The Return of a Florida Baseball Friend

To contact us Click HERE
My baseball coach in the ninth grade was a man named Richard Gay. Coach Gay took me seriously the day I walked into his offfice and declared that I wanted to be a catcher. Every year before that year I wanted to be an outfielder or even in my wildest dreams a pitcher but the reality of my first year taught me that if I was going to make the varsity baseball team as a freshman I could only do it as a catcher. I offered up myself to Dick Gay and he accepted the offer.

Throughout spring training (in Wisconsin in March and early April that means playing catch in the baseball gym) Dick Gay had me catching wild knuckle balls thrown by Pat Byrnes and he had me standing over the plate and getting knocked over as my own team mates practiced sliding into home plate. By the end of spring training when we were ready to actually play on a field I felt pretty confident about being a catcher and doing what catchers do best.

One of our first games that year was against Prairie Farm, the town where my father grew up and the team for which he played baseball in high school many years before. Prairie Farm had on its baseball team a kid who was also a track runner. A damned good track runner. In fact a track runner who was so good that he had won the state championship in the 100 yard dash the year before. This sucker could run.

While we were doing warm ups before the game I remember Coach Gay telling me to make sure that every time I threw the ball down to second base I threw it wild. That was against my better judgement because I prided myself on my ability to throw a ball to second base. After all that's what catcher's are trained to do - among other things we throw out people trying to steal second base. However I followed Coach Gay's command and every time I threw a ball to second base it wound up in the outfield or almost hit the pitcher or may have been picked off by the shortstop. Every ball went eveywhere except where training told me it was supposed to go.

In the bottom of the first inning, last years champion in the 100 yard dash came to bat and immediately hit a single. With him on first base I remember scanning the field wondering if I could follow through when this guy tried stealing second base - something everyone expected him to do. Sure enough. When the first pitch was thrown to the batter this kid took off for second base. I threw the ball straight and true and with conviction and I nailed his ass. He was out by several feet. I'd just thrown out the state chamption in the 100 yard dash.

Three innings later this same state champion in the 100 yard dash came to bat again and this time he drew a walk. He trotted down to first base and when he got there I knew he was going to try to steal second base. The bastard was fast - that's what fast runners do. True to form when the first pitch was thrown to the next batter, last year's champion in the 100 yard dash took off for second base. The ball was waiting for him in Keith Popko's glove for a couple seconds when he valiantly slid into second base.

Without me knowing it Dick Gay taught me a valuable lesson about baseball. Its called "ruse." During warm ups he knew that we were up against a very good runner. He also knew that he had a fairly good arm on his team behind home plate. He told me to make my throws to second base look like I had no arm and certainly no accuracy. The Prairie Farm runner took the bait and twice the Prairie Farm runner was thrown out by feet trying to steal second base. No other Prairie Farm runner even thought about trying to steal second base for the rest of the game.

Dick Gay also taught me how to be an aggressive catcher. I remember once having him tell me that "I don't care what you say to that batter I want you to make an ass out of him." When I was behind the plate it was my job to "run" things on the field and if there was anything I could do to distract the batter and give my team the advantage Coach Gay demanded that I do so. Like the time during a game in the 11th grade when we were playing Bloomer High School. For whatever reason I always picked out one kid for merciless heckling. Heckling is part of the tradition of the game and my coach wanted me heckling so I did. For this poor kid from Bloomer I was particularly obnoxious. I remember well in the seventh inning when he came to bat for the third time that game. As he stood there waiting for the pitch I was in his ear trying to distract him. I distinctly remember that day and what I said because as he stood at the plate I made a particularly pointed and suggestive comment about his sister (I had no idea he had a sister but he obviously did). When I described not only what I wanted to do to his sister but where and when he switched the hands on his bat, shifted his feet a bit and swung the bat with full force directly into my catchers mask. His team had had enough of my heckling throughout the game and they cleared the bench. My team came to my rescue and one hell of a fight followed. It was one of the high points of my baseball career. And all I was doing was what my coach had taught me to do - make an ass out of the batter.

Joe Ayrault was the manager of the Sarasota Reds (Class High A) affiliate of the Cincinnati Reds in 2009 when I moved to Sarasota. I hadn't paid much attention to minor league baseball before that year but the closeness of the stadium and the quality of the baseball I got to watch there turned me into a Sarasota Reds fan. I had a permanent ticket directly behind home plate within easy heckling distance of whatever hapless soul happened to be playing against "my" Sarasota Reds. I had a great time heckling and actually once had a player from the St. Lucie Mets throw a baseball bat at me to shut me up after I made a less-than-complimentary comment about the size of his penis as he stood at the plate.

Joe Ayrault and his team had no idea who the hell I was. They just knew that no matter where the game was or who they were playing, that mouthy bastard would be behind home plate trying to distract their opponents.

The Sarasota Reds had a less than excellent year in 2009 but it wasn't because of the coaching provided by Joe. There were kids like Devin Mesoroco and Dave Sappelt and Yonder Alonzo who played for the Reds who were top notch players. And in fact if none of them are playing in the Show in 2012 I think I'm going to have words with Reds management about why they aren't up there.

