August 2010 Archives

A couple random reasons for nearly not passing your State Vehicle Inspection :

1. the threads on your gas cap are not "big enough".  This actually happened to me last month and it was a first.  I'm there at the service station - a truly captive audience since my car and all my keys are 8 feet off the ground - and the guy's standing there with my inadequate gas cap in hand asking me if I want a new one or if I want to fail the inspection.  

"Well how much do you charge for a new cap?" I asked, and to myself "...that I suspect you now keep a handy inventory of around the corner!"   I suddenly felt like Clark Griswold after he drove the family truckster off the desert road and found himself in front of the shady mechanic who demanded all his money for the repairs:

Mechanic: Ain't never seen anyone so shit-all stupid as you driving off that road.
                             You musta got manure for your brains.

Clark: Yeah, well, we're from out of town. How much do I owe you?

Mechanic: How much you got?

Clark: No, I'm asking how much the repairs are.

Mechanic: I'm asking how much you got!

Clark: You're out of your mind. Look, I don't have time to fool around so how much is

                    it?

Mechanic: All of it, boy!

Clark: What does the sheriff think of your business practice?

[Mechanic laughs and shows his sheriff's badge]

So I paid the $8.99 for the new and improved gas cap that looked oddly similar to my old one and went on my way with my passing grade.

2. your horn is too weak.  I guess I can understand this one because it's probably a safety issue, but when it happened to Eddy this morning he was a bit at a loss as to what to do next...  So he came to Mechanic Mikie and what ensued should really be the next entry on "There, I Fixed It.com" although since there was no duct tape invovled I think that's an automatic dismissal:

          Eddy: So they said my truck wouldn't pass inspection with the horn not working... Got
                   any ideas?
          Mikie: Have you checked the connections?  Let's do that first...
                    [They check the connections, realizing the horn is shot] 
          Mikie: I think I've got an idea... 
          Eddy: [Giggling as he knows with Mikie that could mean anything] Okay!

The end result?  Eddy's vehicle is now equipped with a boat horn...  Guess that's what happens when you go to a nautical store to outfit a truck...  And in case you're wondering if that sort of thing is acceptable per the Texas Department of Public Safety, just ask newly legal driver Eddy to give you a demo!

nau-ti-cal  (nôt-kl)

 

It's sorta funny the evolution that naturally occurs when doing a major renovation on a building that's pretty much a shell.  Michael and I were talking/reminiscing about the steps we've taken as we continue to work on the new-old building for the shop - here we are 18 months into it and although we've come a long way, there's still a LOT to do... 

Basically, we've done stuff in order of what naturally seemed the most important:

1. shelter: get the thing stabilized and make sure it doesn't fall on our heads.  start by manually pumping off the 30,000 gallons of water on the roof.  check.
2. water: be able to successfully flush...  which may or may not require (in our case, it did) the additional assistance of a very resourceful friend who's simply not afraid to get dirty... I'm talkin' sewer pipe dirty here and that's a whooooole different breed of dirty... check.
3. electricity: although not totally essential to survival, being able to plug in a cell phone charger, laptop and eventually credit card machine do come in quite handy when trying to operate a legit biz.  West End Electric - check plus.
4. climate control: HOLY. FREAKING. COW.  I LOVE YOU. 

Since September 13th, 2008 we haven't had climate control.  I know a lot of folks have been in the same boat so I certainly can't complain - in fact, I will readily admit that it truly hasn't been that bad.  I mean our former East End house was built well before climate control of any kind existed - shoot it was built before water ran through any pipes.  So really it was designed with balmy Gulf Coast summers in mind - lots of windows, shaded porches, and hallways that shot straight through the center of the house so air circulation was a cinch. 

But, since we sold the house (small amount of sadness, but we know she's in good hands with the new owners)  and have continued work at the new shop sans such fancy advancements like "windows that open" or "climate control", many people have looked at us like we're crazy.  And I now realize they were right.  All of them.

On Wednesday, our office took a giant leap into the 19th century and became air conditioned.  Check, check and check.  Man, is it glorious.  It's our one little personal piece of heaven now - aside from our fave watering hole next door, of course.  But they insist on you wearing pants over there, so it's not completely the same.  (I don't think Will was privy to that memo...) 

All I can say is that we are truly blessed.  And man is my husband handy...

Yikes.  Beware of strange things today.  As if things could get stranger on this sandbar.

It got me thinking.  What strange things have I experienced since living in Galveston?  For your reading pleasure, here's a few...

