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Tales From the RV Park and Pye Needs A Pill

This is another episode of Tales From the RV Park, stories from the RV parks where I’ve camped. Disclaimer: These stories are fictitious, happened in nightmares, are hearsay, and/or are what others recounted to me. I am part Irish, so there is likely a good deal of exaggeration. The names have been changed to protect the not-so-innocent. There is no relation to persons living, dead, or in jail, even if you think so. In other words, don’t bother trying to sue me, there’s no money for you to take.

It's a shame you can't buy common sense like you can buy deodorant.

It’s a shame you can’t buy common sense like you can buy deodorant.

Yes, folks it’s true, I have left Cow-Chicken-Oil Town and am now at a new one. Still in Texas, this town has oil, but no cows or chickens! The new RV park is larger, has a pool, a rec room, and more people! This means new fodder for Tales.

It will take some time to find out what goes on behind the scenes here, but stay tuned. Meanwhile, I will share a brief, somewhat uninteresting, final story from the old park, and then tell you about Pye’s ride over here to the new park. But wait, there’s more! Click to keep reading… Tales From the RV Park and Pye Needs A Pill

Trip to the Suburban Ecosystem: A Vision of Sameness

Observations From the 30-Thousand-Foot View

Looking out the small window of the 737 as it flew into San Jose Airport I saw one thing: Sameness.

Miles and miles of sameness. It was as if someone took a house-shaped cookie cutter and laid out millions of identical little houses on cookie sheets made of grass, bordered by roads of concrete and asphalt. Hundreds of thousands of cars zoomed in between the green blocks of sameness.

Looking out that window, I felt surprise. Surprise I’d lived in the middle of all that sameness for so many years and never realized how “same” it looked from above. The “30-thousand-foot view”, to use an already overused term, is one of sameness. I was a small part of that sameness for so many years and never ever comprehended it; it all appears somewhat unique from street level.

The familiarity of the sameness was warm and comforting, like a favorite soft blanket. The traffic, not so much. The traffic was more like an itchy wool blanket with moth holes. The convenience of having all manner of stores and restaurants within a few miles of my location at any given time felt luxurious. But that convenience is a double-edged sword: When you don’t have to go far to get anything you need, you rarely, if ever, venture out of the sameness. All you ever experience is sameness.

A young man of about 17 But wait, there’s more! Click to keep reading… Trip to the Suburban Ecosystem: A Vision of Sameness

Tales From the RV Park: Men Overboard

This is another episode of Tales From the RV Park, stories from the RV parks where I’ve camped. Disclaimer: These stories are fictitious, happened in nightmares, are hearsay, and/or are what others recounted to me. I am part Irish, so there is likely a good deal of exaggeration. The names have been changed to protect the not-so-innocent. There is no relation to persons living, dead, or in jail, even if you think so. In other words, don’t bother trying to sue me, there’s no money for you to take.

It's a shame you can't buy common sense like you can buy deodorant.

It’s a shame you can’t buy common sense like you can buy deodorant.

Oh, my. Where to start?

This isn’t about ONE man going overboard, it’s about several individual men going overboard at different times. Only one instance includes a capsized boat. We’ll start with that one.

Man Overboard #1

To set the scene: I’m back volunteering at the park office after working at the newspaper for several months. I loved the newspaper job, but I have this thing about paychecks being good at the bank on which they’re drawn.

Call me crazy.

After having to cash out the last paycheck at a check cashing store (You know the kind of store: an excess of neon flashing lights, a slew of advertising banners covering the windows, an endless supply of interesting characters passing through the doors), I decided not to believe the ‘this check will be good at the bank this time’ line again and left.

Oddly, the boss seemed upset. I can not fathom why. I gave plenty of notice of my departure should the check not be good at the bank. The check wasn’t good at the bank – even the following Monday. But he’s upset with me? Whatever. 

And that’s why I’m back volunteering at the park as a Park Host today when a little girl runs in to the office and yells, “Someone in the lake is yelling ‘HELP! HELP!’.”

But wait, there’s more! Click to keep reading… Tales From the RV Park: Men Overboard

Why DID the chicken cross the road?

This is a valid question, believe it or not.

Since arriving in the Texas countryside I’ve seen loose chickens scratchin’ and peckin’ in front yards. There can be anywhere from five to ten chickens at a time. They aren’t wild by any means, but they are true “free range” chickens. There are no fences and the edge of the lawn will go right to the edge of the road – where the chicken could cross – if it wanted to.

Big metal chickens are all over Texas. I'm sure they're meant as some kind of warning.

Brightly colored, big metal chickens are all over Texas. I’m sure they’re meant as some kind of warning to the live chickens. Like big chicken crossing guards.

But the chickens don’t ever cross the road. I have no idea why they don’t cross the road. Maybe they heed the silent warning of the big metal chickens.

The chickens stay in their yard, very rarely venturing to the next door neighbor’s yard. They never leave home. Chickens are the homebodies of the animal kingdom. (Remember when I toured the chicken houses and made that video of the one cock in the hen house of 20, 000? I asked my guide why the free range farm chickens didn’t run away. He said they just don’t.)

You’ll be driving down the highway and But wait, there’s more! Click to keep reading… Why DID the chicken cross the road?

UPDATED: World's Largest Strawberry Tart

Hi, remember me? It’s only been a couple weeks since I blogged, but it seems like forever to me. So, I’m blogging instead of doing my laundry or cleaning my house.

