Real Estate Business

Ok, this is really very annoying - I typed a nice story about us selling the house and was ready to publish it when the stupid blog crashed. So of course nothing was saved.

So basically, we're finally selling the house. We signed all the papers two days ago and got a big red sign in the yard yesterday (I should take a picture of it). All our remodeling is finished. Well, almost all, since we still have to buy one bi-fold closet door, install new carpet on the stairs, and get all the construction mess out of the garage. But we bravely fought through all the little and medium-size obstacles thrown our way by a heartless corporate monster known as Home Depot and by scores of contractors and sub-contractors that we dealt with throughout the remodeling process.

Overall, we've made a lot of changes to this house since we bought it. Hopefully, it will help us to sell the place quickly and with good profit. The market is cooling off and there's a lot of inventory now. So it's much more difficult to sell a house now than even 6 months ago. But hopefully it'll play in our favor when we proceed to buying our next house.

We decided not to go with a traditional real estate agency because it sucks paying 6% of the selling price to someone that is not even your friend or relative. Yeah-yeah, they do a lot of work, supposedly, but the gig must still be very sweet. If they were truly overworked and underpaid as some of them claim to be, we'd have illegal immigrants doing this kind of job. Anyway, we went with this Assist2Sell (CLICK HERE TO SEE OUR HOUSE) service. They are a full-service realty and operate nationwide. But they charge a flat fee of about $3000 if they sell the place and not a penny more. Of course, we had to also put our house on MLS listing (CLICK HERE TO SEE OUR HOUSE) to give it a better exposure and increase our chances. So now we'll probably have to pay 2.5% to the buyer's realtor (unless Assist2Sell people find us a buyer as well). Still we'll save two to three thousand dollars compared to going through a traditional real estate agent. And it's the next best thing after Selling by Owner, which we have no time for.

Our first showing is actually tonight. So wish us luck.

RENOVATIONS GALORE:


Kitchen BEFORE


Kitchen AFTER


Master Bedroom BEFORE


Master Bedroom AFTER


Living Room BEFORE


Living Room AFTER



Front of the House AFTER

Epcot

After living in Florida for almost 5 years, we finally made it to our first Disney park, Epcot. And why not? After all, it is as much a part of real Florida as the Everglades or St. Augustine. Ever since the first Epcot brochure that I saw, I wanted to do three things:
1) Ride the monorail;
2) Find out what's inside the huge Epcot sphere;
3) Take a picture in each of the World Showcase countries and be able to say that I travelled around the world in just one day.

And so we charged the camera battery, drove an hour, parked the car in the Discover lot, paid for two adult one-day passes and followed several thousand other people through the park gates. The park itself has two parts - the Future World (with the monorail and a huge sphere) and the World Showcase, spread around the World Showcase Lagoon. We decided to follow the yellow brick road clockwise and see it all.

First stop was the Spaceship Earth, the iconic 180-foot tall geosphere. Inside, we boarded a little cart and moved through an animated display of the history of human communications, from cave paintings to instant messaging. The whole experience was very much like being inside a PBS educational program. It was not interesting and undoubtedly educational, just rather mellow and a bit old-fashioned.

Not to worry though, since we had plenty of thrills and excitement ahead of us. The Universe of Energy attraction was closed, so we went straight to the Mission: SPACE. It is the kind of ride that can send one to a hospital and should not be attempted by those that suffer from claustrophobia, motion sickness, back and neck problems, heart problems, high blood pressure, headaches, migranes, vertigo, or anxiety. For the rest of the tourists there are motion sickness bags located within an easy reach. The G forces and the super-realistic graphics will sure make you sick, especially if you don't follow the simple rules, such as DO NOT try move, close your eyes, or attempt to take your eyes off the monitors. Let's just say that this Mission: SPACE left me sick to my stomach, covered in cold sweat, hyperventilating, and experiencing a mild case of claustrophobia, something I'd never had before.

Feeling very sick I asked Chris to bypass the Test Track ride and we continued on to the World Showcase. Very slowly we made our way through Mexico and Norway. Every time I would turn my head to look at something, a wave of nausea and dizziness would flush over me. So I don't remember much of either of these showcases except a little boat ride inside the dark and chilly pseudo-Mayan pyramid. By the time we got to China, I started getting my bearings and was able to not only snap pictures of a fantastic floral dragon and a colorful pagoda, but even express mild interest in the menues. Unfortunately, the Circle-Vision 360 film about China's grandeur set me back a couple of steps on my way to recovery. The film reminded me of the best Soviet propaganda movies, with overjoyed kids with red kerchiefs tied neatly around their necks, red flags flowing over the Tiananmen Square and a larger-than-life portrait of the fearless leader guarding the gate to the Forbidden City.

