‘The Griswolds Have Nothing on Us’

Day 2: The Man Show

Stan and Piano  

Stan the Man, that’s what he called himself, our dinning room Maitre D'. He looked too much like Annie’s Daddy Warbucks. He had more personality than all the Maitre D’s from every cruise we have ever taken. He was personable, friendly and funny. We had ended up the first night’s seating each couple assigned different tables. The third couple, not in our original party, was at what else but a third table. We had asked Stan the Man the previous night if we could all sit at one table. No problem, Stan the Man came through for us. Every time I saw him, no matter where on the ship for the remainder of the cruise, he always called me by my first name. That was just too uncanny but appreciated.  

Earlier during the day I tried my hand at the twenty five cent casino slots, ten dollar bill in, no dingers and in less than two minutes, like magic, my ten had disappeared. That’s worse than unlucky. I later ventured into the ship’s library, the same spot on a different cruise ship where I had my very first photo taken of me and my very first published novel, Road Rage. I had just received my proof copy before our vacation cruise sailed from Miami and then we spent a week in Key Largo. On that vacation I sold my first copy of Road Rage to a couple from California staying at our resort. Sadly, looking about the shelves, there were no T. Allen Classics. Unlucky at slots and libraries so it seemed.  

We had started our morning with pre-arranged room service, mater juice and coffee to our cabin @ 7:30. We met my in-laws for breakfast later on the Lido. Sister-in-law was commenting how she thought service was better on Celebrity Cruise Lines. I advised her to tone down her voice in front of the Carnival servers. To prove we were fit as a badly tuned fiddle, we opted for the stairs instead of the elevators. We were on deck 6, Lido on Deck 10 and everything else was between those decks. Oh yeah, cramps got me later that night, the old legs debating the decision to ascend and descend. It didn’t deter us from sticking to the game plan. One must find a way to counter the grazing frenzies.  

My dearest was going to let her sister borrow gold ear rings for dress-up night. She called their cabin to tell her to drop by and pick them up. Not going to happen, her sister told her she had lost her holes. How do you lose holes in your ears I asked? They must have grown over from not wearing them, so I offered to poke new holes in them. Wise woman, she declined my offer. Just as well, the way my luck was going I would have made a mess of that too. I’m not ear pierce person but I did stay once in a Holiday Inn Express. She lost her room key too if that tells you anything. She eventually relocated it though but those ear holes never showed up.  

I said at the beginning that Day 2 was the Man Show. After dinner, we visited the Piano Bar. Of all places, the Piano Player lived in Anderson, S.C., was originally from Georgia, a good ole God fearing Baptist boy. We had heard him play on the last ship we sailed. It’s a fun guy and takes requests. He said he had to get this one tune over with though and played Piano Man. He was indeed Piano Man Extraordinaire. At the end of his set he said he had one more tune to play. Fist he said he was required to make a disclaimer; he was about to play a gospel tune in a bar. He said if anyone in the bar was offended by Jesus music then ‘there is the door.’ He brought the house down with an Elvis rendition of “How Great Thou Art’.  

Earlier during dinner, sadly escargot was not on the menu but not to fear. I got my weird fix on with gator fritters. I had flash backs of all those gators I see on the Grand Strand golf courses. Man, there are a lot fritters on those ten footers. And no, gator does not taste like chicken folks; only chicken tastes like chicken so please stop spreading all the roomers about everything else tasting like narrow head, yard bird that is.  

We made until around 11 PM, until most of the good entertainment had expired. The other couple in our party had departed to their cabin after dinner. Sorry, I don’t get it, going on a cruise and not staying up to do anything.  

The male part of our third couple was a casino junky.  I could be one too if I could afford all the losing. He claimed he was winning, had been pegged as a high roller, even receiving complimentary drinks. I hadn’t even reached low roller status yet. The cruise wasn’t over yet though. Lady luck might be out there somewhere. If she was, where had she been hiding the past 61 years? What a tease? After all, we had three more cruise days to go yet. Miracles can happen. Tomorrow, tomorrow…right. I better consult Daddy Warbucks, Stan the Man and request that he please conjure up me a winning streak. I’m not greedy; braking even is a good thing. Speaking of tomorrow, well typing speaking of tomorrow, we’ll be docking in Nassau. That means a walk about, window shopping in the oppressive heat and retuning in time to do lunch on the Lido. You cam never pass on a grazing opportunity.

