Only in Florida

This page has been far too depressing for the past few weeks.... and I've been avoiding updating it. But I woke up kind of early today, and figured it's now or never.

Remember last year, when I posted about the Mullet Toss (here's a refresher... in case you missed it). Good news this year... I didn't get hit by a fish. We all had a few close calls, though. Much like a football, they often bounce unpredictably after hitting the ground.

This one almost bounced out of bounds. To be honest, in the world of Mullet Tossing, I'm not sure if landing on the foul line makes it foul or fair. So don't ask.

There was, once again, an unusual assortment of folks at the Mullet Toss. The crowd wasn't as big as last year's... they had to re-schedule it to a later date this year, and a lot of the snowbirds had already left Southwest Florida for cooler climates.
The die-hards were still there, though. This guy was really competitive. He brought special boots to wear when it was his turn, did his share of trash-talking, and had one of the best tosses we saw (about 90 feet, If I remember correctly). He threw at least three times-- at $5 a pop.

Of course, some people do it just for the novelty of the event. I got a kick out of this woman, who (forgive the pun), looked a bit like a fish out of water. Not that Matlacha doesn't have it's share of bikers-- it does. But most of the folks there were dressed a little more casually. She was a trooper though, and despite the fact that she didn't come close to breaking any mullet toss records, she at least looked like a bad-ass doing it.

But like I said, for the most part, the Mullet Toss is a pretty casual event. It's hosted annually in Matlacha, with is an odd (but very cool) little fishing village-turned-artists community. Cute little galleries are surrounded by tiny little trailers. But don't let the single-wides in the background fool you. They're all on canals, and waterfront property in these parts doesn't come cheap (even with the current miserable state of Southwest Florida property values). Many of these single-wides have docks with boat lifts, and nice little boats parked outside... probably worth more than their homes are.

Back behind the main strip in town are a bunch of nice waterfront homes. Nothing fancy-schmancy, no "McMansions." But nice. In fact, the CEO where I work lives in Matlacha. But I digress.

Much like the attractions a few hours up the road in Orlando, the Mullet Toss is fun for the whole family. Little kids toss their mullets first. This little girl was a bit too fascinated by the whole process. After her tosses (which maybe went about five feet), she spent the rest of the afternoon chasing down other people's mullets. However, instead of gently carrying them back to the starting line (home plate?), like the other children did, she chose instead to practice her tossing skills on the way back. With each toss, her fish would get guttier and nastier, until she finally got back to the starting line and handed the fish to the next contestant.


Not surprisingly, it seemed as though the fish weren't lasting quite as long as they were at last year's event. Hmmm... wonder why?

Every time I tell people that we went to the Mullet Toss, they always pepper us with questions. The first question they ask is always did we do it ourselves.

The answer, once again, is no. No amount of coercion could get Cory to do it this year, and I didn't want to come home smelling like dead fish like I did last year.

But there are plenty of other questions. Some involve throwing style, some involve animal abuse (the fish are dead and frozen before the tossing, in case you're curious), and some folks just want to know if a lot of people with mullets attend the mullet toss (the answer is of course, yes. Florida has a pretty high redneck quotient, especially after the snowbirds leave town).

But most people just want to know what it's like. And here, I can help. I shot a little 20 second video with my camera this year. This guy had some of the longest tosses I've seen (about 100 feet), so grab some popcorn and enjoy:

Two Pats on the Back

Really quickly... I need to give Cory a big pat on the back (or a tip of the hat, if you prefer), for winning a "major award!"

This weekend, Cory's website won the Florida Associated Press award for Best Television News website. Nice, huh? It's the second year in a row that they've won. Cory busts his butt trying to keep up with the Joneses (the station he beat has three full-time web coordinators), and it's about time he got rewarded. He even got a fancy-schmancy trophy!

Second, our little twitter experiment, the Florida Freakshow, has 250 followers and is growing every day. If you'd like to experience a little Florida Freakitude, visit us and see what you're missing by living outside the Sunshine State.