There are many ways to cure post-motion sickness nausea. One is to sleep it off. Another one is to drink some Ginger Ale. Yet another one is to eat something with enough salt and spicy mustard to jolt your stomach back into submission. And that's exactly what I did once we reached Germany and its beergarden-style cafe. A fresh salt-covered pretzel and a bratwurst smothered in mustard and buried under a heap of warm sourkraut did the trick and I was back to feeling peachy once again.

What are the country showcases anyway? Well, these are mostly souvenir shops and ethnic restaurants hidden inside stereotypical structures and manned by country natives. Name a country, than quickly write down the first couple of things that come to mind and presto - you got yourself a country showcase. Mexico is Maya pyramids and sombreros. Norway is vikings and swords. Germany - beergardens. France -the Eiffel Tower and snobby waiters. Some country showcases have additional attractions, such as China's Circle-Vision fild, Japanese drummers, or American animatronics puppet show featuring Ben Frankling and Mark Twain.

And so we made our rounds, through the Italian vineyards and the a capella presentation of American patriotic songs, through the bonsai forests, and past the Moroccan belly dancers, bypassing the very tempting French bistro and British fish & chips place where you can drink beer while listening to the Beattles tribute group. And we finally made it to Canada. Even though Canada smelled like a medium-rare filet mignon (they have a steak house on premises) we decided against stopping there. After all, we can always go see the real thing, right?

Instead, we left the World Showcase alltogether and returned back to the Future World for some more rides. The next ride we went on was the "Honey I Shrunk the Audience". It is a very old, what's called "venerable", attraction scarred by a horrible Kodak-sponsored pre-show. And yet having legions of white mice run over your feet in the dark theater and a giant friendly dog sneeze in your face makes up all the outdated cheeziness of this attraction.



Next we spent hours in line waiting to get on the new attraction called Soarin'. The first hour was passed in playing an on-screen geography trivia. In 60 minutes I learned, among other things, that Atacama is the driest desert on the planet that once went 40 years without a drop of rain; while the dunes in the Namib Desert reach 1000 feet high; that at the current rate of destruction the rain forests will be completely destroyed in less than 50 years; that an acre of these said rain forest has more species of plants and animals than in all decidious forests of Europe; that Himalayan mountains are not only the youngest on the planet, but also grow at 4 inches a year; and that Bryce Canion is famous for its fantastic rock formations. But the ride was absolutely worth the wait. How did they do it, I don't know. But somehow the ride designers managed to create an exhilarating and very real hang gliding experience. At some point it seemed I could almost touch the water surface or kick a surfer right in the head. And the golf ball that went wizzing by only inches from my face was so real that it made me duck.

Our last attraction was the Test Track. Even though we were promised a 40-minute wait, the line actually moved much faster. The ride simulates testing conditions that cars experience during development process. It provides a succession of climbs, bumps, sharp turns and unexpected stops, a heat chamber followed by an ice chamber and a corrosion chamber, and a sudden acceleration on a super-elevated stretch. It's fun and all, but not nearly as much excitement as driving on I-4 through Orlando in heavy traffic or driving on I-95 through all the construction zones.



By the time we were done with the rides it started getting dark and the time drew closer to IllumiNations: Reflections of Earth fireworks display. Our plan was to watch the fireworks and then have a nice dinner at a Morroccan restaurant. Except we didn't know that the entire park essentially shuts down right after the fireworks, at about 9:15pm. And so we got some ice-cream instead and found a spot along the World Showcase Lagoon for firework watching. I'm not going to try to describe the show itself, except to say that it the most fantastic 15-minute fireworks, light, and music show that we've seen.

Wine Tasting

Dear Diary,

Two days ago I went to my first real wine tasting event. I was so excited yet nervous about being surrounding by snobby middle-age high-brows. What's all the excitement about? Well, I'm not a wine afficionado and have little interest in the subject. But for the past couple of weeks I was stuck in the house, mostly confided to my office. When I would get out, it would be to get the mail or do grocery shopping or go to the blasted mall. In short, it was a typical case of cabin fever.

Now, Chris on the other hand has gotten into wine tasting. It started with a book that I got him for Christmas, "Windows on the World Complete Wine Course". Next thing I knew, my husband was leafing through the issues of Food & Wine while sipping espressos at Barnes&Noble and spending money on esoteric accessories such as a professional bottle opener and a decanter.

