Musings about Edward Gorey or Another reason to visit Cape Cod

The World of Edward Gorey by Clifford Ross and Karen Wilkin (2002). This book is a MUST for all Gorey fans. It contains numerous illustrations, showing the Gorey humor, and an insightful interview by artist Clifford Ross and an essay by art critic Karen Wilkin. For me, Gorey has that appealing quirky humor that many viewers remember from his introductions to the PBS mystery series. A series of odd scenes juxtaposed—people in black having cocktails on a lawn while a dead man slides into a pond. A lady sighs atop a building while police inspectors beam their flashlights on the ground. . . . Wilkin characterizes Gorey’s stories as “disorienting,” not macabre or grotesque but more like “Victorian nonsense.”

The book provides an overview of many of Gorey’s works--the odd collection of drawings where boundaries are blurred between animate and inanimate, humans and beasts. Take the Doubtful Guest, a penguin-esque creature with a red and white scarf and sneakers, who arrived 17 years earlier in one household. . . .where it continued to reside. Sound like any of your guests? Or the curious Gashlycrumb Tinies, an alphabet of disasters that happened to children (“C is for Clara who wasted away” with drawings of a small child whose arm then head falls off). Not to mention those numerous drawings of contented felines. The interview reveals a non-assuming Gorey, someone with whom you would like to spend an afternoon. For people like me who are fascinated by this world, Gorey’s house in Yarmouth Port, Mass., is open to the public.

One of Florida's Best-Kept Secrets

When I moved to the Melbourne area years, people in the know called it “Florida’s best-kept secret.” When I mention Melbourne, everyone assumes Australia. . . . .No, I explain, the “other” Melbourne. . . .

What I like is the small-town appeal , numerous high-tech companies and a university combined with the coastal environment. We have wide beaches, many of which are nesting grounds for sea turtles, and the city lies on the Indian River Lagoon, the most diverse estuary in North America.

Other coastal communities offer more activities (yes, I would like more restaurants, tango halls and museums but we take vacations for that), but on a daily basis we have sea breezes, bike and pedestrian paths along waterways and spectacular sunrises and sunsets. Maybe not as many as St. Exupéry’s Little Prince claimed to have seen in one day from his tiny planet. . . .

And we are in the midst of a recession. But all that is missing is that critical mass (and some much-needed funding) and a smart-growth policy to get innovative projects launched and still maintain the identity of what has been one of Florida’s best-kept secrets.

Morning Run or Musings from the Back of the Pack

Stephen Kiprotich of Uganda won the marathon at the London Olympics Sunday with a time of 2 hours, 8 minutes and 1 second. . . . How many hours of training? Pairs of shoes? Anecdotes? I was always at the back of the pack on those morning or afternoon runs. . . .

Years ago, the morning run with the Florida Track Club in Gainesville took us from the track, along Southwest 34th Street , by Lake Alice and to the old museum. Most runners did a second loop. The afternoon run usually went through University of Florida agricultural test fields beyond No Name Road, through a pig farm and past houses with lots of mean dogs. Any of you beginning runners can empathize—you have barely enough energy to complete the run and hope you will not have one more, hill, curb or untied shoelace. Plus, many of the people on these runs were Olympians or world or national champions—Frank Shorter, Jack Bacheler, Marty Liquori, Jeff Galloway, Dick Endris, Barry Brown, John Parker, Ken Misner and Byron Dyce. . . to name a few. I was so far at the back of the pack that I only learned of the memorable moments much later (my sister Margaret was a distance runner and kept the pace). Why Jerry perfected his elephant call. What happened to the new guy who challenged Jack to a fast-paced workout. Who carried the eggs to throw at swerving drivers. And who left the fake rubber snake on the running trail. . . . I would love to interview Kiprotich and hear his training anecdotes.

Summer will be hot, but not just anything goes on the Côte d’Azur

“Summer will be Hot,” Performed by Eric Charden Hey Even if it rains, it will be a hot summer In t-shirts, bathing suits From the Cote d’Azur to Saint Malo "L'été s'ra chaud" Hey Même s'il pleut l'été s'ra chaud, Dans les t-shirts dans les maillots, D'la Côte d'Azur à Saint-Malo Summers on the Côte d’Azur evoke topless beaches, a glass of rosé and a dip in the Mediterranean at the end of the day . . . pebble beaches . . . and the ubiquitous dog! But wait. . . a recent article the Nice Matin pointed out rules and regulations and fines.

