Venice of the Atlantic
The day after Christmas my family and I went on a splendid tour through the Intracoastal Waterway in Ft. Lauderdale. The boat we took is actually a water taxi intended for mass transit. But like the WA State Ferries, $3.50 and a vibrant imagination makes it a damn good cruise.
The houses on the waterway are enormous and owned by famous people. The boat captain rattled off the occupants of each mansion along with its market price. Bruce Willis' $11 Million Key West villa complete with 110' yacht. The dude who started Wendy's restaurants and his $8 M glass-fronted abode. I think this running dialog was intended to impress us, but it made me uncomfortable on several levels. I have never felt so white trash in my life, with all these people hanging their heads over the side of the boat and taking digital pictures of people's living quarters, all "ooohing" and "ahhhhing". It was... tacky.
Being a Pisces and former Mermaid, I went on the journey to experience the waterway, which reminds me fondly of the Seattle houseboat community I used to be a part of. Based on Ft. Lauderdale's nickname, I guess the waterway would have reminded me of Venice had I ever been there.
The weather was outstanding and the landscape lush and verdant. I wish I had headphones on and could listen to big guitars while slipping quietly through the green water. The iguanas dozed on sunny fence rails. Palm trees were wrapped in red and white lights like giant candy canes sticking out of the baked earth. Stained glass windows, floating gardens, alabaster mermaid statues lined both banks of the channel. These sights make my heart skip.
I couldn't give a rats ass that J-Lo paid $14 M for the platinum-roofed palace she enjoys once yearly. It seems to me the money could be put to better use, and if they can't come up with anything good, I've got a few ideas.
I don't get the point of spending $250,000 on slate stepping stones salvaged from the fall of Rome, shipped across the world via carbon-belching freight liners. Especially when you have to tell everyone who treads upon them that they are imported stones at $8,000 each, and not just low-class shale from Home Depot for a buck a pound.
That kind of lifestyle is exorbitantly wasteful. I'm all about comfort, and quality, and hell -- a little luxury never hurt anyone. But the funds frittered away on diamond toilet seats just proves how out-of-touch with the world one can be, given enough fame and fortune.
I guess it takes an evolved soul to find your own definition of "enough" and dwell there, putting the remainder of your resources towards goals loftier than bar stools made from endangered whale penises (true story).
I didn't intend for the entry to go down this road, but here we are. I simply wanted to post some pretty pictures. It's just hard to walk down my street and see men and women sleeping in doorways under a cardboard box -- while a mile away Bill Gates walks on his private beach made from imported pink Hawaiian sand -- and not wonder if there's something wrong with this world.
You can click on the thumbnails to enlarge if you like. I would have put them in my gallery, but they're just silly vacation snapshots taken with the heavy hand of a Dramamine-drunk tourist. Enjoy.