While working in Deland, Chris found out about the Elusive Grape wine store. He used to spend his lunch breaks there, talking to the owner, Bill, or sitting in one of the overstuffed chair in the back of the store with an old issue of a Wine Spectator. Most of the time he would emerge from the store carrying a brown paper bag with a bottle or two. Chris even signed up for a 5-week Wine Appreciation course at a local community college. And so our spare closet was converted into a wine-cellar, our Wednesday nights at B&N were moved to Thursdays, and our wine glasses were filled with Merlots, Shirazes, and Cabernets on most evenings.

And that's how we ended up at the Elusive Grape's wine event a couple of days ago. We paid $10 each, got our glasses and duly entered our names in a raffle. Inside, a 100 or so people, all middle-aged and all with glasses in hand, were standing in the ailes between the wine racks, crowding around the counter, occupying every nook and crany of the lounge, and even spilling over to the sidewalk and into the back alley. Deland is a small town and most of the guests knew not only each other, but each other's friends, bosses, and most family members several generations back. We were clearly the outsiders. Feeling slightly (read: very) uncomfortable in this convivial atmosphere, I was pretending to study the labels while tasting some red wine. As I said, I can't tell the difference between a Merlot and a Cabernet, nor can I taste smoky flavor, ripe cherries, leather or any other tastes that supposedly are present in wine (I guess part of the problem is that I never bothered to spend time munching on BBQ chips or licking leather belts). My wine descriptives are generally limited to "dry, spicy, sweet, fruity, watery, and bitter". If it's not too dry or bitter, it's a good wine as far as I'm concerned. (here's a good article).

Nevertheless, things started looking up as I discovered the Chocolate Amore, a dessert Merlot with a distinct flavor and taste of all the warmth and spicyness of a raising-and-hazelnut dark chocolate bar. Now, that was a find worth the money! Perfectly content, I retired to the lounge with my perfect wine while Chris was breaking "one bottle at a time" rule and buying half the store's inventory. I forgave him for his acquisition included a bottle of my new chocolate obsession.

Soon enough we started some perfectly delightful and non-commital conversation with some perfectly middle-aged people. Hours later we emerged from the store into the perfect summery breeze and quietness, walked along the perfectly quaint streets of Downtown Deland back to our perfect little economy-size answer to the rising gas prices, and drove 30 perfectly safe miles back to our perfectly simple and inviting house.

Another Trip to NY - Part 2 (Parents)

Ok, so this part is long overdue. But my work has been really crazy lately. I even had to work until 7pm a couple of days. Of course, by now the details of our stay in NY faded and are of little interest to anyone. Let's just say that it rained non-stop for our entire stay in NY. So instead of going to the City or to experience some great outdoors in rural NY or PA, we divided our time between devouring my Mom's cooking and window-shopping at the Garden State Mall. Speaking of Mom's cooking, as if non-stop eating wasn't enough, we stopped by the Rockland Bakery on our last day in New York. There you can actually enter the production area and grab fresh out of the oven bread right off the conveyor. Not to mention that you can try all sorts of bread there for free as long as you don't take it outside. If you want to take it outside, you got to pay for it. Rules are rules and so we spent some time there stuffing our faces with deliciously fresh walnut-raising rolls.



To be fair, the weather cleared up for about 30 minutes on Sunday and we used that time to go on a walk around the Rockland Lake. We got there, got out of the car, and walked for about 200 yards when it started raining again. But I did get to take a couple of pictures.




At home, my parents provided us with non-stop entertainment of their own. Let me tell you, I doubt anyone else would be able to create a non-stop buzz out of half-finished dialogs, laughter, petty quarrelling, phone calls, and background TV noise that the way my folks do it. And then sometimes my brother would join our beehive as well. In short, it was a short, loud, and cozy visit.

Another trip to NY - Part 1 (the drive)

Last weekend Chris and I went to NY to visit my parents. Of course, they don't live in the City, that would be too expensive and crazy. Instead, they live in a typical burb in Rockland County, 30 miles away from the excitement.

Now, we decided to drive to NY instead of flying. Flying costs a lot. And even with the gas prices being what they are, driving is still cheaper for us. But between Daytona Beach, FL and New City, NY it's a lot of miles. It was kind of exciting driving there the first time. The second time wasn't too bad either. But after a couple more trips back and forth, one tends to loose any interest in the scenery and attractions along the I-95.