Only in Florida: A Shameless Plug

If you just can't get enough of those wacky "Only in Florida" posts, have I got a treat for you:

the official Twitter page of the Florida Freakshow:
www.twitter.com/flafreakshow

The latest, greatest, most freaky news out of Florida, in less than 140 characters.

You're welcome!

Florida Flavor

My parents are both birdwatchers. And they've tried to get me into it. Sure, there's a certain charm to ornithology. But my personal hobby is people-watching. And it's quite a hobby in itself.

For example, check out this gem we stumbled across today at the Blues Traveler concert. Even better, he stood still long enough for us to get some pictures without startling him. Happy Valentine's Day to us!

Honestly, the photo doesn't even do him justice. He was much more impressive in person.

Only In Florida

Ok, ok... I know. I did it again... leaving my blog to wither and die while I'm off perusing other websites like Twitter and Facebook.

But lately, our very own Cape Coma has become a hotbed for freakitude. Sure, Florida's always been a hot mess... but usually it's on the east side of the state. Apparently, the migration has made its way to our side of the state. Call it Manifest Destiny, I guess.

I submit, for your reading pleasure, two recent gems from our fair hamlet:

Cape Coral- January 14, 2009
Cape Coral shoplifter run over twice by getaway car
To summarize: A woman walks into our local TJ Maxx, stuffs six purses into her pants, and walks out the front door. The store's crack loss prevention team (not to be confused with a loss prevention team on crack) follows the suspect outside. A silver Saturn comes squealing up, and the suspect, pants still full of purses, tries unsuccessfully to leap inside. Instead, she misses, and gets run over.

I quote from the News-Press article: "Undaunted and apparently none the worse for wear, the woman got up and jumped onto the hood of the car while the driver headed for the parking lot exit.... the woman fell off the hood and was run over again."

Here's the best part. Somewhere in all the mess, a check-- made out to the suspect--fell out of the car. Oh, and the "getaway" car was registered in her name.

Cape Coral- February 4, 2008
Cape Coral man arrested for "dirty date" with blow-up doll

There's a shopping center a couple of miles from my house... it has a Publix (which is a grocery store) and a Target, along with a couple smaller stores in between. At about five in the afternoon on Wednesday, the parking lot was particularly busy. See, a crowd surrounded a Lincoln Town Car, watching in disgust/horror/confusion/glee as a man inside the car was molesting his two inflatable girlfriends.

Officers arrived and got him out of the car-- he was wearing shorts with "a large opening in the front." The shorts were confiscated, presumably as evidence. TruTV has already contacted the powers-that-be about covering the case.

By the way, he claims his intent was to purchase clothing for his "ladyfriends" at the nearby Target. No mention of buying himself a new pair of shorts.

One of my co-workers probably put it best: "Wow. I can only imagine the look of surprise on his girlfriends' faces when the police pulled up."

Priceless.

Only in Florida

In our area, and in other sandy, hot climates, cute little birds called "Burrowing Owls" exist.

Now normally, I find owls to be a little creepy. And those old ladies who's homes are decorated with thousands and thousands of macrame owls are even creepier.

But burrowing owls are pretty cute. They're less than a foot tall, they live in little holes in people's lawns (thus the name), they have beautiful lemon-yellow eyes, and their little babies (owlets? owlings?) are fluffy.

And in our neighborhood, like much of the Cape, they're everywhere.

Since burrowing owls are a protected species, we have a group called the "friends of wildlife" that go around marking owl nests, so that people know where they are and the owls don't get disturbed. After all, it would suck to have someone with a big lawnmower mow down your house.

Well, last weekend, we had a Columbus Day parade downtown. It was pretty sad, but there were a few funny moments. And one of them happened when the "Friends of Wildlife" rode by:

The video quality is pretty poor, I know. So if you can't figure it out, it's an "owl" in the back of a convertible. And an "owl" riding a segway.

Good times.

Only In Florida

And again, Jesus is visiting the Sunshine State. This time, he was spotted chillin' at the beach.