But I digress.

Despite their less than perfect record the Reds were lucky because they had Joe Ayrault as their manager. Not since the ninth grade in 1966 had I been around a manager who was so much like a female Kodiak bear protecting their young as Joe was around his kids on that team.

If I was a betting person I would have made millions betting that in the sixth innning of any Sunday afternoon game during the 2009 season something would happen and Joe would go ballistic. He would fly off the bench and get in the face of the umpire and invariably get kicked out of the game. I particularly remember one game against the Charlotte Stone Crabs where Joe simply lost it with an incompetent umpire and let him have it verbally. Joe was kicking dirt over home plate (always a huge no - no) and throwing a tantrum and finally said to the umpire "you blind motherfucker my six year old could call a better game than you can." Joe was immediately ejected from the game (as we expected) and he walked from the field to a standing ovation of every Sarasota Reds fan in the audience.

Throughout the season I missed about 8 games (away and home) that the Reds played but I never said a word to the team or introduced myself to them or anything else. Instead I was just this giant pain the ass of whatever team happened to play the Reds.

The final game of the Reds life was held in Charlotte against the Stone Crabs on September 6, 2009. I was there to watch the game and to cheer on my team. Before the game began a bunch of the players were hanging out signing autographs and I saw Joe in the bench area so I walked over to introduce myself to him. Here verbatim is how the conversation went:

As the game was getting ready to begin Joe saw me standing by his team and walked up to me. Without introudcing himself he said to me, simply, “so who the fuck are you, anyway?"

I asked asked what he meant and Joe said, "It didn't matter where we were playing or who we were playing you always sat in the same seat behind home plate. You started heckling whomever we played from before the first pitch was thrown and you didn't let up until the last out. You were relentless. I asked my team if you were a father of one of the kids on the team and nobody knew you. So who the fuck are you?"

I told Joe that I was a retired wildlife biologist who moved to Sarasota and discovered the Reds. I then said “when I watched you guys play you took me back to the days in high school when I was a baseball player. Watching you made me feel like a kid again, and I knew that I had to do something to help you win, even if you couldn't."

Joe asked, "So did you make it to the minors?"

I told Joe I never made it past high school baseball.

Joe then said, "So what position did you play?"

I said "I was a catcher from ninth grade on."

Joe chuckled and said "That explains everything!"

After the 2009 season the Reds disbanded. They moved to Lynchburg Virginia as an affiliate of the Reds and Joe lost his job with the Reds organization. Later however he was picked up by the Helena Brewers of the Advanced Rookie League for the Milwaukee Brewers and he coached for two seasons in Montana. His family stayed here in Sarasota while he was out west.

Meanwhile the Bradenton Marauders (High A Affiliate of the Pittsburgh Pirates) filled the void left by the departing Sarasota Reds and became the local minor league team.

Over the last two years I really missed Joe not only for his on-field antics and the fact that he openly appreciated my heckling and what I was trying to do to help his team, but also most importantly for his ethics as a manager. He's a good one and deserves to be in the Show some day. Yet he was stuck out in Montana and there was little chance I would ever get to see him in person unless the Brewers organization came to their senses and promoted him to Milwaukee.

Well....imagine my elated surprise when tonight a mutual friend, Debbie, informed me that it was official. Joe Ayrault was returning to minor league baseball in the Florida State League. He was to become the manager of the Brevard County Manatees, the High A Affiliate of my home state Milwaukee Brewers.

I almost couldn't contain myself when I heard this great news because to me a real hero of baseball was returning to Florida and now I could watch him and his kids in action. Joe apparently told Debbie to make sure I knew he was going to be with Brevard County and that he was looking foward to hearing me heckle from the stands.

There's just one thing. As much as I appreciate Joe Ayrault and his ability as a manager there is simply no way I could ethically heckle or harass any team of his. Instead this evening I became a fan of the Brevard County Manatees!

They play about 3 hours east of me on Florida's Space Coast so I won't be able to get to all of their games. But when they are on this side of the state I want to be sitting directly behind home plate and I will use every heckling tool I have to help Joe's teams win. I can't ethically heckle the Bradenton Marauders because they are technically "my" team geographically but the rest of them - fair game.

Joe and I both share a mutual disgust for any team that has the word "Yankee" in their name and I know I will be in Tampa when the Manatees are in town. I personally cannot stand the Clearwater Thresher Sharks (Philadelphia Philllies High A team) because I was threatened by several of their fans one night while heckling for the Sarasota Reds there in 2009. When the Manatees are up in Clearwater guess where I will be.

The St. Lucie Mets and the Palm Beach Cardinals - your ass is mine. And those pussies down in Port Charlotte - the soft crabs or whatever your name is - the entire team despises me from the last three years. When you play the Manatees you've not heard anything yet. And of course there is that team in Fort Myers that plays for the losers from the state just west of Wisconsin. I have a feeling I'll be in Hammond Stadium a bunch of times this summer but I won't be cheering on the Miracle!

