“Radio Double-Listener Done Singly”

Was switch-listening

to Elderski* and Gators

both came up with wins!


  • (Larry Elder, a conservative Libertarian with light brown fingers, and the University of Florida Gators’ men’s basketball team, which unlike The Great Elderski, well may have trouble winning its schedule – seems the team forgot how to pour in a near double-dime’s worth of three-pointers after reaching the Associated Press’ top five rankings and now lies humbled and in danger of giving the sad football team – this year’s version! – a run for the cellar.)

“Palindromic* Sub Shop*”

a ‘palindromic’

sandwich shop “sobiks” ruined

what once was a swamp


  • (Not really a palindrome: Sobik’s Sub Shop – a family member’s shop in Sanford, Florida, a few miles away from most of the rest of the local franchise, calls itself Skibo’s Sub Shop: hence my near-miss nomer.  The point – in the middle 1970s with Jack Hannah’s help Sanford’s municipal zoo moved from downtown to what had been designed to be a botanical garden (with compatible animal displays) along the swampy southern coast of 11-mile long and 4-mile wide Lake Monroe.  Trouble: most of the animals – including an elephant purchased for the property by the aforementioned Sobik’s Subs, was highly inappropriate for the location.  Even the planned for hippopotamus had neither the river nor the aquatic plants.  Hanna’s participation was peripheral, but he did become in name at least zoological park director for a brief time.  The park is way out of town, almost near the Interstate – which technically is an IntrAstate, since I-4 does not cross a state line but goes from Daytona Beach to Tampa – with appropriate bends towards Sanford and a most inappropriate and now plagued with a decade of Ultimate Improvement through the heart of Downtown Orlando.  The heffalump, the hippo, the interstate all are creatures of the Unintended Consequence Law.  One wonders, however, which wag found Skibo’s acceptable – and why – for the name of another of the same family’s shop in downtown Sanford.  The one out on US 17-92’s four-lane city North South route into Orlando had the Skibo name; the one downtown had the misfortune of being in too large a shop – now the home of the relocated Colonial Room breakfast and lunch – and formerly dinner, too! – institution, and thus died unmourned and mostly unloved.  One wonders further, however, if the gift pachyderm approves. I was privileged to stain my last set of Marine Corps camouflage utility tousers with mud past my eyebrows taking pictures of The Central Florida Botanical and Zoological Park fully a year before it came into being.  From then-high-banked US 17-92 in its high-speed two-lane iteration, its 90 mph-capable many curves following Lake Monroe later truncated to chop speed, to the site of a former – and fabled – turn-of-the-century (last one, not this!) amusement park with a just-dug pool and a dance-and-picnic pavilion,  I was quite proud to slide, slither, hack and trade bites with ‘skeeters and listen for gators and other reptillian forms – better smelt than heard! – and come back to the Snafu Herald newsroom reeking and dripping to drop off my film and accede to the demand I go home and shower before returning to write my copy.  Such shower took the rest of the day and all night.)

“Wanna Light? Sure!”

Maybe I will have

light to help ‘slow suicides’

‘do’ themselves sooner.*


  • (The astounding number of not just homeless and homeless-looking people who come upon me and ask either “have a light?” or “got smokes?” just because I look like the bum I really play on life’s stage continues to amaze me.  Nope, is my usual answer, though often in is preceded by “Get that damn coffin nail outta my face if you wanna talk to me!”  But after thought – name of a favored newspaper editorial columnists offerings – I have come to the conclusion I might be doing myself a disservice:  should I carry a lighter and offer its use freely and often how much quicker might I hasten the “slow suicides” to their sought-after reward? A two-puff conundrum to be sure.)

“Share-A-Cold Set Heard From”


‘The Deuce’ back from Jolly Ol’e:

she and mom share colds*!


  • (Emerson, near Doctor, and arrived recently from Mother Tongue Isle and her mom just last week told me she contracted her nasty cold over the transatlantic – alack and alas no longer by cable – telephonically.  He who must not go running after colds now has twice the fun.  Doctor her mom and Em, go sans stethoscope into our worlds but so far each has declined the offer of fresh ginger or lemon grass.  My parsley still shivvers, however. Need I begin growing feverfew?)

“Closer Than ‘Fore'”

Sense of ‘five-boding’

hops up on my tired ol’e id

and snarls: ‘Watcher Six!’


  • (This written just an hour before opening Bruce Jewett’s commentary on my latest work in haiku to mention his mastership.  He makes oblique to Leatherheadedness we share with not so many others.  Was he painting my timestream or was I, presaged, into his?  A two-brew conundrum!)