I hope he has the good sense not to wear a speedo. He is, after all, from another country. And in my experience, the majority of foreign men visiting Florida beaches believe that wearing a speedo is a really good idea.

Only in Florida

Jesus (and no, I don't mean hey-soos) spends way too much time in this state. Today, he's appearing on drywall. I think it's his commentary about our current real estate and construction crisis.

Interestingly enough, when the secondary drain pan in our air conditioner overflowed, and flooded part of our attic, the ensuing stain on our ceiling did not look like Jesus. Or even the B.V.M. It just looked like a big ugly blob. We are not the chosen ones, apparently.

Only in Florida

Sure... we've seen it before. An image of the Virgin Mary in a grilled cheese sandwich. Or in a chest x-ray. Or this time, Jesus in a piece of wood.

But only in Florida, can you flip that picture of Jesus upside-down and find el diablo instead.

So many things to write about...

...so little time.

I've been pretty busy at work lately, with the Grand Opening late last month, the trip to Colorado a week ago, and budget time rolling around. It feels like all the time I spend away from the office, I'm either napping or trying to catch up on the TiVo. And yet, I never get enough sleep... and the TiVo is still jam-packed.

I have a few quick thoughts, though.

First, I've taken upon myself to try to avoid Wal-Mart until after the presidential election. It's not going to be easy, I can assure you. I can readily steer clear of the Supercenter (and very happily do so), but avoiding the "neighborhood market" just down the street will be tough. It's open 24 hours. And the prices there are much lower than any of the other nearby grocery stores. But I really don't like the fact that they told their employees how to vote. Three months is a long time.... we'll see how long I last before I cave in to their "falling prices."

Second, my love affair with Brett Favre is officially over. Of course, he never knew it existed. This last month has made me realize that his ego is just as big... if not bigger... than the rest of the players in the NFL. Oh-- he's still adorable. But he's a bit of a weenie. I guess it's time for me to retire the Brett Favre jersey.

Third, since I've had numerous people mention it to me, I have to make an "only in Florida" post. I hesitated to post it because it was all over CNN for the last couple of days, but what the hell. Did you hear about the guy who called 911 about a Subway emergency? No-- not a terrorist atttack on an underground train. A Subway restaurant emergency. Apparently, his sub didn't have enough sauce. Even better... when police didn't arrive after his first call, he called again to complain that they were taking too long.

Somehow, this state still finds ways to surprise me.

Only In Florida

Ripped from the headlines:

Police officer fired for demanding free coffee at Starbucks.

My favorite part? After he was accused, he insisted on taking a polygraph test. And he failed.

Buggin'

It seems way too early for the "love bugs" to be out... but last week, I saw one, and today, I saw my first small swarm of the amourous little buggers.

If you've never had the joy of experiencing "love bugs," (and if you've never lived in the Southeastern US, you probably haven't), let me explain.

First of all, they're completely harmless. No, they're not the result of some bizarre scientific experiement gone bad, though that rumor runs rampant through the Sunshine State.

A "love bug" is a flying insect, bigger than a mosquito, but smaller than a housefly. And in the spring, they mate-- which, for most insects, is none of my business. "Love bugs" make it your business.

See, once they mate, they're stuck together. Not metaphorically, like "I got knocked up, so I guess I'm stuck with this loser." Literally stuck at their little buggy genitals.

Now, once again, none of my business, right? Wrong. Imagine, if you will, attempting to walk around and go about your daily business while stuck to your partner at the groin. Not a pretty picture, right? Kind of like a perverted three-legged race? You'd be bumping into things, tripping over one another, stumbling around like a drunken ox. Now, imagine trying to fly whilst stuck together in a similar fashion.

That's the problem with the "love bug." They fly. And because of their unusual situation, they don't fly particularly well. They seem to hover at right about car level. And their bug juices can strip the paint right off of your bumper. The picture to the right is not an exaggeration.

Even worse, by mid-May, the air is thick with aerial orgies of the little buggers, in clumsy flight. They get stuck in your hair, stuck to your clothes, and stuck in your food if you eat outside.

