Rum Bar - Key West

We were looking for something tall and cold and stumbled into the Rum Bar (and, if the truth be told, stumbled out again two hours later), which is located down aways on Duval in Key West.  A tiny place with what looks like the world’s biggest collection of rums (at least in ratio to its size) Rum Bar turned into a good choice for a mid-day respite from the heat and humidity of Key West and its wandering throngs.  The first exchange was not promising in that, when I asked if they had umbrella drinks the crusty old codger behind the bar actually said, “We’re not that kind of place.”  Oh, really, thinks I, and you introduce yourself as ‘Bahama Bob’ and feature every cutesy-named rum drink possible?  The fact that Rum Bar doesn’t decorate their exotic drinks with little umbrellas doesn’t mean it’s not an umbrella bar.

There seems to be some extra fruit flavoring (a dash of special liqueur?) in the best rum drinks and the Planters Punch served at RB certainly packs in summa dat .  Among the four of us we had a Pain Killer, a Dark & Stormy, a couple of Rum Runners and, even, one lost soul who ordered Bloody Mary’s with an extra double-dollop of eye-watering, freshly-ground horse radish added, which to me makes the BM too rough on the palate for ordinary human beings.  And, of course, the aforementioned Planters Punch.  It was a fine couple of hours but also proved that major-proof liquor and a hot, steamy, summer day aren’t really a good mix, fruity or not.

ZZ Top

The complex within which I now dwell is two floors in height and U-shaped, with walkways fronting each facade.  It kind of reminds me of the old resorts in Palm Springs, Calif. where, in my not too distant past, I used to go to frolic and gambol among the slithy toves.

Some of my neighbors are long term and have claimed their right to mark their territory with plants and an outdoor chair or two.  Although some areas are unkempt I still like the ambiance they provide to passersby but, aside from generic doormats, my section of my leg of the U was empty of even a little bit of charm.

  I leapt into that breach last week with a small glazed pot containing a “ZZ Plant.”  In Googling for knowledge of its pedigree and care, I found that “if ever there was the perfect plant for the ultimate brown thumb, the easy zz plant is it.”  Although I think my thumb shades toward green, a zmiaculus zamiafolia is a good start not only to fit in with my eco-neighbors but a nice visual as I come and go.  Of course I had to embellish the overall look with a strategically placed seashell.  I hope the lizards and other wandering fauna, human and otherwise, appreciate the effort.
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Update February 4, 2015:  Outdoor living does not agree with a ZZ Plant.  Oh, it is hardy enough to withstand extremes of weather and overwatering but what it cannot survive is critters of some sort who started making it a part of their daily diet.  So I had to whisk it indoors where it is flourishing nicely without fear of being someone's, or something's, midnight snack.

Monkey Biz

This just proves that democracy works.  I proposed more than several names (15 actually) to my bowling brethren (Florida division) including “Gorilla My Dreams” but it was not my personal choice; in fact far from it.  I voted for “Thunder on Dixie” (Dixie Highway is a nearby street on which Manor Lanes sits) but I was literally shouted down by my teammates.  So here we are, flying the Magilla banner for the next 34 weeks.  I guess it could have been worse.  There are already way too many innuendo-heavy names flitting about that utilize the word “balls.”

mmm; baby

Needing coffee badly on a recent drive down to Key West, a stop at Baby’s Coffee was not really spur-of-the-moment but was highly anticipated by at least two of the foursome involved in the decision.  Coffee and a chocolate-laced muffin while standing in the broken concrete parking lot of Baby’s Coffee while the sun was settling benignly in the west was just the ticket to revive spirits and stave off ravenous hunger pangs.  Personally, I was so pleased with BC that I insisted we stop again on the return trip so I could buy some beans, which has proved to be a good decision on my part even though I now realize I should have purchased more than one pound.  Also, I should have purchased the XL tee-shirt instead of the L but maybe I’ll grow into it

One Flight Up

It seems like most of my life I’ve lived on the second floor.  Even my days (and nights) in the U.S. Army I was, for some strange reason, inevitably billeted one floor up.  Subsequently, and you can count this in decades rather than years, my various abodes  in San Francisco, Sausalito, Mill Valley (California) and even in Brooklyn (New York) have been elevated to some degree or other and  my various living arrangements have always required surmounting stairs, 15, 16, or 17 at a time.  It never really occurred to me before my latest incarnation, when I again took up residence on the second floor of my new apartment (Ft. Lauderdale, Florida), that this was the case.  I’ve always taken steps to make sure I’ve found just the right apartment but, until now, I didn’t view it as a habit.  You can take it from me, it’s tough on the knees but the views are better.