One Xmas Eve the lady and I were traveling down our street with a friend returning from an errand and lo and behold what did appear (nope, not Santa and his magic reindeer)?  Coyotes.  In the middle of our street.  In the Silk Stocking District.  Classic.

And then there's the time I played chicken (you know the driving game where you drive toward one another and whoever swerves away is the chicken) with "wheel-chair Ricky" (local homeless fella prior to the storm) at a gas station.  Sucker wouldn't move as I pulled in to grab some gas.  He just sat there, so I kept inching closer to him until he realized (in his stupor) that he wasn't winning against Mr.  F-150.  Just silly.

Watching a funnel cloud from our gay-bour's front porch as it danced out over the Gulf (it, in fact, made its way on land and tore apart Dolphin World on the Seawall).  Sheesh.

Shortly after we moved into our house there was a spell that I constantly woke at 3 a.m. every night for months it seems.  I never quite figured out why.  Even after walking through the house to see if I was supposed to "find" something or someone.  Crazy.

And finally, last Halloween night I watched a young man get tazed.  Not once.  But twice.  Now that was a strange night.  Strange indeed.

Now.  Share with us your strange shenanigans.
 

It's official.  I'm over it.  Being pregnant that is.  And I believe the worst is about to hit because I'm now officially 30 weeks along.  Which means I still have 10 more to go.

 

Aside from minor edema, for the first time ever I now have heartburn (my deepest sympathies to regular sufferers - I truly had no idea).  And my hips and back hurt all the time.  What might be the worst for me: I come from a long line of hyperactive folks so facing difficulty in such mundane tasks as, uh, I don't know - moving - is a tad annoying.  Bending over?  Well, let's just say that no one wants to see that, and that it's getting close to a no-go. 

 

The cherry on top: I've determined that I now look like a bloated snowman.  (Mondo says I'm adorable, but he kinda has to say that).  And while channeling the stunning visage of said holiday character, did I mention, it's soooooo hhhooootttt?!

 

Ok, ok.  I'm done griping about my current ailments.  Now, for an interesting observation I've made over the past 30 weeks.  Folks sure are squirrelly about pregnancy and babies, and I'm not just talking about the knock-down, drag-out fights over co-sleeping vs. crying it out.  I think I can speak for both Mondo and myself when I say that you can learn a lot about people by how they react to the prospects of baby names and colors.

 

Names

As many of you may have noticed, I've never mentioned names for Piglet.  There's a reason.  Because we're actually taking some great advice:  We're not telling anyone.  Actually, we haven't decided on a name, but we're also not telling anyone because opinions are like, well, you know the saying . . . everyone's got one.  We do have a list narrowed to 5 names. 

 

Oftentimes when people ask about names, if we say anything other than we haven't picked a name, they get defensive and sometimes angry.  (Squirrelly I tell ya).  Regardless of if we say that we don't know or that we're not sharing, we get peppered with names, "tips," and of course the list of what we should absolutely not name Piglet.  We really like all 5 of our choices, and each has a very special meaning to us, so we don't want that ruined inadvertently because "So-and-so named their Pekinese that" or "I went to high school with a so-and-so and they were a jerk." 

 

Mainly, we think the minute we see Piglet, we'll know the right name.  I'll give a hint though:  none of the 5 are in the top 300 names for 2009.  (Disclaimer:  for Piglet relatives who do know the 5 names in consideration, a reminder that you swore an oath).

 
The Pink Nightmare 

While I'm not planning on sharing names, as promised, I will post pictures of the nursery and bedding very soon.  It's just not finished yet.  Here's what I can tell you about both the nursery and Piglet's future attire: there will be limited to zero pink.  Seriously.  Some of you may not be too shocked as I alluded to this before, and we're sticking to it. 

 

Before folks start going postal, here's the deal:  We don't hate pink.  We're just not fans.  And we certainly don't hate your pink.  We just don't really "do" pink at casa de Mondo.  Ok, ok, so I also bristle at the rapidly increasing commercialization of gender.  (Anyone seen the pink toy vacuum cleaner?  Saw it at our Target recently. For reals). 

 

Mostly, we just don't like pink.  If at some point Piglet goes gaga for pink, so be it.  For now, she won't know the difference.

 

For all of our dear friends and family who are overwrought with fear, doubt, and sheer sorrow that we don't want to go all pink princess for Piglet.  Have no fear.   

 

Historically, pink was the color for boys until roughly - get this- the 1940's!  Apparently pink was all boy back in the day because it was related to the color red, a more masculine, active color.  So, blue was for girls, a more subdued color and related to the Virgin Mary.  I got a good chuckle thinking of some of Gtown's historical grand figures decked out in pink.  (Think Colonel Moody or Ike Kempner).