So, forgive my love-bug complaints. I don't mind their lewd and lascivious behavior-- really. I'd just prefer that they don't do it on my car, or in my hair, or on my hot dog. That's not too much to ask, right?

Flying Fish, Part II

(By the way, I'm not sure what's wrong with my blog at the moment. I'm assuming it looks as peculiar to you as it does to me. Sigh.)

So, we get to Matlacha, and the fish-flinging has already begun. The kids competition was underway, which was pretty funny. A lot of really little kids picking up dead fish and trying to chuck them... then wiping their hands on the emcee's pants.

Once the adult competition began, I kept trying to convince Cory to give it a whirl. After all, it's just five bucks a pop. It goes to a good cause. And I get to laugh at him.

He won't do it. At first, it's because he says he doesn't know the right technique. We got a good kick out of watching this guy and his friend debate whether to throw the mullet overhand or underhand (photo courtesy of the News-Press). One guy even threw his discus-style.

Later, when push came to shove, Cory admitted that he doesn't want to get embarrassed. It's not the fish-flinging that he's worried about. It's that he's a big dude-- and he feels that people would have expectations when they saw a 6'5" guy walk up there. If he wasn't good at mullet-tossing, the crowd would be dissappointed-- and he'd be embarrassed.

So, we settle for drinking beer and watching instead. It was a hot, sunny day, and we'd brought some folding lawn chairs with us. We found a spot under a tent (one of those tall tents like they have at art fairs-- you know-- with the pointy roof and no sides), ended up sitting next to some people from Clarkston and Troy, Michigan (very close to where I grew up), and watched the fish-flinging commence.


By the way, the Matlacha Mariners aren't wasteful. I guess a mullet isn't a one-toss fish. The same several fish would get tossed over and over again, so on occasion, a fish would hit the ground and spatter from one too many uses. Sometimes, you could actually see fish guts spray while the mullet was in midair. Gross, huh? Once a fish gets "retired" from circulation, the Mariners give it to crabbers, who use it as bait in their traps.

Gutty fish made for good entertainment. One of the most amusing parts of the mullet toss was watching people dodge those flying fish. See, not everyone there had the ability to throw fish with accuracy, and a lot of out-of-bounds tosses went into the crowd. We sat and laughed, relatively secure in the knowledge that we were under a tent, with more tents in front of and behind ours. A fish could hit the roof of the tent, but the odds of one sliding into the gap between the tents, hitting the ground, and bouncing five feet into one of our laps was pretty slim.

But lets face it-- I'm the type of girl that likes to defy the odds.

So, we'd been there for a couple hours-- enjoyed a few beers, had a few laughs, and were trying to decide when to leave. We agreed to stay until the next "intermission" and then go off to our next adventure. Shortly after we make the decision, I see a fish flying towards us, and even say, "Wow. That one's coming straight at us." But the loft of the throw goes over the tent, and out of our view. We hear a plop. And then the fish slips between the tent roofs, hits the ground, and bounces 4 1/2 feet in my direction until it slaps against my shin.

Yuck.

Cory, not paying attention, looks down, sees a gutty dead fish at my feet, and thinks I dodged a bullet. I, on the other hand, know better. I can feel cold fish blood trickling down my leg. I looked down, and my shin was red and streaked with silver scales. The spatter got on my pants and even on my shirt.

A very nice man brought me some napkins to wipe off the fish guts, and I did the rest I could, but I stunk for the rest of the day. I had some "moist towelettes" in my purse courtesy of a chicken-wing dinner a few nights earlier, and that helped,too, but even after we got home and I took a shower, I could still smell it.

So I guess it's a good thing that Cory didn't want to be embarrassed. I took care of that for him.

That said, I'll go back next year. And knowing my luck, I'll probably get hit by a stray fish again.

Beware Flying Fish (part one)

So, last Saturday, Cory and I had to one of those "Only in Florida" experiences: The Matlacha Mullet Toss. (Ok, technically, other states do "Mullet Tossing," too... but would you really be that surprised if I told you that they did in in Alabama? Of course not.) By the way, when I say "mullet," I'm referring to the fish-- and not the haircut so popular among rednecks and hockey players. However, we saw plenty of both kinds of mullet on Saturday.