The South-North drive goes something like this:

Florida - we set the car on autopilot and drive with our eyes closed. After all, we drove this portion countless times. We open our eyes only to admire Jacksonville's skyline and its famous blue bridge. It is a very nice skyline that makes you want to move to Jacksonville to work in one of the downtown highrises and after work cross its bridges heading eastward, towards the oceanside neighborhoods. This is very misleading because Jacksonville has very little to offer except for red-necks, heavy traffic, suburban sprawl (it is the largest city in the US by land area) and one of the highest murder rates in the country. Of course, none of this information is listed on the city's website (except for it being the largest city by land area). So just trust me on this - don't move there!

Georgia, South Carolina, North Carolina - this is the longest and the most boring part of the drive. I-95 doesn't go through any big cities there and stays mostly uncrowded. It becomes a 4-lane highway with a wide wooded zone separating North and South directions. The roadside is either an endless grassy marsh, easily identifiable by the smell of rotten eggs, or a dense woodline of mostly palmetto bushes and pine trees. The only two things that break the monotony of the drive are the billboards and the road construction. I don't know what the deal is with road construction in these states. I never see anyone actually working there. But the lines of orange and white traffic barrels stretch for miles and sleepy drivers are sure to get a jolt driving at 75mph over the patched roadways. This is a huge distraction to my favorite road game - counting the "South of the Border" billboards. Now, the billboards in this tri-state area are pretty boring. They are very old-fashioned and rarely rise higher than 20 feet or so. They don't show as much color, sprite, or sex appeal as the boards up North. I guess, they are built with a traffic-less highway and a bored driver in mind because they have almost no pictures, but force you to actually read. Most of these billboards advertise chain hotels, endless Cracker Barrells, BBQ restaurants, roadside strip clubs (windowless shacks no bigger than a one-bedroom house that sprout in the middle of nowhere and make one think of scenes from "Deliverance"), and discounted cigarettes. The only exception to this are the "South of the Border" billboards advertising all different ways Pedro can entertain you. At first they appear every 10 miles or so, but soon they are seen more and more often, counting down miles and even fractions of a mile to this Pedroland. It can only be compared to a Ron Jon Surf Shop billboard assault for those driving to Cocoa Beach on I-95 South. And just like the surf shop, the "South of the Border" amusement park/hotel/conference center/restaurant/fireworks store is kitchy, mostly empty, and infinitely disappointing. So just trust me on this - read the billboards (some are pretty clever) and skip the exit!

Virginia - Things start happening here - there are more lanes on the highway, more traffic, more signs to historical attractions, and no palm trees at all. This also marks the half-way point of our trip and unless we drive straight through we stop here for the night. I highly recommend Hampton Inn for its upscale interior design, highspeed Internet, super-comfortable mattresses and the most delicious little omelets that come with a hearty breakfast. In general, driving anywhere in the US makes me very appreciative. I generally love adventure and quirky attractions. But there are some things that I prefer to be as predictable as possible - clean restrooms with unlimited toilet paper along the way or Starbucks coffee, for example. The kind of stuff that most people here take for granted until they end up in another country, desperately looking for a WC only to find out that you have to pay to get in and the only toilet paper available is the used one (yes, it is gross, but I'm keeping it real). Driving also lets one appreciate how many wealthy people are in the US. High gas prices nonwithstanding, they chug along in huge RVs, sometimes towing an SUV or a boat, going South in the winter and North in the summer. And the rest of us shouldn't be jelous because we are reacher than most people on this planet. Otherwise how would one explain huge 18-wheelers rushing at neckbreaking speeds to deliver goodies to Publixes, Wal-Marts, and Home Depots all over the country.



Maryland - One must stay very alert because a lot of things start happening here. First of, the bathrooms at local gas stations stop being predictably nice. Some of them even stop being, period. On the way back we had to stop at a couple of the gas stations off of Baltimore-Washington Parkway before we actually found one that was open, reasonably clean, and could be locked from the inside. But if you stay on the Interstate, things actually improve with appearance of Service Stations, one-stop-shops with large restrooms, a food court, and a gas station or two with their own convenience stores. Imagine - all this and you don't even have to get off the highway! Of course, maitaining services like this costs money. And so tolls are introduced. The first toll on the way up North is around Baltimore. It's $2.00 and you get to drive in a pretty cool-looking tunnel for a minute or two. Another thing that happens in Maryland is highway patrol. I mean, of course, every state has them, but these guys are especially vicious in Maryland. They park the cars in the median, get out and literally flag down speeding cars right out of the left lane. Nobody goes the speed limit on I-95, so they must be making a killing on a traffic-free day. Lesson learned - stay in the middle lane.

