Sisson Ave. - Kirkwood “Moving Sale”

I had tried to find this sale that was advertised on Artnews when I first went out but either missed the sign or the artist holding the event had not yet awakened. The sale was inside a small frame cottage. In the home it was appeared as though the sale was not affecting the daily lives of the occupants. Aside from a table that was contained a few boxes of cds and cookbooks, it appeared that there had been little preparation for the sale. But the sellers were quite cordial offering me a sandwich and cookies from a platter sitting on a footstool in their small living room. They told me all their books were for sale. The books were crammed into several bookcases along with a variety of other stuff such as a quart of motor oil. The multitude of books were a collection of literature both classic and contemporary ranging from Proust to Pynchon, works on philosophy and the arts as well as a some popular fantasy novels. Near the shelves was a computer desk with a computer with its cover removed and a layer of paper debris. Some hand stenciled TV shirts with comments such as “politics is fun” hung nearby. I wondered into the back bedrooms to find them in total disarray. I could not tell if this stuff was for sale of not.
I bought a copy of “Blink” and “The Dictionary of Symbols” as well as a number of pop, rockabilly and classic cds. The seller also gave me a portable camera mount he had made that consisted of a hardware clap with a quarter inch screw going through the handle. He had been promoting these on the Internet.

Stenciled tee shirts with platter of free cookies and sandwiches in background.














Motor Oil and Milton














Disorder at the artist's estate.

Xmas at an Alcolholstel

No yard ornaments, no tree and no presents, last week Cindy and I ignored the holiday season and booked a stay at an all-inclusive resort in Cancun. We had originally planed to spend a week in Playa Del Carmen at an inexpensive hotel but with the devastation caused by Hurricane Wilma and the closure of so many hotels resulted in Air Tran canceling all service to the area. Just a week ago I found a three-night package with a charter carrier.
For most of my life I have looked down upon those who traveled to other nations only to escape to resort hotels where they were fed, pampered and guarded from any contact with the local culture. I thought I would never be reduced to laying out by the pool along side so many sunburnt bourgeois vacationers sipping upon fruit flavored cocktails while ordering about whatever staff is within earshot.
The first indication that this trip was different was when our plane appeared on the tarmac bearing the logo of a restaurant noted for the risqué apparel of its female employees. It seems that Pace Airlines the charter carrier of this flight operates Hooters Air and uses the distinctively marked aircraft for their flights. The gate attendant sadly told me that there would be no Hooter’s girls on the flight. During the flight the crew did not once mention Hooters Air but referred only to Pace airlines. But the safety instructions found in the forward seat pocket did feature a healthy young lass in a Hooter’s uniform (with the addition of a pilots cap) saluting those seeking the nearest emergency exits and the proper use of flotation devices.

Hooter's aircraft on the tarmac.











Safety instructions for the discerning traveler.

After landing we made our way to the hotel. Along the hotel zone we viewed some of Wilma’s devastation and were told that the Golden Crown where we were staying was but one of only four hotels in operation. After arriving we were taken to the bar, banded, given our keys and left to our powers of gluttony and sloth.

Empty and devasted beachfront of Cancun.

Some notes on the Golden Crown Paradise Spa

I never understood the spa portion, I never saw anyone using the spa. Most people just ate the copious free food and consumed bottomless cocktails.

I declined an ocean front view upgrade and stayed with the lagoon view room. We could not see much of the lagoon from the second floor balcony. What dominated our view was the Old Barn, a restaurant with a agrarian design much like that of a Bonanza Steak house.

The rooms were pleasant except that the beds seemed to be slabs of concrete disguised as beds. My theory was that all the original beds were destroyed in the hurricane and these hard slabs were all that was available in the Yucatan.

Panoramic view of the Old Barn from our balcony.

The food was plentiful, well presented and reminiscent of the fare one would get in a Marriott in some third tier city(which is high by my traveling standards). It ranged from very good to mediocre. Regardless it was plentiful. The aforementioned Old Barn was a steak/chop house with some Tex Mex thrown in. The décor was old barnish complete with antler chandeliers and video monitors showing a Willie Nelson concert. Overlooking the dinners was a loft holding a plastic life size cow and pig glaring down at people consuming cow and pig. My first impression was that perhaps the Golden Crown was a bit too close to Golden Corral. Other food offerings were a breakfast/lunch buffet/trough, a Seafood place, a poolside grill and the Shangri-la. The later an upscale place where one had to wear long pants to indulge in overeating.

Faux livestock peering down at meat eating guests.

The concept of entertainment offerings in such a resort made me cringe. But with the amount of alcohol flowing into the guest’s brains convinced me that my fellow hotel mates would create the best show of all. An eternally perky British recreation director introduced a Mexican Folkloric show. The show consisted of dancing in elaborate costumes. The highpoints were Aztec warriors holding their bare feet to a flame and a large sombrero clad lariat artist. I hardily support any theatre that includes rope tricks.

Roping magic delightes the audiance.

The Casino night in the wood paneled Beer Garden was a bit sad with guests gathering around three tiny gaming tables that looked like they came out of someone’s den.
Karaoke night ran the gamut from lame to dreadful. The supporting video was highly bizarre as it looked as thought the producer had purchased the rights to some old European travel footage then randomly put the lyrics over it. While one drunken oaf stumbled through Born to be Wild the audience watched pastoral scenes of the Tuileries gardens. Cindy delighted the gathered crowd with an uplifting version of Material Girl. My rendition of Strangers in the Night left the audience mostly perplexed.

The list of never ending entertainment. Sadly I had to depart before the Circus Show.

One recreation that seemed underappreacited by all was miniature golf. The Golden Crown claims to have the premier indoor miniature golf course in the Yucatan. The Hollywood themed course features life size figures of Elvis, James Dean, Louis Armstrong and other celbrities. In the center of the course is a large shark. I presume this is saying that Hollywood is just like a little golf course dominated by a big shark. The course may have just been a noble attempt to fill up empty space in the lobby. But by no means is this putting range up to Myrtle Beach or Gatlinburg standards. Not once during our visit did I see anyone playing the links.

Likeness of Monroe failing to attract indoor duffers.


















Cindy confronts Hollywood golf shark.

Over all the main attraction was sitting around the pool or the pool bar sipping rum and tequila enhanced fruit drinks while gazing at the azure Caribbean waters. Perhaps this is the true meaning of Xmas.

Golden Crowners relax on Xmas day.













Fearsome Santa in lobby keeps his eyes on naughty and drunken guests.

Merry Xmas- My yard is bare....

Yard sales In Atlanta have ended. The 805 section of the AJC classifieds was absent today as people go about their holiday habits of crowding into big box stores to purchase clutter that will be sold at yard sales in the spring. Last year in this site I reported on my front yard and how it was festooned with illuminated magi and penguins. This year due to my travel plans I declined to haul out the plastic figures from my shed and lay out the grid of extension cords that supply power to these icons that brighten the season for all that walk or drive by. My neighbors were somewhat perplexed at my lack of holiday spirit but all décor needs a sabbatical. All that one sees now in my yard is a frozen fish pond and one bare dogwood tree with a single ornament hanging from it.
Overall in the neighborhood there seems to be a lessening of holiday spirit. Perhaps there is a war on Christmas as Fox news pundits are claiming. As in any wartime conditions the civilians hunker in bunkers and wait for peace. So perhaps this is where the plastic snowmen have gone.
Overall there has been an increase of the large plastic inflatables. These air blown affairs are best seen when their air blowers go into standby and the deflated figures look like victims of Christmas war crimes.

Overall my street seems to be in some sort of holiday time warp as at least two homes still have pumpkins in their yards.