It is so great knowing that my friend Joe Ayrault is going to be back in Florida teaching kids how to play real baseball with real passion and to never back down from a fight just like my ninth grade baseball coach did for me ages before Joe was even born.

And Joe....if you find some players on some Florida State League team that need special attention from the stands just send me a note and consider them no longer an issue.

The Money Pit

To contact us Click HERE
One of the first movies that Tom Hanks ever starred in was The Money Pit co-starring Shelley Long (Diane from Cheers). The movie is a hilarious tale about how Hanks and Long poured uncountable sums of money into an old house they had purchased.

I thought about that movie on Friday this week when I sat, again, for hours at the Lexus dealership in Sarasota waiting for the latest repair to be made. I don't own a Lexus - Susan does. Its 2004 series 330 SUV shown above. Driving the car is a dream. Its incredibly comfortable and has more bells and whistles for your comfort than you can count. I first drove it in July when Susan and I drove back to Florida from Indianapolis (via baseball games in Huntsville Alabama and Mobile Alabama). A couple weeks later I drove it as far as the Nashville airport (Susan continued on to South Bend) and then ten days later I flew to South Bend and drove the Lexus back to Florida with her.

When not doing trips across the corn and redneck belts of the country we have traveled quite a bit around Florida in the Lexus - trips to the Florida Keys and jaunts to the east coast and a couple of times to Orlando. In six months we have put some serious mileage on the car.

The first indication we had that the Lexus was becoming a money pit was in late October just before our trip to Nicaragua. The left front tire was constantly going low on air and when we finally took it to Tires Plus we learned that the front tires had virtually no treads left and in fact metal used to maintain the structural integrity of the tires was poking through the rubber. Then there was the issue of the back tires that were very badly worn. The verdict was that four new tires were needed immediately. $675 later we had four new tires and the Lexus rode so nicely it felt like you were on a cloud.

Then a couple weeks ago Susan left her car at my home while she returned by air to Indiana. One day I noticed that the electric remote that opened and closed the doors (found on the key) was working half the time. It was running out of juice and needed to be replaced. At the same time a light was showing constantly saying "maintenance required." I also noticed that when the car was started it was taking longer than normal for the engine to kick in.

The last real maintenance of a car that I did was in "Doc" Miller's class in high school in 1968. From that time long ago I reasoned that the problem with the slow starting was the starter. When I had heard that sound before it always meant a new one was needed.

When I arrived at Lexus the highly professional staff took the information on what was wrong with the car, showed me to the waiting room (with leather covered couches) and invited me to eat bagels and drink coffee (if only I could) until the car was finished. An hour later I was informed that a new battery was put in the remote on the key ($8.00) and that the maintenance required light meant only that an oil change was needed. Lexus changed the oil and filter for me ($60) and then told me that my initial guess was correct and that the starter was shot. I didn't want Susan driving around having trouble in the middle of nowhere so I told Lexus to replace the starter. They then said that I should probably change the spark plugs while they were in there mucking around. When I was presented with that final bill it was $866 for the starter and the plugs. Ouch.

I drove out of the lot thinking the car was fixed, Susan was safe, and I'd never have to stop at Lexus of Sarasota again.

That fantasy lasted a week when another light came on indicating there was a problem with the traction system. Traction? How on earth could that be? Still I didn't want her driving to Indiana for Christmas if there was a traction problem. I quickly called Lexus of Sarasota and made an appointment for 8:00 the next morning.

Dutifully I was there at 8, checked in, and sent to the bagel room to wait. An hour later the helpful service manager informed me that the traction light was on because the gas cap isn't being screwed on tightly enough. How in hell can that be? The service manager informed me that the problem had been fixed and then laid this on me. "While we had your car on the computer we discovered a couple of disturbing things." I could feel my VISA card gasping for air.

"First" she said," the brake pads on the rear brakes are only 1 millimeter thick. They should be 10 millimeters thick. On top of that the brake pads are severely rusted and needed to be replaced." She then added "That will be about $500."

While gasping for air she also told me that all of the fluids in the car were dirty and needed to be replaced along with the filters. "That will be about $450." While clutching my chest she then told me that the rack and pinion steering mechanism was leaking. "Right now on a scale of 1-4 your car is at a 2. But it could blow out at any time and needs to be fixed." Smiling, Liz said "That repair is about $2200."

And to think all of this started with the replacement of an $8.00 battery in the key!

Susan is leaving in a few days for Indiana for Christmas. No way did I want her driving on brakes that were dangerously thin (especially when she'd have to be driving with the confirmed nut cases in Atlanta and Nashville) so I asked that the brakes be fixed immediately. The others we would think about.

Friday morning we replaced the brakes. Liz found me in the bagel room and said "we were able to give you a bit of a discount so the cost was only $422." ONLY? I wonder if she would say "only" if it was her VISA card going into shock?

I told Liz that we would think about the other issues and probably get them fixed when Susan was back in Indiana and had more time.

Wishing Liz a happy holiday season I drove directly from the Lexus of Sarasota dealership to Sam's Auto Repair on 17th Avenue. Everyone raves about Sam's and they are recommended by AAA and I wanted a second opinion.

