Goofy Town (Key West)
Yesterday evening, a fellow who sometimes hangs out at Sippin’ on Eaton Street, just off Duval Street, exclaimed to no one in particular sitting at the outside tables, as he was standing and not speaking with anyone, “Key West is the goofiest fucking town in the world!” I said I might publish that. I did not say the fellow who said it is one of the goofiest fucking people I have ever met. And not because, like me, he’s from Birmingham. More because he is an Episcopal Church freak, and he doesn’t seem to listen to anyone he’s having a conversation with, which means there is no conversation except with himself. He once told me he did important spirit work but got into trouble and now is certain he is going to hell, where he will battle demons for God.
Key West really is the goofiest fucking town in the world, where people like this fellow and me can fit right in. If you think I’m joking, think again. Back when most of the businesses on Duval Street were all boarded up, back when Margaritaville was just getting started, back when the Strand Theater where the Walgreen’s now is was open, back when Key West was a Navy town, really a Navy town, The Strand ran continuous showings of “Deep Throat,” for years. It was the only movie shown there. Now it’s a Walgreen’s and up and down and just off Duval Street are modern reincarnations of “Deep Throat,” in the form of strip clubs and lap dancing parlors, and in the back of one popular gay gaming bar, a room for group sex.
If I were to describe my dreams last night, I might be accused of being weird. Lost of big men parts au naturale. Not exactly what I want to see in my dreams, if you get my drift. As I walked to Sippin’ wondering just how this was all going to play out in today’s post, I found myself ruminating on what I wrote yesterday about Judas being given the job of playing the villian and wondering just what sort of life he might have been given if he had not, as the Gospels say happened, hung himself.
Maybe Judas would have been given a life similar to our own beloved now dearly departed Captain Tony Tarrancino, who drank more booze, screwed more women and fathered more illigitimate children than probably will ever be accurately told. Shoot, maybe Captain Tony was Judas reincarnated, getting his just reward at long last. Captain Tony, who actually, after a number of attempts, as I understand the story, got himself elected Mayor of Key West, and was a pretty darn good mayor, according to the reports I heard. A pretty darn good mayor.
Then I got to thinking on the irony and injustice of it all. I can’t drink booze because it makes me feel like I’m going to die, and because I’ve been told in dreams that I’d better not drink booze if I know what’s good for me. As for screwing women, much as I’d enjoy that on a frequent basis, I’d only have the juice for one woman, not a harem, not even a small harem, but even then the woman would have to be selected by the Spirit for me, and then she’d have to be willing to partake of all the other “fringe benefits” that go along with having a screwing relationship with me, which, so far anyway, no woman has seemed overly excited about including in her 401 K or IRA retirement plan.
I got really hot and bothered the other evening, after Dennis Ward’s truly moving and impressive standing room only swearing in as our new State Attorney at the new Freeman Justice Center. What got me all hot and bothered was a female member of the local Resistance was there clad only in a scanty American Flag which she filled out quite deliciously. After drooling for a while at the reception at Square One just off the upper end of Duval Street, where some sho nuff’ serious good food and drink were served to all who came, I asked Miss Betsy Ross if she didn’t have a boyfriend, as I tugged her little flag higher up her pretty leg, and she said she didn’t usually wear underwear.
She said she never thought I was interested in her, and I said to the contrary, but I thought I remembered her once introducing me to her boyfriend. Yes, she has a boyfriend, she said. And she is fifty years old, and didn’t hardly look it, the way she fitted into that little American Flag, a true patriot if I ever saw one; and she had never married because she wanted to be free, and I could understand that; and she and I were too much alike and would probably get into a lot of trouble, and I sort of hoped we would but didn’t figure it happening; and we kissed lightly and I said goodbye and got on my bicycle and rode home, alone, in Key West, wondering what in the hell I still get aroused about when there is no place to use it.
Oh, I nearly forgot the bulk email I received from Dennis Ward, saying he had been approached by County Administrator Roman Gastesi about teaching ethics, amen, to county employees, to which invitation Dennis added that he would, amen, teach whistle-blowing. Accompanying Dennis’ email were several Key West Citizen articles, one about the County’s renewed interest in rejuvenating Higgs Beach and turning it into a first rate attraction for locals and tourists.
Imagine my extreme distress over no mention about some of Higgs being turned into a clothing-optional beach, after hearing all three women county commissioners, during their campaigns last fall, say, yeah, they thought there ought to be a nude beach in Key West. With my own ears and eyes, I heard and saw them say that. I sure did, as did everyone in that forum. We were rolling in the aisles. Rolling in the aisles.
So that happened? Was that just an empty campaign promise? Just another political “read my lips?” Or did they suddenly get religion? God help Key West, if it gets religion — or goes suburban, as someone recently told a friend of mine needs to happen. God help it. If you elect Sloan mayor, he will do everything he can to return Key West to Capt. Tony. Everything he can. It would be nice, though, if he has a little female help to keep him from going totally goofy.
Sloan Bashinsky, 13 January 2009, Key West