 

Oh yeah, and both boys and girls wore dresses back in the day too.  So, she'll be fine.  Pinky swear.

 

We're not totally militant about it though.  You'll see.  There will be some pink in the nursery. 

 

I'm quite certain that even if strangers mistake her for a boy because we have not donned her in a hot pink, bedazzled princess fedora, she'll get over it.  I did.  I was pretty much bald until I was three and was clothed in a whole range of hues.

 

Besides, this is Galveston.  Land of the eccentric.  The accepted.  The avant-garde.  And if Gail Borden could ride around town on a pet bull, then I think we can handle a Piglet without pink.

Growing up, my Grandfather had three pieces of advice that echoed in my ears from the time I was 5 years old until his death 2 years ago. 

1. Marry a good Catholic girl.

2. Join the Knights of Columbus.

3. Drive on the right hand side of the road.

Two of these wishes, I have completely ignored.  The third, i try to do my best with.  However, the second is the subject of which this blog addresses.  Grandpa was very proud to be a fourth degree Knight and wanted dearly for his children and grandchildren to be involved with and support the organization. 

 

 

 

Well, i found my way to fulfill this wish.... sort of.

 

 

 

 

 

The first friday of every month at 7:30pm, the local Knights of Columbus (1912 Winnie) hosts a Texas Holdem poker tournament.  It is $25 to enter and pizza and beer (tips encouraged) is supplied for free.  So September 3rd, if you're not busy (and not scared), I'll see you at the Knights of Columbus!

 

 

 

 

 

Although I had another title picked out for this post, Michael suggested it might be "borderline shady" so, being a good wifie I gave in...  This is the fifth edition of IBC's monthly column for Galveston Monthly.  You can pick up a free Galveston Monthly at many local locations across the Island.

Usually Sunday mornings involve a whole lot of nothing for us Culpeppers.  Feed the dogs (or suffer the consequences which include cold, wet noses contacting any exposed facial skin followed by loud, never.ending.barking), go back to bed, and eventually open up the Nautical shop at 11am. 

This Sunday morning, however we did things a bit differently.  I wanted to share a little bit about one of our personal favorite "touristy" things to do on the Island, but to be honest, it had been a while since the last time we had the opportunity to ride the "Treasure Isle Tour Train" so I wanted a refresher first.  (This being the Sunday morning after a Galveston Artwalk, it was especially challenging to rouse ourselves for the task at hand, but it was truly worth the effort!)

The unmistakable pink Treasure Isle Tour Train has been operating on the Island since 1962 - our friendly driver and tour guide, David, was quick to point out that in 48 years of operation, the Tour Train has never missed a year of service!  Although I was sad to learn that the locomotive-looking Jeep that used to pull the "train" was lost to Hurricane Ike's floodwaters in 2008, it doesn't seem to have dampened the spirit - or enjoyment of the Tour Train experience one bit.

At 9:30am, the sun was already heating things up when we left the pickup/drop-off station at 25^th and Seawall to begin the tour, but the steady breeze we enjoyed for the rest of the trip made the ride pretty darn comfortable.  The Tour Train began its journey along the historic Seawall with a recorded narrative of the Island's historic beginnings, notable landmarks, and local facts and trivia thrown in live by tour guide David.  It wound through the Island's historic districts and past some of the oldest homes, churches and noteworthy sites including the 1839 Samuel May Williams Home (36^th & Ave P), the Texas Heroes Monument  (*I beg to differ with this link's 1st line description of "formerly-great", just for the record) @ 25^th & Broadway, and along the waterfront at Pier 21 for a glimpse of the 1877 Tall Ship Elissa.

Overall, the tour lasts roughly an hour and 45 minutes, give or take a bit depending on traffic.  It truly has something for everyone - information for the history buffs, great scenery for the shutter bugs, and for the kiddos, well who wouldn't have fun riding an open-air train?!  There's even a brief pit stop downtown at one of my favorite places - MOD coffeehouse if you want something to sip on for the 2^nd half of the ride.

Before bidding farewell to the pink train, David mentioned to me that he's had long time Galvestonians admit that they too learned something new about this great place we call home while aboard the Treasure Isle Tour Train.  I know I sure did when I learned how one solitary drummer was instrumental in the successful 4' raising of Trinity Church (22^nd & Winnie) in the early 1900s. 

So whether you're visiting Galveston or you're a local looking for something fun to do on any given day of the week, think pink and hop on board the Tour Train.

What are some of your favorite Gtown touristy things to do?  