Sam listened to my story and did some calculations and said "bring the car in Monday morning and I'll have it fixed by Monday afternoon." He then added, "I know this is expensive but I can fix it all for you for $1014." When I told Sam what I had been quoted by Lexus of Sarasota his assistant said "don't EVER take a car to Lexus. They think just because you own a Lexus you have money and they stick it to you. Bring it here and we'll fix it for half what Lexus would charge." No kidding.

Next I drove to University Auto Spa on University Parkway where my buddy Kevin works doing car washes and doing car repairs. I showed Kevin the list of things that Lexus said needed to be fixed as far as fluids and filters. Kevin checked the brake fluid and it was filthy. He checked several other things and confirmed what Lexus said about things needing to be replaced. He then said "With everything you need done its going to cost about $150. I can do it right now if you want me to."

From my hip pocket I could feel my VISA card sighing a sigh of relief as I gave Kevin the go ahead to change the fluids. When he was done with his work he gave me my bill. "I overestimated on one thing Craig, the bill is actually $122."

It was at this point I told Kevin that Lexus told me it would cost $450 to do what Kevin accomplished in 30 minutes and for $330 LESS than Lexus. AT this point my friend Kevin gave me the same lecture that Sam did at Sam's Auto Repair. "From this point on Craig, when your Lexus needs to be fixed you bring it to me first. Don't go to those greedy bastards at the Lexus dealership ever again."

As I drove away from the University Auto Spa parking lot I thought to myself "No kidding Kevin, you don't have to worry about me ever stopping at the Lexus dealership ever again." Their profitable money pit just dried up.

I haven't had the nerve to total up how much we have spent on the Lexus getting everything fixed and safe for trips to Indiana and elsewhere. And when you think about it logically the money spent to keep her safe is inconsequential. However getting fleeced by a dealership like what has happened to us has been less than a pleasurable experience. Talk about getting screwed and not enjoying it!

And to think this all started with the repair of an $8.00 battery on her key!

The Southernmost Point in Africa

To contact us Click HERE

Geographical extremes capture the imagination. From ancient mariners to contemporary mankind, the quest has always been to reach the poles, sail around the tips of continents, conquer the highest peaks and dive to the ultimate depths...South African National Parks

My first job with the US Fish and Wildlife Service was as an ascertainment biologist in our regional office in Minneapolis. There were four of us whose responsibility it was to review lands proposed to the Service for acquisition and inclusion in the National Wildlife Refuge system. We did this work in Wisconsin, Michigan, Illinois, Indiana, Ohio, and that state just west of Wisconsin whose name begins with an M.

After reviewing background information on the lands and doing site visits we prepared reports for submission to Washington DC justifying (or not) the preservation of those lands. Our reports became known as the "superlative" reports because in them we used words like "most", "fewest", "biggest" or "best" or "last" or the massively overused phrase "at a biological crossroads" between the "southernmost" and the "northernmost" or "easternmost" or "westernmost" points in the range of a species or a habitat.

It was partly because of our responsibilities in that job (and partly because I'm anal-retentive) that I developed an interest in visiting places or seeing species that are at the edge or the limit of their range. For example, a few years ago I made it a point to fly to Ushuaia, Argentina in Tierra del Fuego because its the southernmost city and has the southernmost airport in the world. Similarly there is Barrow Alaska with the northernmost airport in the world. In 2000, I chartered a plane and flew to Rose Atoll National Wildlife Refuge in American Samoa - it is not only the southernmost refuge in the system but also the southernmost point of land controlled by the United States.

One spring I walked to the tip of Point Pelee near Leamington Ontario so I could urinate on the southernmost point in continental Canada.
Point Pelee, Ontario - the southernmost point in continental Canada


When you land at the Hilo airport on the Big Island of Hawaii not only is it a new airport for your airport list but its also the easternmost airport in that state.
Hilo Airport - the easternmost airport in Hawaii

And who could forget Port Oxford, Oregon, the westernmost point in the continental United States? Or taking off from the Hobart, Tasmania, airport, the southernmost airport in Australia? Or Key West, Florida, the southernmost city in the continental United States?

One of the many reasons I wanted to visit South Africa was because it is the southernmost country in Africa. And before making this trip I had always been under the misguided assumption that the Cape of Good Hope south of Cape Town was the southernmost point in Africa - its not.
Cape of Good Hope - the southwesternmost point in Africa

When I discovered this little geographic oversight I had to make a change in my trip plans to go to the southernmost point. I was so close there was no alternative.

This information from Wikipedia pretty well describes Cape Agulhas:

Cape Agulhas is the southernmost point in the continent of Africa. It is located at 34°50′00″S 20°00′09.15″E,34°50′00″S 20°00′09.15″E in the Overberg region, 170 kilometres (105 mi) southeast of Cape Town. The cape was named by Portuguese navigators, who called it Cabo das Agulhas — Portuguese for "Cape of Needles" — after noticing that around the year 1500 the direction of magnetic north (and therefore the compass needle) coincided with true north in the region. The cape is within the Cape Agulhas Local Municipality in the Overberg District of the Western Cape province of South Africa. The official dividing line between the Indian and Atlantic oceans is defined by the International Hydrographic Organization to pass through Cape Agulhas.