 

‘The Griswolds Have Nothing on Us’

Day 1: Saturdays are for Cruisers and Bruisers

 

Surprises at the terminal, first time out of Jacksonville and what happens; we’re spotted by another couple from the hometown, Abbeville, also sailing from this port for the very first time. Go figure. We reminisce, we board, and we are ready for the next five days of leaving the rest of the world behind. As mentioned, the other three, the clique were issued gold VIP on board cards and I receive a blue first time cruiser card, 18 cruise, sorry, I’m not a virgin. We bring on board the permitted amount on none alcohol beverages, not to exceed more than twelve cans or bottles of 20 ounces each. Mingled among the water could be contraband, just saying. We also brought a couple of sippy cups.  Not to be outdone, the in-laws purchased water bottles and sippy cups too. Theirs is still in the car, go figure.  

Waiting to sail in three or four hours, we else is there to do but hit the Lido Deck, let the grazing begin. Green tea is supposed to be healthy, I get that. Dipping green tea, tea bags in a cup of coffee just so ain’t right. Sister-in-laws often defy logic. Mixed drink I suppose. We eventually make our way to our cabin, hoping we will have one bed, not twins or bunk beds. One bed it is. The other two of our party have the same outcome at their cabin. They have the cabin folks redo it and make twin beds. Logic defied once again but not my cabin, do your thing.  

Sister-in-law is put off by a motorized wild woman driving about and running her nearly over. To be continued…it ain’t over by a long shot.  

Silent moment…mama sure did love cruising. She would have been right her with us, no doubt, miss you mama.  

Fairy tales do come true and why I love to cruise is confirmed the very first night. We check out the dinner menu. It’s escargot night. I order two appetizers, twelve snails please. I’m in heaven. My goal each night, eat and try new and different stuff. I dubbed as the one who eats weird stuff. Weird can be good. Don’t knock it unless you try it. Man’s mantra: ‘I’ll eat anything that doesn’t eat me first.’ I live by that creed too and will try anything once and have.  

We attend the show, and as we enter the theater, they are giving out tickets. My beloved tears off one section and drop the other copy off for the drawing. In-laws are excited they have tickets too. One problem, they still have both sections, doubling their chances I suppose. You can’t win if you have both sections, sorry. We make it to 11:30 our first night. Older and wiser we don’t try to hang out to the wee hours with the youngsters. We’re cruising ya’ll. I wonder if the crew is sleeping on he ship too.

‘The Griswolds Have Nothing on Us’

Pre-Cruise Madness

 

Okay, I concede; we are four technically, two couples, brother-in-law and sister-in-law as related to me. I could name names but sometimes it is best to protect those who don’t often protect themselves. Wink…nod…some of you will figure it out anyway. I’m still not over those three biscuits by a long shot though. One is a lonely number but this one never forgets. Ask anyone. I take half a day off from work on the day before the embarkation date. We decide to drive close to Jacksonville so we’re the first in line the next day. We eventually circle the wagons about thirty miles from our destination, plenty of daylight to burn but close enough to call; Comfort Inn becomes our campsite; we do have a rewards card after all. Two rooms…perfect… 

Our rooms have king sized beds, are roomy and have min frigs, microwaves and those one cup coffee makers.  And what does the brother-in-law do and we are glad we weren’t with him when he asked? He goes to the lobby and asks the front desk attendant for a coffee pot because one is missing from theirs. No pot is required she explains. Just place one of the provided cups underneath, add water, the supplied coffee and press start. Coffee pot…really. One must learn to get out of Abbeville (subliminal hint) more often. Sister-in-law decides she wants one of those reward cards so she can receive all the quirks that come along with them. Quirks…perks…sound sort of alike, don’t they? Quirk: something strange happens for reasons that you do not know or understand. She is sort of quirky. Perks are privileges granted. Strange happening or privileges, she may as well have had utters; we milked the quirk angle for the remainder of the vacation. She is our female ‘Norm Crosby.’ Google him if you are too young or too quirky to get it.  

