Last night, in Charleston, I almost kept up with Matt's seemingly endless capacity for barbecue. Alas, tonight, I was defeated and had to go with the fried chicken basket ... I'm blaming it on the 30oz margarita. Anyway, Pineapple Willy's produced some good ribs, meat melting off the bone, but the sauce was lacking a bit ...
We picked up some fireworks on the way through Georgia and thought we'd put them to good use on the beach. Our cab driver (not the one named Yoda -- no I'm not kidding) let us know that fireworks + beach = jail, along with suggestions on how to use an M80 to deter would-be home invaders. Anyway, we did the obligatory sparkler writing, followed by Matt's fire dancing, and finally decided to appease the natives and set me on fire with 30 feet of fuse ... check out the pics below!
I have a strange fascination with waffles. When I saw my first Waffle House in southern Florida years ago, I asked why no one had ever told me about this before. I mean, seriously, everyone can make a pancake. Dedicating yourself to waffles is a special devotion to the gridded breakfast.
So on our way out of Panama City Beach, we stopped at one of the five Waffle Houses that garnish the highway. Bam. $6 breakfast with all the trimmings.
Despite the young, touring church camp evangelists we ha dour meal and drove awaya... only to make a bathroom stop shortly thereafter. I;m undecided if these events are connected. I love waffles no matter the answer,
Headed out thinking that Tampa was our most likely destination ... but after looking at the map & calendar, we're rerouting to Panama City to check out the oil spill. And by oil spill I mean the aftermath of a weekend of drunk skanks spilling suntan lotion. Anyway, here some shots from the road ... we got caught in pretty serious thunderstorm just before Tallahassee and pulled over for a few ... we could barely see 50 feet at one point. Anyway, we're a few minutes behind schedule but with Matt at the wheel, we'll make it up pretty quick.
Later, Georgia, you just don't rate.