Washington, DC - It's like right in the middle of Maryland. More traffic and construction. Don't leave I-95 trying to catch a glimpse of the national monuments - you will see the Capitol dome and the Washington Monument, but would have to pay for it dearly driving through slums for 30 minutes or so. Don't be fooled into taking a scenic ride along the Baltimore-Washington Parkway. It starts out innocently enough with tree groves, stone retaining walls, and the complete absence of billboards. But just as you start enjoying the boucolic views while getting all misty-eyed about the glorious job our National Park Service does here, it takes you right into the slums. But then again, we're talking about Washington, DC which is mostly a slum.

Delaware - ok, that's the state that really screws you. You only drive in it for about 18 miles, but you pay 2 (!) substantial tolls (about $3.00 each) for this privelege. Other states have "Welcome!" signs while Delaware has a state-of-the-art toll booth. Of course, the big attraction is to see Wilmington, DE - the town that gets more than half of our paycheck. But they cheat you here too. Of course, plenty of corporations are registered in Delaware, but not that many have headquarters there. Or maybe they try to keep low profile to avoid inevitable retribution from angry credit-card holders. Either way, Wilmington isn't much to look at.

Pennsilvania - ok-ok, we could take New Jersey Turnpike straight from Delaware, but we missed it and ended up stuck in traffic around Philadelphia.

New Jersey - Officially, the most irritating state to drive through. First, you get on New Jersey Turnpike, then - on Garden State Parkway. Either way, you get stuck in traffic. In Florida, if there's traffic it means somewhere out there there's an accident. It might even be clear on the other side of the highway, so everyone is rubber-necking, but it's there. In Jersey, traffic is existential in nature. That's just how things are in this state. Both the Turnpike and the Parkway are toll roads and we end up paying around $7.00 for going less than 200 miles. And they still can't fix their traffic situation?! But at the same time getting gas in New Jersey is a great experience. First of, it's much cheaper than anywhere else. Second, you don't have to get out of the car; an attendant will pump it for you and process the payment. And finally, they have LukOil gas stations and it makes me proud for my Motherland. Also, New Jersey wins a trophy for a state with least diverse license plates. They are all yellow and white and say New Jersey on them. No one tries to save the dolphins or manatees or express pride for being in the Armed Forces, graduating from college, or routing for the winning team. There are almost no plates from other states either, which just proves the point that the only people that find New Jersey tolerable are New Jerseyers themselves (and yes, it's a real word - I looked it up on Google).

New York - my parents live almost right on the border with New Jersey. We only get to drive about 2-3 miles on I-95 in New York. So we get off the highway after almost 17 hours of driving, standing in traffic, driving some more, getting mad, bored, sleepy, and irritated. Only 10-15 more minutes of relatively sane and definitely scenic (spring time in New York State) drive and we arrive to my parents' house!

P.S. To get an idea of what our drive home was like, just read this post from bottom to top.

Pie in the Sky

America is a great country! You don't have to be a John Travolta to own a plane. Ordinary people, average Joes and Janes, can with some studying get their private pilot license, buy a plane, and fly to Iowa for a family reunion or to Bahamas for a weekend of scuba-diving. Hundreds of thousands of little planes are available for purchase - new and used, historical replicas and real vintage things, planes that land on land and planes that land on water, planes ready to fly and planes in kits waiting to be assembled and even little helicopters.

Now, just as dog owners have dog shows, bikers have the Bike Week, and pumpkin growers have the Cirleville Pumpkin Show , the airplane owners and owner-wanna-bees have airshows and fly-ins. One of the most famous small plane shows is the AirVenture held annually in Oshkosh. Of course, that's in Wisconsin.

It would be really surprising if Florida did not have some kind of an airshow, right? I mean, we have everything else here (except for mountains, snow, and good-paying jobs). And so of course, we have the Sun-n-Fun airshow and fly-in held annually in Lakeland. AirVenture-shmareventure, our event even sounds cooler! Now, an airshow of this kind is not just an airshow. First, it lasts a whole week. Second, air performances with all the fly-bys, aerobatics, wing-walkers, precision flying, and such are held every single day of the week. Third, besides an airshow itself various exibits, classes, swap meets, and other events are held daily for everyone to enjoy.

