Besides Kat's parents (my parents-in-law, of course) and her grandparents, we saw her sister (my sister-in-law), the sister's husband (Kat's brother-in-law, my brother-in-law-once-removed [or something]), and their baby son (our mutual nephew). It was the first time either of us had the pleasure of meeting the now seven-month-old.
I'll start at the beginning. If you don't know, I have a terrible fear of flying. Sure, I know I am thousands of times more likely to die in an auto accident on the way to the airport than to die on the plane, but that knowledge doesn't help. Being in an aluminum tube full of jet fuel piloted by someone I don't know 30,000 feet in the air flying hundreds of miles an hour freaks me the hell out. Sadly, it took years before I realized that my doctor could give me some pills to calm my nerves before I set foot on a plane.
It was the consumption of these pills that led me to largely forget the first day I spent in Florida. A lunch was had, a nap was taken, and dinner was enjoyed. So they tell me. I remember most of our dinner with Kat's parents at Keegan's Seafood Grille on Indian Rocks Beach: fish spread, swordfish, a booth, electric lights, folded, laminated paper with various food items and prices printed on it.
Full cognizance didn't kick in until the following day, when we took a borrowed car south to Sarasota for a couple of days with just the two of us. The drive was unremarkable, save for the spotting of dolphins, a popular pastime when driving along the coast in Florida. Author's note: the dolphins were swimming in the Gulf of Mexico. They weren't, like, hitchhiking or anything.
Our main destination in Sarasota was the John and Mable Ringling Museum of Art. Are you familiar with the Ringling Brothers, Barnum and Bailey Circus? Of course you are. John Ringling was one of the Ringling Bros., and like his brothers and Messrs. Barnum and Bailey, he was stinking rich. How stinking? He owned most of what is now Sarasota. He also owned a 56-room mansion on the water and a massive art collection. Upon his death, he bequeathed his land and home to the city of Sarasota. Not too shabby.
The land was incorporated, and the grounds of the actual estate were transformed into a massive museum.
We arrived around 10:30 and immediately began our tour. The first stop was the Tibbals' Howard Bros. Miniature Circus Model Museum, a reproduction of the Ringling circus made in miniature. Why did a reproduction of the Ringling Bros. Circus at the Ringling Museum get the generic name "Howard Bros.?" Who knows. What I know is that the massive display is essentially a middle school diorama assignment that took a few decades to create. The scenes were more or less immaculate, with beautiful tents and trains, and little figures going about the business of running a circus in the early 1900s.
In spite of the severe winds, cold temperatures, and cloudy skies, we assumed we'd still enjoy the beach, given that beaches in the PNW are often experiencing severe winds, cold temperatures, and cloudy skies. What we hadn't counted on was red tide.
Nope.
Monday was our last day all together. I said goodbye to my siblings-in-law and took a solo trip to Clearwater beach. I kicked up seashells and took seabird pictures for a while, basking in the goddamn gray skies and cold wind for the last time until who knows when. For lunch I met Kat and her dad at the original Frenchy's for grouper sandwiches. Seasoned exactly - I mean, effing exactly - right, flaky, tender, and delicious, these are the best grouper sammiches you're going to find.
After lunch, Kat and I dropped in to visit her paternal grandmother ("Granny") to visit for a while before spending some more time on the beach, where she soaked up cloud-filtered rays and I looked for cool crap that washes up on beaches.
I'll start at the beginning. If you don't know, I have a terrible fear of flying. Sure, I know I am thousands of times more likely to die in an auto accident on the way to the airport than to die on the plane, but that knowledge doesn't help. Being in an aluminum tube full of jet fuel piloted by someone I don't know 30,000 feet in the air flying hundreds of miles an hour freaks me the hell out. Sadly, it took years before I realized that my doctor could give me some pills to calm my nerves before I set foot on a plane.
"These should relax you during your flight. We'll refill your prescription when you start to have anxiety about the liver damage from the first prescription."