Writer and blogger privileges, perks of the trade; I decide what I write and all are primed and fair targets. I didn’t take my laptop but I have an elephant’s memory. I file things away but store them up for later. In this case, I did things the old fashioned way, note tablet and pen. At the end of the day I converted those chronicled events to paper, saving the quirkiness for now, perks indeed. We haven’t even gotten to the cruise yet. Bear with me, wild and craziness looms ahead as only I can spin it.

 ‘The Griswolds Have Nothing on Us’

The Power of Three 

Bored and having not taken much of a vacation in the past two years other than staying at the beach condo, we decided it was time to do a road trip. Sure, the condo comes with an ocean and a beach but we can go there anytime and have. I know it’s hard to believe but living less than ten minutes from the beach makes going there less special. We decided it was time to do another cruise. We hadn’t been on one in a few years, having burned out of doing them, dozens of them. What the heck, at least we could hop on board, have our hotel, our meals and entertainment all inclusive, destination not really that important. We decided on a five day, leaving from Jacksonville, much cheaper than going out of Charleston. It really makes no sense…same cruise line, same dates, same destinations, just a different ship but worth the extra three hour drive further to Jacksonville than just and hop and a skip to Charleston. We tacked on two nights afterwards in Beaufort. 

We invited kinfolk. They accepted. We booked the cruise two months in advance. August 30^th arrived on schedule. The kinfolk were coming down on the 29^th but in their typical fashion, and really no surprise, they came to the beach two days earlier than originally planned. We’re used to this. On the 29^th, a breakfast supper was served. After most of the food had been consumed, only three biscuits and two sausage patties survived the night time morning feast. The female kinfolk, while still seated at the kitchen table, smiles as she eyes the three biscuits and says, we have three left and there’s three of us. Excuse me…I’m still here, and just because I work half day tomorrow doesn’t mean I don’t eat breakfast too. I immediately smell conspiracy, the clique being formed and me on the outside looking in. Ironically I have a completed novel titled ‘Outside the Clique’ so I get it.  

Fast forwarding to cruise check in time, The Three all receive gold on board passes. I receive a blue pass card and I’m the one who made all the reservations. Gold signifies VIP. Of which I’m not. The power of the three rears its ugly obvious head once again and I’m just a P, VI to my name apparently. Later each of them will receive a special invitation to attend a welcome aboard dinner. I’m VIP-less…go figure…I can’t. The male kinfolk, not one to drink, dance and socialize, offers me his VIP invite. A chameleon, I become him for 45 minutes.  

Hold onto your britches The Griswolds Cruise Vacation lurks in the next entries, five days…really? It seemed much longer. Clark, eat your heart out…

 

The Perfect Spook House novel is at the publisher's, just in time for a pre-Halloween launch.

Halloween 1969, two car loads of eleventh graders venture down the winding Cedar Springs Road. An old deserted house screams haunted dares to those in search of spooks and goblins. Do tricks or treats await the young thrill seekers? Spontaneity has never taught a tougher life’s lesson, prompting a tiny southern community to shun their very own.  Ask Payne Lewis, the past can haunt forever. Nineteen years of torment comes to a head and eleven men must face their childhood demons one last time. Nostalgia guarantees no happy endings and sometimes is just better off left alone. There once was the Perfect Spook House…

The backdrop is Abbeville, S.C., as along the theme of the Detective Trudy Wagner series in Myrtle Beach, local hangout and landmarks are speckled through the saga. I as always when I have new book published, will plan a book signing in the hometown, especially since this one is centered there.

Next up and hopefully before the Thanksgiving-Christmas shopping time will be Cornbread and Buttermilk, Good Ole Fashion Home Cooked Nostalgic Nonsense, a memoir of course. Pass the Hash, Make Mine a Second Helping on Loaf Bread, second addition to first, more nostalgic foolishness.

My first ever kids novel is being proofed and edited too. Mister Twix is Missing, A Cat Scene Investigation. Join neighborhood sleuths Bucky and Elvis as they attempt to solve the missing cat caper and help little Lorrie find her cat.

Blogging is something one must sustain or the blog goes dry. Reruns or mulligans don't work. I've been focusing too much on writing and proofing and writing and editing. I just haven't written anything new here. Rambling isn't blogging, is it?