Of course, Lakeland is 2 hours away from us. And the admission to the show is $30 per person once you get there. Neither Chris nor I are small aviation enthusiasts. So how come we ended up at the Lakeland Airport last Saturday and willingly paid $60 for something we had little interest in? It's elementary, my dear Watson! My father, who is a big general aviation enthusiast, drove all the way from New York just for this show.

My father used to fly little YK planes when he was young and impressionate. I have no clear idea as to what happened back then that effectively ended his pilot career, but I believe it involved some kind of a prank or probably even several that he pulled during his flight training. And so he got kicked out at some point. But, as they say in cheesy novels, the dream stayed alive in the young man's heart. Of course, being that my Dad lived in the Soviet Union, there was no way for him to fulfil his dream of flying outside a para-military flight school. And so the dream curled up snuggly in his cerebral cortex (or wherever these things are stored) and took a long nap.

It was awakened with Dad's arrival to the US, the land of unlimited possibilities. And it became particularly strong once Dad turned 60 and both my brother and I were semi-established on our way to that pie in the sky commonly known as The American Success Story. To make the long story short, the dream reared its ugly head and took posession of my Dad. He started spending long hours on Internet searching for good deals on planes and became a regular on eBay. He talked of FAA regulations, torque, altitudes and cross-country flights. He even started saving money. Of course, he understood his limitations, both financial and linguistic. So he set his sight low - on a no-license-required category of ultra-lights.

It would be a mistake to think that these things are cheap. Of course, compared to a Cessna, a $12,000 price tag is really a bargain. But let's not forget that $12,000 effectively buys you a motorized chair with a 5-gallon jerrican of gasoline underneath, a swamp-boat propeller strapped to its back and an oversized kite on top that keeps you from falling 500 or so feet to the ground. Of course, there are plenty of schools and clubs throughout the United States where one can pay money and experience a solo or a tandem flight on one of these things. But my Dad has been in the US long enough now to catch the ownership bug. And so he came to Florida to find an ultra-light of his dream. We followed.

The day we went to the show was hot, sunny, and very windy. After walking a bit around the ultra-lights, we left Dad and a couple of his friends and made our way to the airfield. There was but little time to spare as the skydivers drifted slowly on their canopies signaling the start of the daily airshow. As we tried to get closer to the stands, we passed a field of small planes parked neatly in rows with the camping tents taking the space between them. Just like on a regular camping trip, their owners were sleeping, snacking, sunning themselves, or in one case rocking in a hammock carefully hung under a wing. In short, it was very Norman Rockwell.

The closer we got to the airfield, the more crowded it got. Keeping one eye on a 11-plane formation flight, we passed by a showcase of military planes. It was a little bit weird to see people sitting under the guns of an F-15, hiding from the sun; children, excitedly watching the show from its wings; and a young Air Force pilot smiling good-naturadely while posing for a picture. It was weird because somewhere thousands of miles away another F-15 was probably executing a less friendly mission bringing fear and pain to both adults and children in its path.

After walking aimlessly for a little while trying to find some shade, we finally saw a patch of grass that was not only shaded by a wing of a small plane, but was miraculously unclaimed by anyone else. As far as we could see it had no trash or signs of spilled beverages or melted ice-cream either. We sat there and watched several great aerobatic performances for some time before my Dad called. He was done with the ultra-lights and was looking for us. After much confusion ("let's meet by a small plane, the yellow and red one") we finally found each other. Dad was very tired and sun-burnt. His leg was bothering him and he was limping more noticeably than usual. And so instead of returning to our seats, we tried to find something nearby.

Luckily, we were next to a row of YK planes that were flying in a show earlier. We stretched out on the grass under a red-star studded wing and watched the rest of the show. At some point the owners of the plane, two men from Tennessee, showed up and Dad started a conversation with them. The airshow was almost over. And of course, the best or at least the most impressive, was saved for last. We watched as the American newest figher plane, the F22-Raptor, took off, completed several fly-bys and performed some aerobatics. Finally it was joined by an F-15 and a P-51 for the final fly-by.

The show was over and everyone headed home. Most people shlepped to the parking lots. Ultra-light owners were disassembling their flying chairs and carrying the propellers to their trucks. The real planes lined up at the runaway waiting to take off.

On the way home we stopped to buy some freshly-picked strawberries. There are tons of strawberry fields in and around Lakeland. It is the heart of the strawberry country, so to say. For 6 dollars we bought a big cardboard box full of freshly-picked strawberries. And so, in a strawberry-smelling car, we sped up to I-4 in a vain attempt to beat its eternal traffic.