Full cognizance didn't kick in until the following day, when we took a borrowed car south to Sarasota for a couple of days with just the two of us. The drive was unremarkable, save for the spotting of dolphins, a popular pastime when driving along the coast in Florida. Author's note: the dolphins were swimming in the Gulf of Mexico. They weren't, like, hitchhiking or anything.
Our main destination in Sarasota was the John and Mable Ringling Museum of Art. Are you familiar with the Ringling Brothers, Barnum and Bailey Circus? Of course you are. John Ringling was one of the Ringling Bros., and like his brothers and Messrs. Barnum and Bailey, he was stinking rich. How stinking? He owned most of what is now Sarasota. He also owned a 56-room mansion on the water and a massive art collection. Upon his death, he bequeathed his land and home to the city of Sarasota. Not too shabby.
The land was incorporated, and the grounds of the actual estate were transformed into a massive museum.
We arrived around 10:30 and immediately began our tour. The first stop was the Tibbals' Howard Bros. Miniature Circus Model Museum, a reproduction of the Ringling circus made in miniature. Why did a reproduction of the Ringling Bros. Circus at the Ringling Museum get the generic name "Howard Bros.?" Who knows. What I know is that the massive display is essentially a middle school diorama assignment that took a few decades to create. The scenes were more or less immaculate, with beautiful tents and trains, and little figures going about the business of running a circus in the early 1900s.
Not pictured: a miniature geek biting the head off of a miniature chicken.
This exhibit didn't thrill me. It was fine, but not my cup of tea. I was also bothered by the fact that while historical accuracy was preserved by featuring black figures filling more menial tasks (dishwashers, janitors, etc.), the fact that the black miniatures were very clearly white figures painted black bugged the crap out of me. I find it hard to believe that in the massive miniature human figure making industry, no one made any African-American figures.
In this museum there was also a massive collection of circus posters from the heyday of the industry, including many from the pre-Ringling travels of the Barnum circus to Europe. It was a real eye-opener to see what acts the circus brought in back in the day, from Japanese kendo fighters to Parisian ballet troupes.
The rest of the circus museum was OK: a few video exhibits, wagons, costumes, and the the like. Many of the artifacts were from the circus's recent past (1980s-2000s), and I would have liked it more if there were more items from the "heyday" of the circus. There was also a lack of information about the sideshows. These were a huge money-maker for the circus, and the nearby town of Gibsonton was the wintering home for many of the sideshow performers. It would be nice to have some more info about that piece of circus history.
The last big draw in the circus museum is The Wisconsin, the rail car/mobile home that belonged to John and Mable Ringling. It was very swank, even by today's more modern personal train car standards. Visitors don't get to enter the car, but the large windows allow plenty of good views of the interior. From the viewing platform you can also watch Howard Tibbals working on his miniatures. I didn't look closely at what he was up to, but I assume he was putting blackface on another Whitey McCountryclub figure.
The next point of interest on the massive grounds was Mable Ringling's Rose Garden. Since this was Florida, even in january there were a few roses in bloom. The garden was nice, a pretty typical rose garden. You know. Roses. They're pretty. By any other name, they would still smell as sweet.
The rest of the circus museum was OK: a few video exhibits, wagons, costumes, and the the like. Many of the artifacts were from the circus's recent past (1980s-2000s), and I would have liked it more if there were more items from the "heyday" of the circus. There was also a lack of information about the sideshows. These were a huge money-maker for the circus, and the nearby town of Gibsonton was the wintering home for many of the sideshow performers. It would be nice to have some more info about that piece of circus history.
The last big draw in the circus museum is The Wisconsin, the rail car/mobile home that belonged to John and Mable Ringling. It was very swank, even by today's more modern personal train car standards. Visitors don't get to enter the car, but the large windows allow plenty of good views of the interior. From the viewing platform you can also watch Howard Tibbals working on his miniatures. I didn't look closely at what he was up to, but I assume he was putting blackface on another Whitey McCountryclub figure.