South of Cape Agulhas the warm Agulhas Current that flows south along the east coast of Africa retroflects back into the Indian Ocean. While retroflecting, it pinches off large ocean eddies (Agulhas rings) that drift into the South Atlantic Ocean and take enormous amounts of heat and salt into the neighboring ocean. This mechanism constitutes one of the key elements in the global conveyor belt circulation of heat and salt.

Unlike its better-known relative, the Cape of Good Hope, Cape Agulhas is relatively unspectacular, consisting of a gradually curving coastline with a rocky beach. A survey marker indicates the location of the cape, which would otherwise be difficult to identify. The waters of the Agulhas Bank off the coast are quite shallow and are renowned as one of the best fishing grounds in South Africa.

The rocks that form Cape Agulhas belong to the Table Mountain Group, often loosely termed the Table Mountain sandstone. They are closely linked to the geological formations that are exposed in the spectacular cliffs of Table Mountain, Cape Point, and the Cape of Good Hope.

I visited Cape Agulhas on September 29, 2011 arriving there in early afternoon after driving over from the penguin colony at Simon's Town. Just like a major tourism attraction in the United States the road signs telling you that you are approaching the area begin 50 miles before you get there. Its no different with Cape Agulhas.

On my arrival I discovered that I had to disagree with some of the words in the Wikipedia description because the snarling, angry ocean crashing relentlessly into the rocks at the Cape made the Cape awfully spectacular.

Geographers have determined (decreed?) that the Cape is the official place where the Indian Ocean meets the Atlantic Ocean. However looking out over the water I couldn't tell where one ocean ended and the other began. Maybe next time?
Where the Indian Ocean and Atlantic Ocean meet

Despite 50 miles of highway signs leading to the Cape, and signs on almost every building in the village proclaiming this to be the southernmost point, and there being a National Park at the Cape, I was the only visitor during my hour at the Cape.
A Cape Wagtail was the "Southernmost" landbird in Africa when I visited the Cape

As I stood at the southernmost point of continental Africa looking south into the fierce spring winds my usual case of incurable wanderlust came over me. I fantasized about being on a ship headed due south from that point. Google Earth told me that it was just 2,400 miles from where I was standing to the first point of "land" on the ice continent of Antarctica. A well-provisioned ship could get me there in five days. Imagine all the cool seabirds I could find in those 2,400 miles. Then came thoughts about all of the explorers who passed through those waters just after everyone realized that the earth isn't flat. And think of the crazy folks who have passed through the "roaring forties" in sailboats as they have tried to circumnavigate the globe. Then I thought about Mark Twain's superb book "Following the Equator" and realized that at some point on his around-the-world journey Mark Twain had to have passed directly south of where I stood.

There was so much history in front of me that I wanted to learn and so much geography that I wanted to experience and so much biology swimming and flying around somewhere south of where I stood. And here I had gone and planned only an afternoon out of my five week trip to be at Cape Agulhas. Before going there I thought it was just going to be another bunch of rocks by the ocean where tourists would take pictures and Aunt Edna would say to Uncle George "did you see that big wave, George?" and then forget that they had even been at the Cape the following day. One of the first things you learn when you travel extensively is to always plan more time than you think you'll need for each place you want to visit. I didn't do that with Cape Agulhas and left the Cape feeling I had missed out on something.

There are many other "most's" I would like to see some time. And if you think long and hard and objectively enough almost everyplace could be turned into a "most" of some sort.

Still among all of the "most's" I have already experienced Cape Agulhas, described as "unspectacular" has been the most spectacular most of them all.

I think I need to go back there.

When Debt Collectors Have the Wrong Address

To contact us Click HERE
In the hilarious movie Ruthless People there is a scene in which Danny DiVito gets a phone call that is a wrong number. After listening politely to the caller, a smirk comes over DiVito's face as he says "I'm sorry. She's busy right now. She has my cock in her mouth." DiVito then slams down the phone and with a smile on his faces says "I love wrong numbers."

If it was possible to do the same with mail being sent from debt collectors to someone who lived at my address before me I would gladly do it. Unfortunately I do not know the former resident's current address (or do the bill collectors) or I would do it.

Since moving to my current residence on February 28, 2011, my mail box has been regularly cluttered with mail for a Laura Riley who obviously used to live at my address. There were lots of letters and they came from all manner of collection agencies. At first I would write "not at this address" across the front of the envelope and drop it back in the mailbox hoping the post office would return it to the sender and the sender would get the hint.

The senders kept sending her letters. Finally in July I started opening her letters to see what this volume of mail was all about. I would read the letters and then toss them in the recycling bin. Certainly, I thought, Ms. Riley must be an adult to have been able to rent a townhouse. And certainly as an adult she had the common sense to file a mail forwarding request with the US Postal Service. However as time wore on it was apparent that being efficient and responsible were not in Ms. Riley's vocabulary.