A big box of strawberries proved a bit too much for us. We ate the berries ourselves and force-fed them to guests, we gave them away to friends, and had them for breakfast, lunch, dinner, and occassional munch attacks. But there was no end to them. We even baked a strawberry shortcake. Days later we still had a couple of pounds of berries in the refrigerator.

A boring lunch break

What is the difference between Xander, my cat, and a loquat?

This sounds like a stupid question. But if you think about it, both are round, orange in color, sweet and soft. But of course, there are important differences that one must be aware of. Xander is furry and a loquat's smooth skin is covered with fuzz. Xander can jump up and down and sideways, while a loquat can only fall down. Xander chases lizards and birds, but a loquat is indifferent to both. Finally, Xander is raised inside a house and is pretty much useless. A loquat grows outside and is used in landscaping as well as for eating.

One of the pictures here is of a loquat and the other one - of Xander. Thanks to my little explanation you will never get mixed up over which one to eat and which one to pet.

But that's not it! This is Ponce Inlet Lighthouse as seen last Saturday from a park in New Smyrna Beach. I also saw a family of dolphins there, but they were too hard to photograph. So just use your imagination.

COLD HARD CASH - 2

Why "2"? Because I wrote the first "COLD HARD CASH" entry on Monday, but just as I was about to post it the electricity went out with a bang, literally and so all my efforts were erased. Lesson learned - "Save as Draft" button comes in handy after all.

So needless to say that I was extremely pissed. It took me two days to get over this and I've still not come to terms with what happened on Monday. Besides, it was a really nice story that I wrote.

In my description of an opera, Rossinni's "The Barber of Seville", I described, quite eloquently, the feeling of smug content with life, universe and everything that one experiences watching, free of charge, a very good performance of a great opera. Yes, that was the last performance of the 2005-2006 International Series presented by the Daytona Beach Symphony Society. And it was the last time in the foreseeable future that we got to go to a major cultural event for free. Therefore, I lamented in my last post, that from now on we must pay COLD HARD CASH to enjoy theatrical performances here in Daytona Beach, a town not known for its student or military discounts.

In my original post that didn't survive the blackout, I also provided an entertaining description of our trip to the SkyVenture Orlando, an indoor skydiving attraction. It would be useless to try to re-create my story again. Да, рукописи может и не горят, но электронные статьи точно исчезают без следа. So now noone, except for myself, Chris, Albina and her daughter Bianca, will know how great it was to float 10-15 feet off the floor in a 250-mile per hour wind inside a pressurized tunnel. Noone will know how difficult it is to stay afloat and not crawl on the floor like some bottom-feeder in a fish tank. Nor will I explain again how even the smallest movement throws you off balance and make you twist and turn and fly all over the chamber, hitting the glass walls and generally providing entertainment to the spectators outside. The only thing that I will repeat is that high price non-withstanding ($20/minute for an introductory 2-minute session), it is tons of fun and is worth doing at least once. For more than that we'll need, once again, COLD HARD CASH.

Bike Week 2006

What is a Bike Week, you ask me? It's another manifestation of an American love affair with all things loud and gas-consuming. It's a city-wide celebration of the three Bs - bikes, boobs, and beer. It's a mostly red-neck festival of loud pipes, leather chaps worn over bikini bottoms, five-dollar cans of Bud (if you count a tip), live music performances, and politically incorrect T-shirts. It's a Spring Break for yer old, bald, fat and ugly. It's a party that goes on for 10 days, 24 hours a day and that brings close to 500,000 people into Daytona Beach and its environs.

Yes, it is true that every year the Bike Week grows more diverse. There are more young people attending, more women, more black folks, more Northerners, and more foreigners. But overwhelmingly it's a red-neck and Southern event through and through, at least for now.

Now, let's get something straight right away. First of all, what goes on at the International Speedway during these 10 days should not be referred to as Bike Week. It's a commercialized event heavy on big names in motorworld and stinking of corporate America. I'm not saying don't go. By all means do, if you want to see some pretty darn good bike racing or test-drive a nice new Buell, Harley, or BMW. Nor am I saying not to go to the Daytona Flea Market, just around the corner from the Speedway, a great place for fresh fruits and vegetables, kitchy souveniers, a daily motorcycle stunt show and a swap meet. Nor am I advising you against going to Ridgewood Ave, lined up with souvenier stalls, for some shopping, to Ormond Beach for some old-fashioned Harley experience, or to Samsula for a night of female cole-slaw restling. All I'm saying is if you want a real party, go to Main Street. And that's exactly what Chris and I did last Saturday.



