Hollywood!

Just another day in Hollywood… Florida, that is, a friendly greeting stolen from a guy on the street.

A miles-long canal lined with pristine, unoccupied luxury yachts stiffly ignores passing gawkers. An impossibly luminescent thirty-six story guitar casino glows forever into the starry sky, we are in the land of make believe. A cultural melting pot with a glamorous Latino vibe, exotic languages float freely filling the markets, beaches, nightclubs, our Midwestern accent blending imperfectly into the methodic pulse, we are mutually dazed and confused, it's all bueno. A Santana jazz ensemble electrifies a moonstruck night, tunes reminiscent of our favorite classic rock band from back home, the Florida version comes with salty salsa dancers and a funky charm, all Espanol, no Ingles. The melody has a sultry rhythm, we hum along in our mid-country twang, heads bobbing, shaking, toes tapping, no need to understand the language, music has its own lingo.

Palm trees and FEET long iguanas scattered everywhere, not the cute little fat-cheeked cuddly baby iguanas, big ugly viscous beasts! So unbelievably huge, in fact, an iguana pest control van visits our park every day, hmmm, brain trying to process, slowly, how many iguanas need to be controlled here? Do not want to know. Paul saw a family of the scaly reptiles climb a tree planted extremely close to our Home Sweet RV home. The thorny creatures watching Good Morning America through our camper window, checking out breakfast options. I..I am traumatized. I can't crack open the door, I can't escape the RV. I'm being held hostage by a band of nasty, stinking, smirking hoodlums with snappy tongues and very sharp claws. Armed with a broom, hat pulled down tight, scramble to the truck, racing past that infested green-eyed monster tree, those ugly lizards smile a toothy grin as I lunge into the truck, slam the door. Duke senses the threat, bobbing uncontrollably, he is afraid too. Sorry little buddy, move over.

A walk on the beach this gorgeous morn, stopped to chat with a seasoned, grizzled fisherman, heard a few stories, told a few then continued our stroll down the beach. A pair of dolphins glided past our RV this morning, quietly drifting along the shoreline, bobbing in unison, oblivious of humans captivated by their elegant cadence. Shark sighting from the shores of our campground, a savvy local reeled in a bonnethead shark about as long as my arm. He explained these bloodsuckers are shy and don't really care for the taste of humans…must be intelligent too. I have serious doubts about the accuracy of a fish tale told as I'm l staring down a gaping gullet jammed full of bloody shark teeth. Several surf boarders bobbing in the chilly waves, not much action today, must not be concerned with the completely harmless bonnethead predator lurking in the salty waves just beneath them. I'll gladly give Jaws all the room she/he needs, no toes in the water, keeping my backside fully planted in the sand, all body parts intact. The ocean hypnotizes a wandering mind, foamy tides methodically, magically shifting the coastline, hopefully those killer sharks are shifting too.

My favorite fitness instructor in the entire state of Florida, Matthew the smiling Frenchman, baldheaded, bearing a striking resemblance to Telly Savalas flaunting a Steve Martin Inspector Clouseau accent, Les Mills ala French confusion. Matthew didn't quite stick the beat, he spoke in tongues as the entire class was in a jumbled funk. The music sorta opera, rap, church organ with a Madonna wannabe thundering the boom box, an appropriate backdrop to our chaotic, jerky gyrations.

"Vait for it,. Woo woo"

"On, tua, tree"

"Everybodeeee vit me now"

"Squeeza the boot"

"Pooosh ups" (broad smile)

"Time for TORCHAIR!!"

A sweaty spectacle, not at all attractive. 

Paul maneuvers our gypsy entourage onto the lonely highway, focused on our next destination, navigator still reminiscing glamorous Hollywood, sinister wildlife and a smiling Frenchman in the rearview.