Today, for the umpteenth time, a letter appeared for Ms. Riley from ARA a bill collector in Villa Park, Illinois. Finally having reached the limit of wanting to deal with Mr. Riley's mail any longer I decided to fight back. From now on when a bill collector letter comes for her I'm calling the company and telling them she's not here. Ms. Riley is incapable of being responsible for her actions so I'll take care of some of those responsibilities for her. I called the company twice and then wrote them a letter.

When I contacted the company by phone I was put through to the "Collections Manager" (sounds like someone at a museum). I left that person a voice mail begging them to find Ms Riley and stop filling my mail box with her stuff. I then was connected with the collections agent who sent her the letter I received today. When I called her extension I was put through to voice mail and I left essentially the same message with that person as I did with the collections manager.

Then I decided, as a follow up to the voice mails, to send a letter to ARA and the collections agent regarding Ms. Riley and her inability to get her mail forwarded. That letter follows:

December 23, 2011

Shelly XXXXXX
ARA Incorporated
Box 5022
Villa Park, Illinois 60181

Re: ARA File Number 332272

Dear Ms. XXXXXX

I am writing as a follow up to my phone call (left on your voice mail) today regarding both the referenced ARA file number and the person, Laura Riley, who is responsible for this account.

For the record – LAURA RILEY DOES NOT RESIDE AT (my address)

I have no idea who this person is but since I moved to this address on February 28, 2011, my mail box has been cluttered weekly with letters from your company and other collection agencies (and a couple of state tax revenue departments) regarding Ms. Riley’s various delinquencies.

I am writing to not only ask and request but beg you to stop sending collection information to Ms. Riley at this address because she does not live here. I have no idea where she is – perhaps you could do a Google.com search on her name. Check with the IRS for her current address. Send up smoke signals. Do whatever it takes to find her but PLEASE stop sending mail to her at this address. She is apparently an adult and should be responsible enough to have filed a forwarding information card with the US Postal Service so she can get her mail at the proper address. This is all her problem, not mine. I’m just fed up with getting her mail.

Thanks for your attention to this request. I hope you find her and I hope you get your funds from her. Perhaps when you do you can give her a handful of mail forwarding cards so she can get her mail at her address not mine.

Attachment – Incoming from ARA Inc

Its unfortunate that my phone number is not the same as the one Ms Riley had when she lived in my house. If it was and I started getting phone calls for her from collection agencies I think I'd recount verbatim what Danny DiVito said to his wrong number in that movie :)

Making a Real Bird the State Bird of Nebraska

To contact us Click HERE

In the 1991 session of the Nebraska Unicameral we had a bill introduced that would have removed the Western Meadowlark as the state bird of Nebraska and replaced it with the much more appropriate and regal Sandhill Crane. After all six states have the mundane Western Meadowlark as their state bird but none has the Sandhill Crane. And when you think about Nebraska and birds the first thing to pop in your head is Sandhill Cranes.

The hearing in the Unicameral regarding this bill was held on January 20, 1991. By the time of the hearing the "Impeach the Meadowlark" bill as it had become known had generated more media coverage, more letters to the editor, and more arguments in bar rooms and coffee shops than any other bill that year. It was even more popular an argument than was the Governor's proposed budget that had a $1 Billion deficit.

I drove over to Lincoln on official time in a US Fish and Wildlife Service vehicle that day and testified on behalf of the bill. It didn't make it out of committee and in fact the final vote was 6-0 against the bill. In the hallway after the vote I was asked by a television reporter from channel 11 in Lincoln what I thought of the bill losing in committee. I remember saying "Loss? What do you mean loss? We got the entire state from Nebraska City to Sioux County and everywhere in between talking about and thinking about the Platte River and the Cranes. To me that was a giant victory."

And it was. In 1979 I was told by a farmer by Kearney that I should carry a side arm for protection because of who I worked for because "you're trying to save those god damned cranes." Today Sandhill Cranes are the number one tourist attraction in Nebraska and they bring more than $40 million into the central Platte River economy just in March each year.

All of this stuff came to mind today when I saw the new Nebraska license plate. On it is a Western Meadowlark (the current state bird) and the goldenrod (Solidago gigantea) the state flower. Seeing the meadowlark on the plate reminded me of that great time twenty one years ago when we turned around the thinking of an entire state about the environment and we did it with Sandhill Cranes.

I posted a note about today's experience on my Facebook page and a dear old friend suggested that we should try to impeach the meadowlark in the 2013 legislative session. She has friends in the legislature and I have the data and the stories to tell about how everyone knows of cranes and Nebraska. People like the US Customs agent in Toronto who let me bring Cuban cigars and Cuban fruits back into the country after traveling to Cuba when he started asking questions about the cranes on the river he had heard about. Or the Swiss birders I met in Chiang Mai Thailand who told me they wanted to come to Nebraska to see the cranes after seeing a special about them on television. Or the cardiologist from Argentina I met while looking at a penguin colony in the Beagle Channel in southernmost South America who told me that before she died she wanted to see the cranes on the Platte River at least one time.

None of them ever mentioned the lowly Western Meadowlark when they thought about Nebraska.