The next point of interest on the massive grounds was Mable Ringling's Rose Garden. Since this was Florida, even in january there were a few roses in bloom. The garden was nice, a pretty typical rose garden. You know. Roses. They're pretty. By any other name, they would still smell as sweet.
Pictured: American Stinkblossom
The Ringling mansion, called Ca' d'Zan, which is either "House of John" in a Venetian dialect, or "Surrender or die" in Klingon; I can't remember, was our next stop. I seriously suggest clicking on the above link for some great photos. We took only a self-guided tour, which limited access, and didn't have the time, positioning, or lenses to capture the mansion in all its Gilded-Age glory.
The house features 41 rooms and 15 bathrooms, beautiful tilework, and lots and lots of architectural stuff that I like to look at but have no idea what it's called. There's a beautiful ceiling we really enjoyed made up of panels, each painted with a scene of people from different cultures dancing. The back...um...porch thing was lovely and went right up to the water. There were pretty windows...and those tall things...columns? Architecture!
This style is Venetian Gothic. I totally knew that without looking it up.
OK, so after the drive to Sarasota, the circus museums, the rose garden, and the house, we decided it was time for a break. The museum lets you back in all day with admission, so we left to check into our hotel and grab some lunch.
Our hotel was right off of Lido Beach, and was a tiny place with a few tiny rooms. I don't know about the other rooms, but ours would not have been comfortable for a long stay. There was enough room for the bed and a dresser with a TV on it, a bathroom, and a closet. We would later learn that the outlet the TV and alarm clock were plugged into didn't work. Oh well; we just needed a place to crash after our day of adventuring.
Since we were in the area, we went over to nearby Lido Beach. This is another supposedly picturesque beach. Fine sand. Gentle waters. All the usual.
In spite of the severe winds, cold temperatures, and cloudy skies, we assumed we'd still enjoy the beach, given that beaches in the PNW are often experiencing severe winds, cold temperatures, and cloudy skies. What we hadn't counted on was red tide.
Guess again.
Our first clue was the thousands of dead fish scattered across the sands. The second was a sign on a lifeguard tower announcing that there was red tide.
Red tide is an algae bloom which kills fish and which triggers severe allergic reactions in some people.
Some people.
My eyes started watering like crazy, I had a severe sneezing fit, and my nose was running. This all died off about 20 minutes after we left the beach, thank goodness. Still, I'm annoyed by the fact that gross sea spores entered my body and made other things leave it. Stupid nature.
Once the horrible, horrible beach was safely behind us, we stopped in to Yummy House for lunch. It was a pretty decent Chinese place, and you can check out my Yelp! review here.
After lunch, it was back to the Ringling Museum for the art museum section. John was a huge art buff, and built a museum to house his private collection.
This was not the normal "private collection." It was massive. A building with three wings housed the bulk of the artwork, while extensive courtyards held numerous statues and fountains. To back up the legitimacy of Mr. Ringling's obsession with art, there is a nearby college of art he founded and funded.
From Dutch Masters to Catholic iconography to Greek sculptures to weirdo modern stuff, this museum is home to a massive collection that will have something for everyone interested in art. A bonus is that they allow non-flash photography, so no need to steal.
This is one of seven paintings in a series. The Vatican owns two. The other five are here. I've heard worse excuses to flip off the Vatican.
All in all, we spent about 7 hours in the Ringling Museum. For us, that's a good day.
Still stuffed from lunch, we skipped dinner and hung out in a Lido Key bar, Cha Cha Coconuts. No, I'm not making up the name. We watched some college b-ball, had some drinks, ate some sweet potato fries (served with apple butter and coconut mustard - both of which I recommend) and faked enjoying a mediocre band.
Our Friday plans involved brunch and exploring Sarasota before returning home. Our first stop was at a park near our hotel, where a statue I'd noticed on Roadsideamerica.com dwelt. I wanted pics of this sculpture of one of America's most iconic images, and I got them.
When the Japanese surrender, it's OK. When all that's happened is you beat your own high score in Scrabble, suddenly it's "aggravated sexual assault."
