaking of boiled peanuts, I rashly insisted that no boiled peanuts were to be found south of Tampa, Fla., and promised to dance the chicken dance if I was wrong. Well, halfway down the Keys, I had to pony up. I should have inserted and adjective: No DECENT boiled peanuts. I had to throw the bastards out.


what's in the truck now?

Alas, it's time for a new What's in the Truck and I haven't even scored the LAST What's in the truck. I promise I will score both very soon.
This time, it's up to Block Island from New York.
Hint: No bananas. Well, no bananas yet. Maybe there will be some by the time I get to BI on Wednesday.


own beds

Just a note to say that after a month on the road, we are all returned to our homes. It was a long day today, starting out at the weirdest Ramada Inn ever in Virginia (about which more later!), then to Providence, and then me back to NYC about an hour ago.


the long way home

One last meal at the Hogfish. . .

passing up Palm Beach for a campsite north of Jupiter. . .

we put pennies on the railroad tracks to flatten overnight

and then, thank heavens, we found it. . .


tipping south

We headed down the seven-mile bridge, thinking of Carl Hiassen and the reason swimming pools are painted the color they are.

We were welcomed by our host GG in the classic manner—poolside and beer friendly with dead animal flesh on the barbie.

Upon consulting various maps and options, we set forth to discover a tourist town that has been discovered many years ago.

And we took in the southernmost spot in the U.S.A. Cuba: 90 miles.


soft landing

Thanks to Gene "Master of the Universe" G, we stayed at these delightful condos in Old Town Key West, just steps from Duval. Both are available for purchase, should you be interested. Pix by Chris Garrison, set styling by Hannah and Claudia



Some days start out worse than others, with photographs to download, tents to dry out, the car to reload (yes, I'm getting to "what's in the truck" though the lading list varies daily) and a late start. There is always hope, however. And just a few miles down the road, we caught a bit of the hopes of yesteryear.

Apparently the town was named after mineral springs that promised succor.

They had fallen into disuse, but we dipped a toe into the tepid pools.

Soon thereafter, we found the lone boiled peanut man beside the road . . .

. . .Chris finally found the tree of his dreams. . .

. . .and we could tell by the signs in the sky that we were meant to stay at a fab motel directly across From Weeki Wachee Springs! About which more later, including mermaids. . .


it's warm here

We frolicked on the Redneck Riviera's Emerald Coast. And yes, the water is really this color. And clear.

We finished off the day at Boss's oyster joint in Apalachacola, where we ate, well. . .