My old friend and I used to teach a lot of fourth and fifth graders about Sandhill Cranes back in those early 1990's days. We called the kids "ecowarriors" because thats what they are. They are all grown up now and in their 30s and many have their own families. I'll bet it will be simple to get some of those same kids fired up next year and have them descend on the state capitol building to testify with us on behalf of making a real bird the state bird of Nebraska. Wow. Am I ever stoked.

In the Presence of Greatness - My 34th Jimmy Buffett Concert

Bu özet kullanılabilir değil. Yayını görüntülemek için lütfen burayı tıklayın.

My 35th Jimmy Buffett Concert

To contact us Click HERE
Once again it was time to revert to childhood and enjoy everything there is to enjoy about a Jimmy Buffett concert. Last night it was my 35th concert and it was held at Ford Amphitheater on the grounds of the Florida State Fairgrounds just outside of Tampa. It wasn't the best concert of his I've ever seen (that one was in Honolulu in 2005) but when I'm in the same air space as Jimmy there's really no such thing as a bad concert. As Jimmy says in his song "Here We Are", "Its the child in us we really value" and that is so true at one of his concerts. I recently told a friend that when I'm at one of his shows I go off in my own little world. He asked where that world was and I said "I'm taken back to being a 20 year old college student whose biggest concern is getting up in time for class tomorrow."

It's like that at every concert and last night was no different.

Part of the fun of Jimmy's concerts isn't the concert itself but the "pre-game" party in the parking lot before the show. So far my 35 concerts have been spread among Honolulu, Irvine California, San Francisco, Denver (Red Rocks five nights in a row), Atlanta, Raleigh, Washington DC, Baltimore, Boston (Greatwoods), Orlando, Tampa, Fort Lauderdale, and Miami. Of all those sites I think only the pre-game party at Nissan Pavillion outside of Washington DC is the only one better than the party in Tampa. It must be the salt air here that does it.

People started dressing up in costumes to fit his concerts probably in response to his old favorite "They Don't Dance Like Carmen No More." From that song and others people generally dress up like sharks (from Fins), or pirates (A Pirate Looks at 40), or they wear hats with Fins on them or maybe a hat that looks like a cheeseburger. I once saw a guy dressed up like a lighthouse (from the Salty Piece of Land Tour) and of course there are always men and women in hula skirts with coconut bras onn.

The two costumes I liked the best last night was the woman whose top consisted of nothing more than two cheeseburgers (from Cheeseburger in Paradise) covering her breasts, and a guy who did such a great job dressing like a pirate he would have put Johnny Depp to shame. I failed to get pictures of those two (the woman in the cheeseburger bra really distracted the hell out of me) but I did get some others shown below.





The best quote of the night was the guy who said "There's nothing like a beach ball to bring out the child in an adult." And tossing beach balls around before and during the show are a part of the tradition of a Buffett concert.

Susan wasn't able to go with me to this show because of the arrival of her daughter, son in law, and three of her grand children at the Fort Myers beach house. Instead I took my friend Sue Paschall with me. It was her first Buffett concert and I have a feeling she may have become a convert. Not long after arriving she was concerned that she was under dressed because she came only in a top and skirt. At least she was wearing flip flops. After consuming three double margarita's she no longer cared about her Buffett concert clothing faux pas. I have a feeling that the next time she goes to a show she'll come better prepared.

Our seats weren't the closest up I've ever been to Buffett at a concert. However as my friend Pat Sullivan said so truthfully "There's no such thing as a bad seat at a Buffett concert."


This concert was in the hiatus between the 2011 "Welcome to Fin-Land" tour and the 2012 "Lounging by the Lagoon" tour. Instead he just called it "Spring Break 2012" which was appropriate given its timing. During the show he said that he was going next to New Orleans from Tampa and maybe it would have been more appropriate to call it the "Pirate City" tour. I saw one guy in the audience who was wearing a Pittsburgh Pirates baseball cap. I'm sure he would have agreed.

Ford Amphitheater holds about 29,500 people and as to be expected there wasn't an empty space anywhere. I can't think of a better way to spend a Friday night than to be surrounded by a sea of screaming Parrotheads.


The show began a bit late and did not include a warm up by Ilo, the musician Jimmy found on the Cape Verde islands off the coast of Africa a few years ago. Instead, after the traditional tossing of cheeseburgers into the crowd they went directly to playing Hot Hot Hot. There is no better way to open a show than with that song. And at every show pandemonium breaks out when this song pulses from the speakers.


I have landed in the Bahamas 51 times on international flights and for 50 of those landings this song was being played in the arrivals lounge of whatever airport where I landed. It seems to epitomize a Caribbean view of things.

Jimmy then sang 21 songs before the standard three encore songs. I think he did 27 songs in Miami in January but he'd made a comment about not feeling too good last night so he may have slowed things down a bit.

After Hot Hot Hot he started the show with One Particular Harbour. He ended my first concert, in Chastain Park Atlanta in July 1986 with this song and its been a favorite of mine ever since. He got the inspiration for it while in Tahiti, and he sings some of the song in Tahitian. Guess which island nation I want to visit before any others? The translation is about the bounty of the ocean.