After our stop at C'mere Baby Park, we went to have brunch at The Toasted Mango, a place we'd seen when driving by and which had an overflow crowd and bangin' Yelp reviews, both good signs. It was upon our immediate seating that I realized that while I had my prescription sunglasses on, but could not find my non-darkened specs. I realized where they must be: the aforementioned park. I left my wife alone in a strange bruncherie to race back to the nearby park to look for my glasses.
Good news: I found them. Bad news: I had dropped them in a remote little area of grass near the statue, but in the fifteen minutes or so since I'd dropped them, someone had managed to get to where they were, step on them, and leave them. The bent frames were unusable. Keep in mind, these are Oakleys - spendy and super strong. But I found them, and unlike the last time I lost glasses in Florida, they do not currently rest at the bottom of the Gulf of Mexico.
So, anyway, brunch! The Toasted Mango was pretty good, falling into the "not bad, had better" category. Again, a Yelp review is here.
While we had originally planned on a stop at Siesta Key Beach after brunch, we instead spent some angry time trying to find a Lenscrafters. After locating one and getting my glasses 98% fixed, we managed to make our way to the greatest beach in America for 2012.
What did we find when we got there?
This guy.
Yes, red tide had also attacked Siesta Beach.
From Robert Wyland's under appreciated "Post-Apocalyptic" series.
The beach wasn't worth sticking around on, but the good news is that we saw dolphins leaping, a rare sight outside of a theme park.
Trying to get away from red tide the same way I fend off the flu: merry leaping.
So we walked dejectedly away from another beach. Bummer. Red tide: 2, McKinneys: 0.
That marked the end of our Sarasota adventures. We started the hour-long drive back to Largo, stopping only for a brief stroll through the shopping district at John's Pass, a tourist trap of highest order. This was a boredom stop; we don't normally visit such cheesy tourist stops loaded with "unique shoppes, unless it's to make fun of them in snarky tones.
Dinner was at the home of my in-laws, where most of us pitched in on the cooking process. This was also our first time meeting Carson, our new nephew. I learned here that even if I'm related, I have no clue whatsoever how to act around babies. They leak from every conceivable bodily opening, they're kind of floppy, and conversations with them inevitably wind up being very one-sided.
Dinner was good, but Carson did a lot of crying during it. I don't think he'd even seen one of those sentimental cell phone commercials or anything. Apparently, babies just cry for no damn reason. It's not annoying or anything, but I react to crying babies in much the same way I react to the (frequent...Jesus Christ, it's so frequent) crying done by people at my workplace: sudden fascination with that thing over there. Yep. That thing over there requires my immediate attention.
It should be noted that this was the one and only time during our time with Carson that he threw a tantrum of any magnitude. As babies go, he was one of the best behaved I've ever seen. Granted, I've only seen a few, but he's pretty damn well-behaved.
The next day was lunch at Rockaway's, a seafood place right on Clearwater Beach. The food was good, but seems to have gone down in quality a bit since the last time I've been. The grouper nuggets were a bit tough, the clams were very tough, and new grouper tamales tasted like corn meal that someone had waved a fish fillet over. Food aside, though, it was a fun time with Kat's father's side of the family.
We finally got in some time on a clean beach this day as well. It was still windy, cold, and cloudy, but still...count it.
Dinner that night was at home with the maternal grandparents and pizza. Family get-togethers are fun, but can be exhausting; there's a lot of catching up to do.
Sunday morning Katherine, her parents, sister, brother-in-law, nephew, and I drove to St. Petersburg. We had an early lunch at The Taco Bus, a food truck/brick and mortar hybrid featuring some of the best tacos I've ever had. Seriously. Incredible. It instantly became a must for any future visits.
After lunch we visited the nearby Dali Museum, a private museum housing works by and information on Salvador Dali. Holy cow. I knew a couple of pieces of Dali's work, but hadn't been exposed to much. After this museum, I would say he is probably my favorite artists.