First, we went to a free concert at the bandshell on the beach. It's really a very nice place with great ocean views. Plus there are several restaurants, a Marble Slab Creamery, a Starbucks, and a large movie theater. So first we watched the concert and then decided to get some coffee for Chris at the Starbucks (see picture).

Then we slowly made our way along the beach to Main Street for the big party. As usual, it was jam-packed with bikes and people. To get a temporary relief from streams of leather-clad human flesh we stopped by a couple of bars. Now, there are several that are a must-do during Bike Week. Dirty Harry's is famous for it's thrice-daily wet T-shirt contest. Any woman is welcome to give it a try. There are usually 5-6 contestants per show - 1-2 "heifers", 1-2 desperate housewives in their last attempt to get attention to their overly tanned, wrinkly and sagging body-parts, and a couple of wayward college chicks drunk off their behinds at 2PM on a hot Saturday afternoon. The boobs are all freshly enlarged, except on the "heifers", with the white stretchmarks and the bluish veins forming a "Stars and Stripes"-like patterns. It's all good to most of the spectators who haven't been sober since last Monday.

A good place for food and music is the Full Moon. They always have a huge stage set up outdoors with rock concerts going on pretty much non-stop. The food is fresh and abundant if not cheap. A plate of shredded beef with rice and veggies will set you back $15. Better go for a flavorfull turkey leg, as big as your head or a jumbo hotdog generously smothered in ketchup, mustard, and relish. You have two choices here. You can take your food inside a dark saloon, away from the blistering afternoon sun, with the floors a bit sticky from all the spilled beers (and hopefully not from something else). Or you can grab one of the bar tables outside, preferrably away from the stage and under an umbrella and watch other patrons getting their pictures with the smiling beer girls. They are believe it or not one of the best-looking ones that the Bike Week can offer.

Froggies is a fun place too. Right of the bat, you are offered a good spanking from a couple of scantly-clad chicks. They do it for tips, administering the "punishment" with a rather heavy hand, according to the suckers that pay to be belted in public. Once inside though there isn't much to do, but drink. I don't really know if they have any concerts there at all. But the music is loud and in the evenings there are dancing girls, the stripper-wanna-be ones, shacking their money-makers on little baby-blue platforms.

Finally, no trip to the Bike Week is complete without visiting the Boot Hill Saloon. It's right across the street from an old cemetery which explains their motto "Better Here Than Across the Street". And who can argue with that! It is indeed better at the Boot Hill than almost anywhere else on Main Street. First of, they have probably the best-designed T-shirts and ladies love wearing them too. Second, even though their beer girls are not the prietiest bunch, they sure dress the best or should I say, the least, always setting the fashion for Bike Weeks to come. They ditched T-shirt and bikini tops in favor of underware and pasties years ago. Since then, the pasties got progressively smaller while the body parts under them - progressively bigger (evidently, plastic surgeries are becoming more affordable; I think Wal-Mart should look into the opportunity). I bet $10 that next year it's all going to be nothing but some body-paint. But apart from girls, they do play some good-old country music and their performers are most engaging. Then again, how can one not want to join in signing the "Gang Bang" song?!




And what about the bikes, you ask? Well, what about them? With so much going on, bikes are constantly in the background. The stream of riders along Main Street never lets up. The lucky ones manage to find a free parking spot along the street. Others drive slowly through to A1A and funnel out, seeking $5 parking spaces around the neighborhood. If you enjoy Discovery and TLC channels' shows about custom-built bikes, you'll see a lot of that here as well. Lately trikes and bikes with side-cars are all the rage. But pretty much any bike with custom paint, outrageous accessories, or nice detailing (including girls in the back) draws attention and countless camera flashes. Many people come to the Bike Week every year. Many bring the same motorcycles so occassionally we get to see a familiar "face" (paint job). Many people bring their bikes here to sell and the price tags range from $4800 to $75000.

Now for the men that drive these bikes. They sport beer-bellies of various sizes, facial hair, wear black Bike Week-themed T-shirts or muscle shirts, have a beer in one hand and a digital camera in the other. They show various stages of farmer's tan, from lobster-red (most often) to leathery brown, and many - elaborate tatooes. Of course, this description applies to a lot of Bike Week women. So here's a tell-tale sign - no make-up and loose-fitting jeans mean it's a dude. There are some extreme cases, of course.

But overall, you gotta love the Bike Week. It's loud, obnoxious, in-your-face, and expensive to go to. But here in Daytona Beach, where the rest of the year we live on a set of the "Cocoon", it feels great!