For example, indecent exposure (bare chest or bathing suit) in town can lead to a 38-euro fine. And there is a reason for this. Some years ago, seaside business owners complained—scantily clad beachgoers walking around town were driving away business. Most likely, this was not in reference to supermodels. . . . And that glass of wine . . . . No drinking on the beaches in Nice between 8 p.m. and 5 a.m. However, right across the boardwalk, you have plenty of restaurants and bars, particularly in the Old City. A late-night dip in the sea. . . .That too carries a fine. In Nice, the beaches are closed between 10 p.m. and 7 a.m. (1,500-euro fine).

And the pooch—France, which is a dog-friendly country, has set limits (38-euro fine unless dogs are allowed, and 35-euro fine for dog litter). And probably the most surprising rule, you can be fined 38 euros for picking up a souvenir beach pebble. Although readers complained about the lack of restrictions on the towel-to-towel vendors, who tread among bathers, hawking massages or hats, sunglasses and bracelets, some cities now have rules that prohibit these activities.

Yes, it’s one hot summer. And as one reader pointed out, to enjoy a glass of wine or a beer on the beach in the evening and a dip in the sea would cost him 1500 + 38 euros in fines. Most likely, these rules will be nearly impossible to enforce. Still, you might want to keep some euros in change. . . .just in case you pocket that beach pebble without thinking. What do you think about restrictions? Photos: Crowded public beaches v. private beaches at Juan-les-Pins.

Musings - 2012 Olympics

It’s a good thing I am not involved in planning and organizing the Olympics because I would be worried about the $15-billion plus price tag, given the original $3.9-billion estimate and the recession. Have we lost sight of the earlier purpose of the Olympics with the pomp and circumstance of today’s ceremonies? Even the Cannes Film Festival has been substituting wine for champagne and pissaladière for fois gras. . . . An excellent article by Michael Joseph Gross in the June 2012 Vanity Fair retraces London’s campaign for the bid to host the Olympics. Findings of studies that opposed the bid pointed out with the exception of Barcelona, Olympic cities have not enjoyed post-game economic returns. And London would have to renounce social works projects to focus on game preparations. Not to mention the quirks in agreements—Heineken paid for exclusive rights to sell beer (hence no beer from the UK). But the dealings and controversies surrounding the Olympics shouldn’t detract from recognition of participants who devoted years of their lives to training. . . . 1948 – 4,104 athletes from 59 nations (~$1.17 million) 2012 – more than 10,000 athletes from ~ 205 countries ($15-billion+) And pissaladière is a good alternative anyway. . . . Here's an update on training costs:

So Many Saints, so little time on the Cote d'Azur

I got caught up in a procession last July when walking to the port to look at ocean-going yachts. Barefoot sailors in white and blue shirts carried a statue of a saint and followed a group of bagpipe players.

In the festival of Saint Peter, patron saint of fishermen, a procession winds throughout the old city of Antibes and ends up near a port where a wreath is throw to sea in honor of those who have lost their lives. But I had missed a similar festival, that of Notre Dame (Our Lady) de Bon Port, in which the Virgin is taken from the Chapel of La Garoupe, known for its ex-votos and 10th-century nave, and also paraded by barefoot sailors.

The French have amped up summer festivities—patron saints, gastronomy or flowers—to appeal to tourists. I met up with my sailors later in the morning. They had deposited their saint and now were complaining about sore feet and . . . bagpipe music. I am sure we can find a patron saint to remedy these ills.

Too Much Information and Way too Many Words . . . Jane Tolbert Muses about US road signs

With today’s focus on concise writing (and text messages and tweets, which force us to abbreviations and emoticons), our US road signs continue to have a prolix style. Take a look at this sign in East Sandwich (beach):

Just across the street, another sign: beach sticker and parking times and dog details. In contrast, a sign at a port on the Cap d'Antibes conveys a significant amount of information.

Although Europe has been using pictograms since the late 1960s, and the US talked about it, our signs continue to carry too much information. One writer for Slate pointed out that most road users are English speakers. But 62-million tourists visited the US in 2011, according to the Department of Commerce. In South Florida, the main language seems to be Spanish. Are these signs with TMI more costly? Do they lead to more accidents as drivers crane their heads to read as they whizz by? Or do people actually read these signs? An article in a Cape Cod publication said no one noticed a misspelled road sign (Masphee instead of Mashpee). But maybe the argument about TMI would get you out of a parking ticket. Has anyone tried?