The play list then included the following:

It's Five O'Clock Somewhere, the only song for which Jimmy has won any award in his more than 40 year career. I regularly write to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame and complain that they have added Johnny Cash but why not Buffett? One of these days they better!


Growing Older But Not Up - a perfect song for a bunch of middle aged (or older) Parrotheads who want to return to playground if even for only a couple of hours on a Florida Friday night. And I live by the line in this song that goes "Let the winds of time blow over my head, I'd rather die while I'm living than live while I'm dead."


Son of a Son of a Sailor


Come Monday Jimmy said he had often wondered how many children had been conceived on the lawn of one his concerts while this song was being played. Last night he told us that he met someone out in California who actually had been conceived at a Buffett concert!


Knee Deep (a Zac Brown song)


Changes in Latitudes, Changes in Attitudes In the mid-1980s this song was also known as the "Haney-Faanes These Song". With me having returned from five weeks in South Africa in October 2011, and Chris contemplating a 6-8 week trip there this year it may very well still be our theme song.


Swinging Hula Man - Jimmy introduced this song (in which he plays the ukelele) for the first time two weeks ago last night on Maui. Unfortunately there is no video of it available yet.

Volcano - One of the best times of my life was the night my two daughters and I were on the Big Island and I took them down to the ocean to watch lava from Kilauea volcano slide into the ocean. Leaving after dark we drove up the side of the volcano playing this song on a CD and singing to it over and over again.

The song is from his album of the same name recorded on the island of Montserrat in 1979. I had the pleasure of hiking to the top of that volcano in 1988 when I was last on the island. Of course in 1996 the Montserrat volcano blew and now there is no top to hike to!

Cheeseburger in Paradise I do not eat beef and have not intentionally done so since 1988. However the week before any Buffett concert I attend is known to me as my own "Holy Week" during which I consume the occasional cheeseburger. And I always have them prepared according to the exact recipe spelled out in the song.


No Plane on Sunday This song, from his incomparable 1986 album "Floridays" is one of my top five most favorite Buffett songs. In 35 concerts since 1986 this was the first time I ever heard him sing it live. As he played it I thought of my old friend Dwight Lee who died in his early 80s claiming to be "The Worlds Oldest Living Parrothead" who used to call himself "No Plan on Sunday" for his personal nickname. Dwight died with a collection of 36 Jimmy Buffett t shirts in his closet. His death came while hiking down a beach on Cayman Brac having flown there to get the airport for his life list. I like to think that last night's singing of it was a tribute to my old friend Dwight. Not surprisingly there are no videos available of this classic Buffett song.

Hey Good Lookin' - From the License to Chill CD.


Making Music for Money - This ultra oldie from the 1974 A1A album does not have a video to go with it.

It's My Job - sung with Mac MacAnally


Pascagoula Run Everyone needs their own Uncle Billy and Jimmy sings about his in this song.

National Anthem of the Parrothead Nation - This song needs no introduction or explanation.


The Weather is Here I Wish You Were Beautiful - I remember once when I was living on Grand Turk Island sending a postcard to my ex wife and all it said was "The Weather Is Here I Wish You Were Beautiful" I wasn't really surprised when she never wrote back. Its a great song to sing and think about when you get overloaded with too much stuff.


A Pirate Looks at 40 - Now that Jimmy is 65 years old he might want to think about upping that age a bit. Its a song I sing every time I am on a boat (or a kayak) out on the ocean.


In The City - This is one of my least favorite Buffett songs. In fact I sat down and didn't utter a word during its playing. Luckily there is no video of it available. Yawn.

Southern Cross - This Crosby Stills and Nash song has been taken over and is now one of the essential components of every Buffett concert. I wonder if that is because its about sailing? I first saw the Southern Cross from the window of an Air New Zealand 767 as we were climbing out of Nadi, Fiji on a midnight departure. I've never erased that sight from my mind.


Fins - This is the ultimate Buffett party song. Jimmy came up with the idea for it one night at the Ocean Deck bar in Daytona Beach. He saw this attractive woman walk into the bar alone and then saw her immediately being hit on by four guys. From that scene came the idea for "sharks that feed on land"...


ENCORE SONGS

Uncle John's Band - Jimmy likes to play this Grateful Dead song on occasion. Never having been a Deadhead I'd rather read a book than sing along.


Brown-eyed Girl - This Van Morrison song has also become a staple of every Buffett concert in recent years. He refers to it as "beach music" but I have yet to see the connection. Still I sing every word. And, by the way, Jimmy does a much better job with this song than Morrison ever dreamed of.


Nautical Wheelers - Jimmy appears a bit younger in this video.


Two years ago at a Tampa show I saw a woman who had to be 80 years old being pushed in a wheelchair to the entrance of the venue. She was toking on a joint and singing "Margaritaville" as her friend pushed her along. I didn't see her last night but I hope that when I'm 80 if Jimmy is still playing (he'll be 85 then) that someone will perform the same courtesy for me. Maybe by then it will be my 100th Buffett concert.