And Now a Vacation

And now I'm going on vacation.

Not a real vacation. Unless you think the word vacation and the phrase itinerant painter suggest things that are one in the same.

But I picked up a Carl Hiaasen (try spelling that three times quickly) novel last night and started reading it. Entitled "Double Whammy," it was written in the late 80s--way back before Carl jumped the shark.

He did? you ask. Yes, I answer. More specifically, the moment he wrote the words "Jimmie and the Slut Puppies" in the novel "Basket Case," the shark was jumped.

"Clever has to come natural-like. The minute you start tryin' too hard, it comes out as what we call 'too clever by half.' And that stuff smells like week-old chicken right out of the box."

This is me channeling my inner Hiaasen.

Unfortunately, Carl himself's been running on too-clever-by-half for about five years now. The fact that I read every new thing he writes only adds to the shame I'm feeling about my $3,050.00 (everybody squint!) trip to the eBay store.

But in the old days, he could really put the stuff together. And now that he's got his hook in me, I think I'm just gonna float around in the shallows for a few days, try to keep the tension off the line, maybe scratch around for a decent picture of Jim Cramer (finding one that doesn't make him look like a complete idiot is no mean challenge).

I'm reminded of the Floating Men. More specifically:

I don’t ever get lost anymore
I’m never falling behind
‘Cause I don’t care where I wind up sleeping
And nobody notices what time I arrive
It feels like a Sunday morning out
I’m guessing it’s June
Maybe that highway leads to paradise
Maybe it leads to the fountain of youth

I’m going to hire me a spotlight
And the finest crowd that money can buy
I’m going to build me a grandstand
And stand around staring down at the barren ground
Of this invisible life

I don’t dream about wealth anymore
And I don’t let myself dream about fame
And I refuse to dream about the poacher’s daughter
Or the laughter at midnight in the mud and the rain
I’ve given up on ever joining the rodeo
But I’d still make one hell of a spy
I know I’ll never be a Hollywood Romeo
I’m too easy to see through and so hard to find

I’m going to hire me a spotlight
And the finest crowd that money can buy
I’m going to build me a grandstand
And stand around staring down at the barren ground
Of this invisible life

It’s a glorious world out here
And I’m a glorious man
And it’s a glorious day to wait around for a tow truck
With both axles stuck in the sugar-white sand
It feels like a Sunday morning out
Hell, maybe it’s noon
Maybe that highway leads to the ocean
And maybe it leads to the moon

I’m going to hire me a spotlight
And the finest crowd that money can buy
I’m going to build me a grandstand
And stand around staring down at the barren ground
Of this invisible life

These guys' obsession with the poacher's daughter is something to hear. More specifically:

I’ve got my hat pulled down
I’ve got my toes in the water
Floating down the river getting drowsy from the heat
And I can close my eyes and see the poacher’s daughter
Barefoot on a sandbar with a straw in her teeth

Are those Manolo Blahniks?