Matlacha is a small fishing town just a few miles from here. It's on Pine Island-- and just about every business is either a bar, an art gallery, or a bait shop. And I'm not even joking.

So, for the better part of the last two decades, a local group called the Matlacha Mariners have hosted a fish-flinging competition. By the way, the Mariners are a nonprofit org who support music education in schools. And, more importantly, who like to fling fish.

As a side note, the Mariners are a men's group. There's an accompanying women's group, the "Matlacha Hookers." Nice, huh?

So, the Mariners and the Hookers were out in full force on Saturday. And after two years of hearing about how fun the Mullet Toss is, Cory and I finally got to experience it for ourselves.

Ok... so that's it for part one. I've got to get ready to go to a movie (Gotta love the $4 morning matinee!)

Only in Florida

This little gem comes from our hometown. You can file this under "Stupid Criminals." I just file it under "Typical Florida."

Just a thought: If you absolutely have to break into a strip club, hold its employees hostage, and rob the place, you might want to rob a strip club that you didn't work at. Oh-- and if you happen to have a very distinguishable speech impediment as the result of a harelip-- you might not want to be the guy barking out the orders to your former coworkers.

But what do I know?

Only in Florida

A few months ago, I introduced you to "Nub City." Today, it's time to drive the blog up the highway to "Gibtown." Much like Detroit is where old NHL defensemen go to die, Gibsonton is where circus freaks go to die.

Part of the that book I'm reading right now ("Smashed, Squashed, Splattered, Chewed, Chunked, and Spewed" by Lance Carbuncle) takes place in Gibsonton-- and I was kind of excited about the possibility of going to The "Giant's Place Restaurant." Unfortunately, it closed last year. The freak show is becoming a thing of the past. As the article says,

Years ago, Hall employed Fat Men and Tattooed Ladies. But those days are over. Today, it is not unusual for people to be obese, or have their bodies covered with permanent ink.

Maybe some day I'll take a trip to Gibtown, anyway.

Only In Florida

It's pretty rare for a professional baseball team to have cheerleaders. Here in Florida, it's not as uncommon. They'll do anything to try and put butts in the seats.

And when I say "anything," I mean anything.

This year, joining the Florida Marlins' cheerleaders (the "Mermaids"), there will be a new cheer squad. A chubbier cheer squad. A hairier cheer squad. A testosteronier cheer squad.

The Manatees. As the woman in this video says, "We're looking for big personalities, big talent, and big bellies as well."

And speaking of Sea Cows:

Only in Florida

The Flea Market here in town is only open on Fridays, Saturdays, and Sundays.

Fortunately, if I have a desperate need for fleas, I can just drive a few hours across the state to Deltona, where the fleas roam free like wild jackalopes. Except, of course, that fleas are real.

Only In Florida- Hall of Fame Edition

This isn't a new story-- but it's one of my all-time favorites. It's also a running joke in our office at work.

Back in 2002, then-Green Bay Packers running back Najeh Davenport was accused of breaking into a woman's dorm room at Barry University in Miami, hiding in the closet, and leaving her a very unpleasant piece of sports memorabilia. Specifically, he defecated in her laundry basket.

As a tribute, one of my friends named his Fantasy Football team "Davenport's Dooky" (or is it spelled "dookie?")

For what it's worth, Davenport denied it, asking "Where's the evidence? Where's the manure?" at his court appearance. He agreed to do community service to settle the felony burglary charge and criminal mischief count.

Only In Florida

Some people see images of the Virgin Mary in a grilled cheese sandwich... And who am I to mock? She made $28K off of it. Of course, she was from Florida (The woman with the sandwich. Not the B.V.M.)

In addition to "holy toast," a pancake with an image of Mary and Jesus was also from... you guessed it... Florida.

And now this... a man in Florida is convinced that Jesus is in his ribcage. And no, I can't see it. Can you?