July 24, 2004 Dear Internet: I fear that we've promised tales of adventure and have not delivered! Our apologies, dear friend. The tempations of summer's sun and warmth have proved too great. But wouldn't any mother prefer sons who frolic in the sweaty air rather than type-away in a shady corner? Yes, she would. And we like to make our Mammys happy. But, the burdon of the gentleman is to please all comers. So, today, dear reader, is your day. Read on, as The Gentlemen have been active. As intimated in a most recent entry, June began with my journeying southernward for yet another great and humid reunion with my Gentlemen partner. For most, Florida post-April can be quite unbearable. But, The Councilman filled my head with distractions, introducing me to his many air-conditioners and his new, if stubborn friend, the bass-fiddle. Indeed, were it not for the pools of moisture which found permanent home in my most ungentlemanly crevaces, I perhaps would have noticed the oppressive heat not at all. Such are the tricks that a man's mind can play! A day or two of leisure followed my arrival, after which The Councilman and I, in a rare fit of cerebral harmony, reasoned that we ought probably to drive ourselves back to New York City to stay a spell. This struck us as an even finer idea after several maps indicated a number of tourist-friendly locals along our prospective route. Tourists mean dollars!, I shouted. And dollars mean gasoline!, The Councilman replied. And gasoline means travel, I answered. And travel means more tourists, he concluded! And tourists mean dollars, I repeated. Such thinking lasted for several minutes, then became tiresome. Now friends, it may well be true that the drink has dulled the minds of we two gentlemen; that The Councilman can recall now only the first and fourth verses of Red River Valley; that I often become mixed about when reciting nineteenth century presidents. But certain problems of reason still fall well within our powers. Thus, when confronted with the question, 'Where might we find the greatest collection of touristry between Miami and Jacksonville?', we quickly concluded Orlando, despite the fact that we were, at that very moment, quite drunk. Even the most poorly educated peasant would agree, don't you think, that Orlando, home to myriad thematic parks and such, would be fertile ground for our musical plow? Quite wrong, friends! For the foul city of Orlando has abandoned the once-popular idea of public land. Thus, everywhere we wandered, signs of "Private Property" blocked our path. And if there is one thing a landlord dislikes, it's nomadic troubadours dirtying his parking lot with song. Were I ever to own a plot of earth, I reckon I would think differently. But alas, such is not the case. So, after several failed locations, and one threat of a criminal charge from the humorless security staff at Universal Studios, we found ourselves in the midst of a South Florida deluge with only $5.30 in earnings. Were those raindrops or tears pouring down The Councilman's face? I hadn't the heart to ask, only to offer a full jug of whiskey and a meager promise of better days to come. And they did, friend. They did! More to come. -Smilin' A. Bean Return to Menu
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