Okay, I am trying to push my butt towards at least publishing something. It's been nearly a year and half since I published the last two. It's not that I don't have plenty of stuff to publish, because I do. I'm sitting on top of nearly twenty completed novels. I hope to have The Perfect Spook House published by Halloween. Hoping and doing are not exactly cooperating. Procrastinating is working just fine though. I don't have writer's block and don't think I ever have. It's that drive to promote and sell that has come to a screeching halt. Sadly, that rests on my shoulders as all who self publish are aware. No one pays us to write. No one is out there peddling the goods. It falls squarely on our shoulders. It often makes you feel like a mutation, a cross between a used car salesman and snake oil peddler. It works for a while then it gets sort of old for me and those I'm dogging.

Every author, sounds too strange for me to admit I am, searches for that one break out book, one that makes the world take notice. Unfortunately there are a zillion hungry souls out there chasing the very same dream. You can only go to the well so many times before family and friends cry uncle and band you from the land. People begin avoiding eye contact, crossing to the other side of the street, stop commenting to your babbling on Face Book. Book sales become mercy killings.

I began writing in 2003 while cooped in a hotel three night a week during business travel. I did it for me, not real aspirations to publish. I cranked out a 650 page something called The Lord's Last Acres. Looking back at it now, it needs a tune up and should be sliced and diced, made into a series instead of one book. I wrote The Caregiver's Son for me, my way to overcome grief and depression after losing mama, daddy and granny in 11 months. I did it for me, never ever really expecting to share it with anyone else. Road Rage just came to me after we moved to the beach. I kept a log of near misses, crazy drivers, eye witnessed wrecks for a few weeks and came up with the idea, what if someone was pushed over the edge...and no, I am not a serial killer but I did stay at the Holiday Inn Express. Dark Thirty bubbling in my pea brain after seeing all the senseless bullying in this world. I liked my characters in Road Rage, thus North of the Border evolved and I'm currently winding down the third in the Detective Trudy Wagner series, Tithe and Offerings, with the plot of a forth already stewing, The Low Country Hunt Club.

Lou Who evolved from this crazy brain of mine, a woman suffering from Alzheimer's becomes possessed b a vengeful one hundred year old witch. Alzheimer's finds it way into many of my tales.

Absent on Arrival, a weird tale of something gone terribly wrong at a resort in the Smokey Mountains, a little Steven King sort of...and NO, I'm not comparing myself to the great one.

No Mulligan came to light after watching Tiger Woods life spiral out of control. I put my twist on the story and upped the anti to toss out a murder mystery with my usual twists.

The Perfect Spook House is depicted in Abbeville. Outside the Clique is centered in Calhoun Falls. A group of high school buddies attend a high school reunion many years later. One of the guys has lost touch with the others. Dark secrets exist for the homeboys who never left and he is soon reeled back into the clique where things are not one they seem.

The Tenth Elemental is centered around the world of Gnomes and deities in Maggie Valley.

More bullying exists. Mack, Dark Thirty Continues. Just what happened after the ending in Dark Thirty? I have a series of short stories geared towards young folks, Bully on Board.

I have two more kid's books completed but no published of course. Digging Sea Turtles and Mister Twix ix Missing, A Cat Scene Investigation.

Of course I have my Sasquatch Trilogy, the first two novels complete, (1) Foot (2) Another Foot and the third started, The Final Foot.

Characters from Foot series and Trudy Wager series cross paths in Last Stand on the Grand Strand, something primeval swims in the waters off the coast.

More memoirs:  (1) Cornbread and Buttermilk, Gold Ole Fashion Home Cooked Nostalgic Nonsense, (2) Soppin the Possum, the Second Helping (3) Fostering Four, my time as a foster parent


Have I babble blogged you senseless? How about this, the in progress projects that I am writing...