The museum is in a relatively new building which has been designed with elements of Dali's style.
What I most enjoyed here was learning about Dali's growth as an artist. The collection literally begins (if you start at the right end, which we didn't) with pieces he did in art school. He got into surrealism, fell away from that, converted to Catholicism, which influenced his later works, and spent a lot of time illustrating scenes from Shakespearean plays in a series of sketches and even book illustrations. I had no idea he was so diverse. The trip was not only informative, but inspiring. I felt so in awe to be inches away from so many amazing works by such an amazing artist.
Once we were back in Largo, we had dinner at Amici Italian Eatery, a great Italian place in a crummy strip mall. Kat and I have been there a few times, and her parents have been there so often they're one visit away from having a dish named after them.
Even Carson joined us, and seemed to enjoy himself.
That marked the end of our Sarasota adventures. We started the hour-long drive back to Largo, stopping only for a brief stroll through the shopping district at John's Pass, a tourist trap of highest order. This was a boredom stop; we don't normally visit such cheesy tourist stops loaded with "unique shoppes, unless it's to make fun of them in snarky tones.
Dinner was at the home of my in-laws, where most of us pitched in on the cooking process. This was also our first time meeting Carson, our new nephew. I learned here that even if I'm related, I have no clue whatsoever how to act around babies. They leak from every conceivable bodily opening, they're kind of floppy, and conversations with them inevitably wind up being very one-sided.
"And that's why conservative tort reform will reduce our nation's frivolous lawsuits, thereby creating...Uncle Robb? You still with me?"
Dinner was good, but Carson did a lot of crying during it. I don't think he'd even seen one of those sentimental cell phone commercials or anything. Apparently, babies just cry for no damn reason. It's not annoying or anything, but I react to crying babies in much the same way I react to the (frequent...Jesus Christ, it's so frequent) crying done by people at my workplace: sudden fascination with that thing over there. Yep. That thing over there requires my immediate attention.
It should be noted that this was the one and only time during our time with Carson that he threw a tantrum of any magnitude. As babies go, he was one of the best behaved I've ever seen. Granted, I've only seen a few, but he's pretty damn well-behaved.
The next day was lunch at Rockaway's, a seafood place right on Clearwater Beach. The food was good, but seems to have gone down in quality a bit since the last time I've been. The grouper nuggets were a bit tough, the clams were very tough, and new grouper tamales tasted like corn meal that someone had waved a fish fillet over. Food aside, though, it was a fun time with Kat's father's side of the family.
We finally got in some time on a clean beach this day as well. It was still windy, cold, and cloudy, but still...count it.
Dinner that night was at home with the maternal grandparents and pizza. Family get-togethers are fun, but can be exhausting; there's a lot of catching up to do.
Sunday morning Katherine, her parents, sister, brother-in-law, nephew, and I drove to St. Petersburg. We had an early lunch at The Taco Bus, a food truck/brick and mortar hybrid featuring some of the best tacos I've ever had. Seriously. Incredible. It instantly became a must for any future visits.
After lunch we visited the nearby Dali Museum, a private museum housing works by and information on Salvador Dali. Holy cow. I knew a couple of pieces of Dali's work, but hadn't been exposed to much. After this museum, I would say he is probably my favorite artists.
The museum is in a relatively new building which has been designed with elements of Dali's style.
They Dali'd the shit out of it.
Once we were back in Largo, we had dinner at Amici Italian Eatery, a great Italian place in a crummy strip mall. Kat and I have been there a few times, and her parents have been there so often they're one visit away from having a dish named after them.
Even Carson joined us, and seemed to enjoy himself.
"Now, the zwieback...is that made with organic flour?"
My lasagna was good, but fell into the "I've had so much better that it wasn't as good as it could be" category. It's one of my longest-named categories. It's also tough, because while I did enjoy the dish, it just didn't compare to a couple of others I've had. I enjoyed the bites I stole from everyone else's dishes, and even if I'd hated my entree, it got bonus points for containing veal, which meant no one else would touch it. (Author's note: This family is like a church, but instead of tithing money, you tithe bites of your meal. It took me a long time to learn how to handle this. I handle it with veal.)