Wondering what I’ve been up to, besides living in filth? I’ve been sightseeing the last couple weekends (I saw some historical stuff, and a beautiful park), had a guest stay for almost a week, and then attended a formal event for the newspaper.

Meanwhile, I confirmed that my Yahoo editor has moved on to bigger and better things. I sure do miss her. After several months, it seems they are still unable to replace her. This means my articles sit in the cue, unpublished. *sigh* So, I’m looking for other freelance writing opportunities. (Please let me know if you’ve had success with any platforms.)

Now that you’re all caught up, I promise a few travel posts and a Pye update are coming soon. To hold you over, I bribe you with pie. No, not furry Pye, but a fresh strawberry tart, one of my most favorite desserts.

World’s Largest Strawberry Tart

But wait, there’s more! Click to keep reading… World’s Largest Strawberry Tart

A BIG Dime in a Box in Dime Box, Texas. Not making this up.

There it was: A big dime, about two feet across, in a big plexiglass box – in Dime Box, Texas.

Folks, I couldn’t make this stuff up if I tried.

It was awesome.

A dime. In a box. In Dime Box, Texas. Oh, the irony.

A dime. In a box. In Dime Box, Texas. Oh, the irony.

But wait, there’s more! Click to keep reading… A BIG Dime in a Box in Dime Box, Texas. Not making this up.

Tales From the RV Park: Tush Shot Her Car

This is another episode of Tales From the RV Park, life in the RV parks I’ve been camped at. Disclaimer: These stories are fictitious, happened in nightmares, are hearsay, and/or are what others recounted to me. I am part Irish, so there is likely a good deal of exaggeration. The names have been changed to protect the not-so-innocent. There is no relation to persons living, dead, or in jail, even if you think so. In other words, don’t bother trying to sue me, and I have no money.

It's a shame you can't buy common sense like you can buy deodorant.

It’s a shame you can’t buy common sense like you can buy deodorant.

Remember Tush? She’s a tad on the friendly side – if you’re a man. If you’re a woman, she’s jealous and insecure, and has been known to threaten women who she thinks “looked” at Hatin’ – not that anyone in their right mind would.

Tush and Hatin’ fight all the time, and that’s what makes the following story all the more curious…

Tush shot her car. Yes, with a gun. But wait, there’s more! Click to keep reading… Tales From the RV Park: Tush Shot Her Car

Get off my lawn!

Another one of those anniversaries of my birthday is approaching. I’ve celebrated a few anniversaries of my 27th birthday, and even anniversaries of my 29th, but that may have to change.

Old house in Texas.

Old house in Texas. I love photographing old, abandoned barns and houses.

I don’t feel (or generally act) my age and I prefer it that way. Life is what you make it, and I’m making mine young and fun as long as I can. In fact, after interviewing the centenarian a couple months ago and seeing the high percentage of centenarians in this area, I realize I may very well still be in my youthful “prime,” relatively speaking.

But then I find some jerk standing on my lawn.

I have a fenced yard. A clearly fenced yard. There is NO mistaking the fence. It has lights so it can be seen at night. Nevertheless, some fool But wait, there’s more! Click to keep reading… Get off my lawn!

Scrap Art Cars in Beeville, Texas

Well, this post is loooong overdue. (Yes, the extra vowels help. I don’t know why, they just do.) Be prepared for the possibility of more long overdue posts – I’ve got a new gig working as an editor/reporter at a local newspaper.

This car is made of spoons, forks, and other pieces of scrap metal.

This car is made of spoons, forks, and other pieces of scrap metal.

Scrap Art Cars in Beeville, Texas

Beeville is a cute town, just on the edge of the Eagle Ford Shale (the big area of land running diagonally across the middle of south central Texas where most of the oil and gas come from). There was a fantastic art car and scrap metal exhibit at the Beeville Art Museum almost a year ago (that there is the long overdue part). The exhibit was one of the better museum displays I’ve seen, and this was in a small town with a population of about 13,000.

The artist, Mark “Scrap Daddy” Bradford, makes cars out of gazillions of shiny spoons and forks, or random metal scraps. He’s talented, artistic and a tad quirky. Not to mention he’s rather easy on the eyes.

And he lives in Texas, somewhere hear Houston, a few hours from my current location. I’d like to meet this man.

Until then,…

.

Tales From the RV Park: Hatin' and Tush

This is another episode of Tales From the RV Park, life in the RV parks I’ve been camped at. Disclaimer: These stories are fictitious, happened in nightmares, are hearsay, and/or are what others recounted to me. I am part Irish, so there is likely a good deal of exaggeration. The names have been changed to protect the not-so-innocent. There is no relation to persons living, dead, or in jail, even if you think so. In other words, don’t bother trying to sue me, and I have no money.

It's a shame you can't buy common sense like you can buy deodorant.

It’s a shame you can’t buy common sense like you can buy deodorant.

Southern Fried Hatin’ and Trailer Park Tush

There was a long-time tenant, a guy from the deep south. I never saw him without a drink in his hand. He was a nice guy, if you could overlook the blatant racism and sexism, which was hard to do. He never once held back a negative comment about a woman, or a non-white male – even if one was standing right in front of him. If you weren’t white and male, he would likely insult you within five minutes of talking to him. It’s a wonder he never got into a fist fight in all the time he lived at the park.

We’ll call him Southern Fried Hatin’.

Hatin’ had a girlfriend/wanna-be-wife. For the majority of Hatin’s stay at the RV park, his girlfriend But wait, there’s more! Click to keep reading… Tales From the RV Park: Hatin’ and Tush