So IBC received an email this week from a used-to-be-frequenter of the Island who hadn't been back since Ike struck.  He informed us that he and his family were traveling down for the weekend and they wanted to know where to stop to eat and drink that wasn't a tourist bother.  After some discussion I emailed him back with a few spots to check out that most tourists may not indulge in.

I mentioned that Postoffice Street between 20th and 25th would not disappoint (plenty to eat and drink along that stretch, including some of the neatest shops).

Shrimp "n" Stuff on Avenue O.

Sonny's at 19th and L (the quintessential hole-in-the-wall).

And Bistro LeCroy (which although on the Strand still seems to be a hidden delight).

And let's face it, when August rolls into town and the heat feels like you're walking through lava, all you want to do is find a nice cool place to sit and enjoy yourself with food and drink.

I know to find some of the local haunts it seems like you need a treasure map (even for this local), so I'm asking.  Where is your favorite local lookout?

 

Women (mostly) have been telling me that I will change - that the image of myself in my mind's eye will change . . . forever.   And I can feel this shift already, it's slight, but I can also feel the ominous future shift(s).  I mean, I'm not someone that necessarily believes in essential  experiences, but I don't see how this won't change me. 

 

The metanarrative of motherhood has loomed before me like an ominous cliff for years.  (I keep thinking of that famous picture of buffalo being chased over a precipice).  And the soul-sucking vacuum of "what it means to be a mother" and "good mothers vs. bad mothers" creeps into our house every evening when I let my mind go quiet (ok, a dull chatter is closer to reality).

 

So confession time.  (Don't worry, I'm not gonna go all Jenny McCarthy on you though do read her pregnancy book if you're going through your first pregnancy because there is a ton of stuff no one tells you.  Truly.  Like gross stuff.  Stop asking.  I won't tell you.  At least not on a blog).

 

I've been trying to imagine myself as a mother  and imagining Mondo and I as parents. Just as I gawked at myself in the mirror the morning of my wedding and announced "do I look like some dude's wife?!"  I sometimes have a hard time grappling with the fact that I'm going to be someone's mother.  I know Mondo is struggling a bit too, but I have no worries.  He's going to be an incredible dad; I've always known that about him.  In fact knowing this about him sealed the deal for me.

 

Recently my heart has been put to rest.  Finally something that speaks to us!  So, if you have not watched Away We Go, get thee immediately to Netflix.  And if you're reading this thinking "man, that is soooo last year. Where have they been?"  Go easy on me - we don't see movies much anymore (see the calendar of events on IBC's homepage for reasons why).  Here's the trailer if you haven't seen the flick, otherwise the rest of my post will have you crinkling your brow.

 

Basically this is my generation's pregnancy/baby movie (Knocked Up is a close second) which like other she's-having-my-baby films is also about growing up.  I recognized every person, including us, in the movie in our own journey thus far over the past almost 7 months (particularly this scene).  Mondo's overall judgment: "the most romantic movie I've ever seen."  Seriously.

 

In the film, Verona (mom-to-be) says, "you know, we don't have to stay here."  And her man/dad-to-be says, "Well, where would we go?"  It would be good to be near someone we know, she says.  So, secretly, I've agonized over the future of the Island.  Not-so-secretly, so has everyone else. 

 

It got me thinking a lot about the Island.  And being pregnant east of 61^st Street.  And the long road to recovery.  Hurricanes.  City Council.  The fact that we happen to lack both a curb and a sidewalk in front of our house.  The ghosts.  GCDN forums.  Teeth gnashing.  Human frailty.  Schools.  Setbacks.  Pot holes.  My mind goes onward.

 

But then it got me thinking about the Island.  Again. 

 

And 1839.  Because it's not Houston.  1900 Storm Survivors.  Ike Survivors.  The human spirit.  Crazy locals/Best friends.  Our soulful architecture.  Our soulful community.  The ghosts.  The art.  The profound beauty.  The profound heartbreak.  Island scuttlebutt.  Our little piece of history.  Our town.  Our Island.

 

Glen Campbell people!  Glen friggin' Campbell.

 

(So, Adrienne, take a deep breath).

 

We're not going anywhere.  Even though it's Africa-hot out right now.

---

 

Actually, its just a pair of 'em - lucky bulls, known as "toritos" and they were brought back from Peru by my good friend Annie.  Apparently these little guys are all over the rooftops of Peruvian homes and they are supposed to bring prosperity (yay!) and fertility (yikes!... and my apologies for the reference linked here!) to that household...  Maybe we'll just put the prosperous bull on the rooftop at the shop and let his fertile friend sit this one out...