Tornado Chaser

This morning, I got up early and loaded up the car for a day at Cocoa Beach.  On my way, I noticed the sky was clouding up pretty heavily.  As I approached the bay port at Cape Canaveral, I glanced up ahead of me, and noticed a finger-shape extending from the wall of cloud.  It kept growing, stretching down toward the water.  I screamed out loud in excitement, "it's a tornado!"  My foot hit the gas pedal, and I sped toward it, hoping to get closer to take a picture.  But just as soon as it was there, it was gone.  Still, I couldn't help but smile.  The day was starting off well.    

I arrived at Cocoa Beach and found parking at the public access.  The beach was already crowded, so much so that I had to weave in and out of groups of people just to get to the shoreline.  I settled down on my towel, and listened to the sound of the waves crashing against the shore...and the conversations next to me:

--"Wow, Funyuns!  I like Funyuns!" (middle-aged man with mullet and severe southern accent)

--"I got a new flag at the Oak Mill Flea Market.  It's a rebel flag with skull and crossbones."  (same middle aged man with mullet and severe southern accent)

--"Girls are fun.  You just gotta make sure you get one that's rich so she can buy you stuff."  (same middle aged man with mullet and severe southern accent, speaking to his friend's pre-pubescent son)

A few hours at the beach were worth enduring Redneck Bojangles.  This has been the best SBC yet, and it hasn't even started!

My favorite moment of today:

You might be a Southern Baptist if...

It's that time of year again...  The SBC, a.k.a. the Southern Baptist Convention, a.k.a. [insert censored nickname here].  It's okay.  I'm Southern Baptist and have been so for 29 years.  I'm allowed to say it.  But, I say it with love.

I flew into Orlando today, and was greeted promptly by the oppressive heat.  Seriously, it's the kind of heat that even when the air conditioning in the car is on MAX, the backs of my knees still sweat.  Is that TMI? 
Are we way past that on the Manifesto?

I walked up to the Hertz counter at the airport this afternoon, and panicked when I realized I forgot to pack my business credit card.  Without it, I can't eat.  And when I don't eat regularly, I get cranky.  Thankfully, my sweet roommate,Wendi, is currently applying for the sainthood, and kindly FedEx-ed it to me for Saturday morning deliver.  Wendi, you can have a coke.

I was driving along one of Orlando's eight-lane roads today (which may or may not have had a damn toll booth), and I saw a dancing tooth.  As in, a molar.  It had googly eyes, a cartoon smile, and iridescent blue legs.  And when I say dancing, I mean that bicuspid was shakin' it like a polaroid picture.  I couldn't take my eyes off him.  I may drive back by there tomorrow to shoot some live footage of that dancing fang.  Strangely enough, the tooth had no signage.  But even if the passersby could identify the dentist belonging to the pimped-out tooth, should we expect any detours for spontaneous cleanings?  I digress... 

For lunch today, I had sushi.  Amy and I have a longstanding dream to open up a drive-thru sushi restaurant.  We get tired of waiting 15 minutes for a to-go order from Miyako, or walking into Peter's in a swimsuit.  When I was in L.A. last summer, I saw several McDonald's-esque sushi places that looked legit.  Today, I ate at Sushiology.  It didn't have a drive-thru, but with its casual-dining atmosphere, colorful menu, and pricing model, it was reminiscient of a fast food restaurant.  Maybe someone with a lot of money will throw a pretty penny at a blonde, white girl to open up one of these joints in Nashvegas.  And, I just know Keith and Nicole would come sign my restaurant wall, too.

I'm staying at a Quality Inn, and it ain't so quality.  Nor, are my motel neighbors.  Orlando brings in all kinds of folk.  I'm pretty sure I saw most of them congregating at the pool today.  And now, they're bumping Spanish rap outside my door and tossing back some cheap beer, likely before they go across the street to the Ice Bar (a bar in a freezer).  The television has only a handful of channels.  Among those are the tourist channel (featuring the twofer at the Pondergrossa) and the hotel channel (analog slideshow of 70s hotel photos, amenities listed a la Comic Sans).  So, though I am shy to disclose, I was forced to watch Nancy Grace tonight.  She was all over Joran van der Sloot like a duck on a june bug.

Tomorrow, I drive to Tampa to visit Tina, Patrick, and their new edition, Norah Josephine.  I am so excited to hug on some baby (and so are my screaming ovaries).  I need the love.  Tina's kicked-breast-cancer's-ass-and-proud-of-it-friend, Rebecca, will also be there for a visit.  I love her company, too.

I'm still working on Paris blogs, but let's be real...  Those things are beasts that must be tamed.  I will deliver, but for now, you will have what the cook is serving.