Monday was our last day all together. I said goodbye to my siblings-in-law and took a solo trip to Clearwater beach. I kicked up seashells and took seabird pictures for a while, basking in the goddamn gray skies and cold wind for the last time until who knows when. For lunch I met Kat and her dad at the original Frenchy's for grouper sandwiches. Seasoned exactly - I mean, effing exactly - right, flaky, tender, and delicious, these are the best grouper sammiches you're going to find.
After lunch, Kat and I dropped in to visit her paternal grandmother ("Granny") to visit for a while before spending some more time on the beach, where she soaked up cloud-filtered rays and I looked for cool crap that washes up on beaches.
Pictured: Cool crap that washes up on beaches.
We went out for dinner with the 'rents that night at Cafe Luna Bistro in St. Pete. It was disappointing. Kat's entree was superb, but I think I can safely say that aside from that, the entirety of the visit can conservatively be summed up as "meh." Service was sub-par, entrees were bland, tomatoes were white, and our reservation was honored about twenty minutes late.
Tuesday was our last, brief day in Florida. I had said goodbye to my father-in-law the night before, as he was leaving for work at a time of day largely reserved for paper delivery and shameful departures from the bedrooms of one-night stands.
I did get up early enough to go out to breakfast with my mother-in-law, her mother, and Katherine at Yanny's, a pretty fantastic breakfast joint in Clearwater. I had a corned beef hash (with house roasted corned beef) that was pretty damn good, and had some bites of their acclaimed French toast. Both were superb. While the food was good, and the company was wonderful, the high point was the serendipitous selection of my coffee cup:
If you own this cup in Seattle, you're a douchebag.
My mother-in-law dropped us off at the airport after breakfast. More pills were consumed, but this didn't help me much, as I was well rested, and as the wear on the plane's interior indicated that it was old. It still had ashtrays in the armrests. That kind of old. Lightbulbs were burnt out, paint was chipped, and I'm pretty sure the thing ran on steam.
Luckily, after our layover, we traded up to a newer plane, and had our individual TV screens returned to us. This time, though, the selection of viewing options was very limited, and almost all of it cost money. I contented myself with cartoon shows which had characters who had similar expressions to me while flying.
"My brain...my heart..."
I've had worse trips. The one where I went to the hospital for food poisoning comes to mind. It's always good to get together with the family, and I sure as hell needed some time away from Washington.
And now...more pictures with fun captions!!!
We got on the circus history bandwagon. Literally. We climbed on this bandwagon. Security officers were not pleased.
The third most fun word ever: calliope.
I didn't have the heart to tell her the horse was fake.
An actual clown car! It's still roomier than a Chevy Aveo.
Sweater: check. Wind-blown hair: check. Florida being a deceitful jerk: check.
Our ballroom is 90% less impressive.
The only point in having this sidewalk is to intimidate delivery people. I accomplish the same goal with an AR-15 assault rifle.
Art!!!
*cough* Bullshit! *cough*
Statue commemorating those fisherman lost at sea. They should put its image on every box of fishsticks.
A pelican!
And a pelican't. Or is it a peliwon't?
From Dali's "bench" series.
Reflections equal immediately awesome pictures.
This is a bird on the beach. This picture is one of thousands I took of it. I need help. Seriously. Please...call somebody.
If you're gonna eat clams, eat 'em fresh.
A pelican gliding is slightly more graceful than an El Camino driving through a mall.
If Dali designed the staircase and foyer of his own museum, it would likely look something like the combined dreams of this staircase and foyer.
"Your hat is nice, but I prefer the 'bib and armpit hands' look."
Phone pic taken from four feet in front of subject: unusably grainy. Phone pic taken from airplane window: freakin' sweet.
Spoiler alert: we didn't crash here and die in fire.
