I don’t dance in public often. Except for being filled with a rare combination of alcohol and a well-stacked wedding buffet, I can’t say I dance in public ever. Alone in my car or the shower is a different story. There, should the mood strike, I’m pretty good on the fake bass guitar and lead vocals. Sorry you had to see that.
Anyway, last night I went to see a little ole band from Texas called ZZ Top in a theater in downtown Charleston. It was fantastic. Three guys don’t make it for forty plus years in the music business being terrible. The concert was great and the Top delivered like they always do. The people I was sitting around, however, did not with a capital “Dammit.” Continue reading
I’ve lived in Charleston, South Carolina for almost 12 years. Being one of the oldest cities in the US, it has experienced many changes and boom times. But I doubt it’s ever experienced the influx of tourists and attention that it has in the last decade. When I could still stomach watching “Chopped” on the Food Network, one year a whole season of that show seemed to feature a different chef from Charleston on every episode. By the end of that season I think the only people left off Chopped was the street meat purveyors and a Subway sandwich tech from the King Street location.
I think you get the point. Charleston exposure is nearing overkill. If there were a magazine for dogs they’d be ranking the “Top Ten Places in Charleston to take a Crap.” I’m glad that my city is popular and that people are willing to come here and spend their money. I really am. The traffic is decidedly more horrible, but progress comes with a price.
Being a “local” in a popular tourist destination puts you in a precarious position. On the one hand, you want to share your home and what you love about it with people who are interested. On the other, you want to be able to go to your favorite joints without waiting in line behind giant men in tank tops who saw the place on Rachel Ray.
I pretended to be a tourist for a day to see what it was like. I guess you could call this a “Local acting like a tourist’s guide to Charleston.” Continue reading
Halloween is a lot like going to the bar for children. You dress up, eat about 8,000 calories worth of candy and then end up on the floor with dilated pupils swearing that you’ll never eat another piece of candy again. Halloween is also like hitting the kid lottery. I filled up a pillowcase one year and seriously considered retiring. But as the days of November creep along, your Halloween candy stash begins to dwindle. You start rationing like a world war has broken out. One piece of chocolate here, a cherry Jolly Rancher there, until you start only biting a half of a Butter Finger a day in a desperate attempt to make the stuff last until Christmas. No one ever makes it. You cave like the selfish sugar addict all children are. And then you hit rock bottom. Nothing left in the till except grape anything and Atomic Fireballs. Next to the apple that one jerk always hands out, the Fireball is the worst Halloween candy. They linger like black mold in your candy basket. You know they are there, but you avoid them until you have no choice. Throw them away? Never. They are still candy. But you eat them begrudgingly, like broccoli, because you have to. Continue reading
I woke up this morning suffering from a bout of seasonal depression. It’s like clockwork (haha, boo) every year about this time I become depressed because winter is a terrible time of year. They call it the “dog days of winter,” I think, but I like dogs so that should be changed to something else. How about the “Ebola-ridden skunk days of winter”? That’s better.
I’ve been robbed. Recently, I have had some work done on my house while I was out of town. They stole $130 worth of nickels, dimes and quarters off of my desk. That number is an estimate because, while most of the change was meticulously rolled by hand, they also picked all the quarters and dimes out of my change dish. Now, I know you are asking yourself what kind of a dumb ass leaves cash out in the open when they are out of town knowing strangers will be in their house? This one. In my defense they were under a lot of papers so I didn’t think of hiding them before I left. What makes it worse is that I rolled them myself to avoid the fee at the Coinstar kiosk. So now I’m cheap and screwed. Continue reading
It was so cold today in Charleston, SC, that I saw a squirrel in Marion Square
warming his nuts. –(modified) David Letterman
Yes, I think I survived the great winter storm of 2014. Happily, it wasn’t much of anything because it doesn’t really snow here. I researched average snowfall for Charleston and it was so tiny that most charts had it at zero every year for the last hundred years. I have seen it snow three times in my eight years here and each time the snow barely stuck and was gone within 24 hours. Last night was different because we had freezing rain for the most part so there is ice stuck to power lines and trees. I know it was freezing rain because the boob on the news explained what freezing rain was about twenty times last night. I have sent him a gift basket full of Drain-o to gargle and Anthrax. Continue reading
Last week, I came across an editorial in Charleston’s Post and Courier written by Harrison Russin, a Duke University “Musicology” grad student, explaining why classical music is still valuable and deserves our support. (I am linking to its appearance in the Atlanta Journal-Constitution because the P&C makes you pay to view its content. Ha.) I don’t spend many sleepless nights worrying about this subject but I am tired of these self-serving people begging us to support music we no longer like. There is a reason the music and the institutions associated with it are dying; it’s way past time that we let them go.