(1) The Hardwood Walker of Ports Harrelson Road, a tale from Bucksport, SC, based on factual events, with my spin added. (165 pages in the can)
2) Just Who the Heck on the Joneses (another mystery, 78 pages)
3) Raw Ride, a Good Ole Fashion Zombie Apocalyptic Shoot-um Up (44 pages)
4) Potential Novellas or Four stories within in one book titled Love from the Man Cave Perspective with four stories 1) Love from the Dark Side 2) The Longest Hello 3) The Single Guy's Roadmap to Marriage 4) The Widow Magnet
5) The Book Peddler - just what would you do to sell your books?
6) Potential kid's books 1) Walking my Fish 2) Chicken Lovers Inc. 3) Drum Stick and Jack-O-Lantern 4) The Pinecone People

And then MAYBE, the BIG SURPRISE, a nonfiction one might eventually see the light of day.

And one other project potentially, a collaboration with a talented Abbeville Classmate...

Say shut up...blogged you good, didn't I?

MYRTLE BEACH, SC (WMBF) - The sign at Myrtle Manor Trailer Park has been stolen again. Filming of the third season of TLC's reality show "Welcome to Myrtle Manor" is scheduled to begin at the park on Friday.

The sign was taken from the mobile home park at around 3 p.m. Tuesday, according to Barbara Patrick, the owner.

She and her husband Cecil said a police report has been filed. "Myrtle Manor," also known as Patrick's Mobile Home Park, is located off Highway 15 in Myrtle Beach. 

The Myrtle Manor sign was stolen back in March of 2013, shortly after the reality show premiered on TLC. 

The third season of the show is expected to begin filming on August 8, according to the Myrtle Manor Facebook page.

The reality show features the ‘colorful residents' in the ‘five-star trailer park' of Myrtle Manor, according to its website.

The show first aired March 3, 2013.

Copyright 2014 WMBF News. All rights reserved.

 

Okay, here's my take on this article posted on WMBF News website. I confess. I have watched every episode of Myrtle Manor thus far. I have even driven through the movie set location in Patrick Trailer Park. I live in Myrtle Beach so why wouldn't this intrigue me. This is similar to the perception of Tiger Woods. You either hate it/him or you love it/him, not much wiggle room for in between. I am a wiggler just the same. As mentioned in this article they're about to begin shooting episodes for season number three. Yep, I'll most likely watch them too. One must keep it in perspective. It's like watching wrestling on television. I go into this realizing most of it is staged and fake. Reality TV is not really reality as we live it. My life as a reality show would be canceled after the first episode...boring...that is unless I did stuff to make it more entertaining. Those who know me, know that isn't going to happen because I'm so shy and introverted. Well...I used to be.

Recap...the sign has been stolen for a second time. Souvenir hunter or someone totally embarrassed by the show, there lies the mystery. Possibly it was a publicity stunt or munity on the Myrtle. Some have been real pissed about the show depicting the community and palmetto state as a bunch of dumb ass hicks. Oddly, many of the characters on the show have been northerners. Actually depicting a Myrtle Beach trailer park speckled with northerners (Yankees for those not catching my drift), is probably more accurate. Living here for ten years now in the tourist community, I have realized that I am the minority, an anomaly, as few South Carolinians actually live here.

Be careful how you stereotype grand strand dwellers. Good ole boys don't sound like wise guys when they talk. We like grits, fried chicken, our style pizza and we wave when we meet you, whether we know you or not. We like the ways things are and don't expect the world to change just because we moved here. We're laid back and slow because it is less stressful and that's the way we like it. We're not lazy. We just work smart. Myrtle Manor is just a show. Wrestling isn't real. Make believe and an hour of silly ass entertainment is just that...entertaining.

I don't take it seriously and can remote to any one of a zillion other channels if I don't like it or feel offended. This is America. Right now I have choices. File that one away for another time; change isn't always good. I write this stuff because I like doing it. It's my form of entertainment for those who enjoy reading it and put up with my babbling. If you don't...then don't. I'll sleep well if you don't and you'll sleep better by not allowing it to get all bent out of shape. I write mostly fiction novels. Guess what, it's mostly make believe. Well, the names have been changed to protect the innocent or maybe the guilty.

Myrtle Manor...its just a show looking for ratings and a following. It's your choice to watch it or not. If the ratings suck, it will go away. Third season filming...someone must be watching. Get your own sign and leave theirs alone, how about it? Okay...now go back to whatever you were doing before I reeled you in...that is if you got this far.