I’m a sucker for old pop song lyrics. That old Simon & Garfunkle lyric is rattling around in my brain as my family returned from a week-long “vacation” (for the kids, not the grown-ups) in Sarasota, where their grandma lives. They whiled away the hours in the hotel pool proudly displaying their swimming skills to mom and dad over, and over, and over, etc.
Sarasota (and all of Florida as far as I’m concerned) is a strange place. Quite charming in some respects especially for its old antique historic charm as the winter home of the Ringling Bros. circus and the Ringling family. There are musty old gems like the Children’s Garden (where I discovered that the founder’s daughter is daughter in law of Seattle Times columnist, Danny Westneat). There are gorgeous beauties like the Marie Selby orchid garden. But the new Sarasota can be garish and lurid. Witness this horrid piece of Soviet-sized public sculpture that graces the most well-traveled intersection in town. The sculpture is a rip off of a famous historic image of a sailor kissing a girl in Manhattan on V-E Day.
Food in Sarasota can range from the perfunctory or just plain awful to the sublime. We had a lovely meal at Derek’s Culinary Casual in the historic Rosemary District. The restaurant combines two storefronts with 20 foot high ceilings and elegant decor. We loved the fact that it was away from the hip, happnin’ Main Street restaurant/bar scene. This being a town in which the average age hovered around 70 (pharmacies graced every street corner), portions were double what we’re used to in Seattle.
We loved the creamed spaetzle and I had a lucious desert humorously called Smores: chocolate pudding cunningly described as “chocolate pate” on the menu, topped with homemade marshmallow, with a honey graham crust below.
But home is really where I wanna be, as the song goes.
While I was away my Israeli blogging friend, Didi Remez, reported that one of his visitors used the following Google search terms to reach his blog, “Kill Richard Silverstein.”
Maybe it’s time to draw up a last will and testament. I document weirdness like this because I haven’t been able to get either the Seattle Police Department or FBI to take the threats seriously. If God forbid something did happen, I want this to be on the public record.