Showing posts with label Key West. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Key West. Show all posts

Drink on Hemingway

I drove through Islamorada in a fiery Mustang convertible with the top down and Marley and the Wailers playing over and over while my foot weighed down like gravity on the accelerator.

Spontaneous flight to Miami, now on the hunt for inspiration once owned by the man who left a blueprint to literary fortune in his short, swift typewriter strokes.


Hotel in Key West where a cute girl in navy blue g-string bikini waits poolside for me to make a move, but I'm incapacitated by irreverent sun beams and the beauty of her fresh tan lines.

Ernest Hemingway
Night falls. Drag queens on Duval Street singing Christmas carols. Ruckus up ahead, sirens and handcuffs, I turn left to Whitehead, to find blues burning from Caffeine Carl and the Funky Beans and wild locals getting loose on buckets of beer, drunk on the notion I'm in heaven, but it's filthy and lonely after a while.
Wallet empty, party strong, I leave dejected, seeking inspiration, call on Hemingway ... Show yourself, you son of a bitch.

And then I find it -- a five dollar bill in front of his house! 

After six long years of embellishment, I pick up the bill and head back to the bar for a drink on Hemingway.

But, according to my notes, the bill was one block away and I could not go back, chased by a black cat to the beach where I charge bare-ass into the water only to be devoured by camouflaged sharks and the wonder of how I will look back on this absurd life. 


Green Parrot Bar, Key West, FL


Thoughts at The Turn: Jennifer Lawrence, Blake Wingtips and Ernest Hemingway

Jennifer Lawrence, Hunger Games
NY premiere.
Back breaking snow shoveling storms sabotaged my strategy to sip 18 taps of Blue Point brew on eastern Long Island before it gets trampled by Clydesdales, but now have time to dive into old blues albums while I jot down diversionary thoughts rather than face The Turn.

I've always liked Tom Chiarella of Esquire and his piece 40: When You've "Made" It  is a great pep talk.

Speaking of Esquire, was it just me or was the February 2014 issue, Weird Men, not too weird? Then again, what would I know about it.


Jennifer Lawrence, Film Independent
Spirit Awards.
Can't wait for American Hustle to be available on Netflix. Something about that movie trailer with Jennifer Lawrence parading around in her underwear coupled with rumors of a kiss with co-star Amy Adams sounds intriguing.

Why is the whole world obsessed with Jennifer Lawrence anyway? I mean really Jack Nicholson, she's old enough to be your daughter's daughter. I guess I have nothing new to add to the tomes of internet adulation, but JLaw does seem like the girl-next-door type who liked to smoke pot and listen to The Dead until wham-o, she's hyper glammed up and doesn't have a moment to say hey, I know that dude, he lived next door to me, but I digress. I guess like every other man, Jack Nicholson included, I'd like to smoke pot with Jennifer Lawrence -- the legal, medical variety of course.
Jennifer Lawrence, 83rd Oscars.

Big, big fan of Rancourt & Co. Shoecrafters located in Lewiston, Maine. They rolled out the Blake wingtip not long ago and I have had a shoe-porn like obsession with it. Yet to figure out how I can justify the purchase and quell the likely barrage of "Imelda Marcos" quips from my wife.

Going to Key West at the end of the month to celebrate a dear friend's betrothal. Will certainly visit the Hemingway house again, even though I already know the tour by heart. Good time to replace my Sloppy Joe's t-shirt with a brighter version for the summer, but quite frankly, I'll be happy if I escape from the Southernmost Point in one piece.

Bonobos, big fan. Will buy more Bonobos this spring.

Now that's a compelling midlife crisis portrait: Safety Pink Sloppy Joe's tee, navy Bonobos shorts, tan Blake wingtips sans socks, medical marijuana license, obligatory sunburn and delusions that, if given the chance, Jennifer Lawrence would totally go for it.

Ernest Hemingway, Key West.