GUITAR DAD

One of my favorite restaurants is Tijuana Flats, a regional chain of laid-back Tex-Mex joints. And one of the most enjoyable aspects of my dining experience there has been accentuating the flavor of my refried-bean burrito with a little Scorned Woman hot sauce.
 
That is, until Tijuana Flats mysteriously stopped stocking this amazing sauce a few months ago. They must be out of their minds. I mean, they have what looks like hundreds of different hot sauces available. Would it have killed them to keep Scorned Woman on the shelves?
 
No worries. I quickly took matters into my own hands and ordered a three-bottle supply directly from the manufacturer. Now I've got plenty of this deliciously fiery liquid at my fingertips and ready for my homemade burritos. Hell, I might even sneak some into Tijuana Flats on my next visit.
 
As the Scorned Woman slogan declares, "Don't Get Mad – Get Even."

One of my favorite power trios is the Jon Spencer Blues Explosion. Super loud and distorted. Just two guitars and drums, plus some wacky-ass vocalizing. What's not to like about these guys?

The other morning, my wife and I dropped the kids at the babysitter's and headed downtown for a leisurely bike ride. After finding a spot for the van off peaceful Delaney Avenue (where we used to live) and unloading the bikes, we pedaled through Orlando's central business district and into leafy College Park. By the time we returned to the van, we had covered 10 miles or so. Not a major workout but an enjoyable one all the same.
 
A highlight for me was turning onto sleepy Clouser Avenue in College Park and riding by the bungalow once occupied by none other than Jack Kerouac. It was here, in this cozy little cottage, that Jack lived for a few months in 1957, just before his masterpiece On The Road catapulted him to worldwide fame. It was also here that he wrote the original manuscript of The Dharma Bums in just 11 days, or so the story goes.
 
Whenever I'm in the vicinity, I make the obligatory pilgrimage to Jack's old pad. It's nice to know that Orlando, theme park kingdom, enjoys its own extraordinary sliver of literary history.

It started as a simple assignment from my son's first-grade teacher. Create a small cardboard cutout of yourself, mail it to someone in another town, have them take pictures of it amid local scenery, and then share the photos with the class.
 
Who knew that "Flat Jackson" would indulge in the adventure of a lifetime?
 
Thanks to the generosity and ingenuity of Uncle Kerry and Aunt Mary in Phoenix, my son's cutout went mountain climbing, visited Arizona State University, enjoyed a beautiful sunset among the cacti, descended into the Grand Canyon, and even assisted with a dangerous high-altitude rescue.
 
It's true that a little computerized magic made many of these extraordinary events possible. But just look at the satisfied smile on Flat Jackson's face. Something tells me his class will be extremely impressed with his ability to so deftly maneuver Arizona's dramatic landscapes.
 
And to think he covered all this ground without food, water or sleep! Go get 'em Flat Jackson!

I usually read everything I can get my hands on. Books, magazines, newspapers. Even the brochures and pitch letters I receive in the mail.
 
One of my simple pleasures is dropping by the big bookstores to browse the magazine racks. And one of the most convenient locations is the giant Books-A-Million not far from my office, whose magazine display seems to stretch for miles. I probably stop by there once every couple of weeks to leaf through my favorite titles in travel, music, business, tech and so on.
 
So imagine my surprise yesterday when I arrived to find the place shuttered, empty, a ghost town. Another victim of the recession or the trend toward online book-buying.
 
There is no other big bookstore anywhere close to my office, so perusing a wide spectrum of periodicals over lunch is pretty much out of the question now.
 
I guess I'm partly to blame. I rarely bought anything there. It just served as a nice, comfortable place to burn 15 or 20 minutes.

See the entire "Good Night and Tough Luck" series of cartoons right here.

Our Labor Day weekend adventure to Deerfield Beach got off to a less-than-stellar start.

The weather was gray. Our hotel was jam-packed with boisterous extended families. Our room overlooked A1A, not the beach, and backed up to a noisy elevator shaft.
 
But we quickly overcame the petty annoyances. In fact, it was one of our best vacations ever.
 
We spent most of our time frolicking on the beach, swimming in the warm Atlantic and getting walloped by the sizable surf. My kids can't get enough of the waves, by the way. They love to lie on their bellies at the shoreline and get smashed by the oncoming rush of whitewater. My wife and I kept a close eye on them, especially as our little girl continued to be sucked out into the sea. She always emerged laughing, however, spitting out salt water and brushing the abundant sand from her hair.
 
Another highlight was walking the Deerfield Beach pier. From that vantage point, we could easily spot fish and particularly large stingrays cruising beneath the surface. As the sun emerged in all its sizzling glory, we made a jaunt down to Fort Lauderdale for lunch and a walk on its crazy-busy beach. Lots of fun indeed. It brought back memories for me of bygone trips to Fort "Liquor-dale" with my college buddies. (Actually, my recollection of those escapades is a bit fuzzy.)
 
To top it all off, we lucked onto a great kid's movie on TV one evening – "Surf’s Up." All the cool animated surfing action inspired my kids to jump into the waves with even more gusto than before. Which is exactly what we did the next morning before heading back home.
 
I think we all still have sand in our ears.

Growing up in North Carolina, I enjoyed access to all the Cheerwine I could ever want. It was never exactly my favorite soda, but I occasionally indulged in its fizzy, cherry goodness. Kind of like Dr. Pepper or Mr. Pibb, but not quite. Tastier actually.
 
Nowadays, living in Florida, I cannot put my hands on a cold can of Cheerwine for the life of me. That's because it's simply not sold anywhere in the state. The company that produces Cheerwine, located in sleepy Salisbury, N.C., keeps its distribution lines pretty limited, mostly serving the Carolinas, Georgia and a few select spots outside the region. Alas, Orlando's not among the chosen.
 
Thankfully, I picked up a 12-pack of this liquid deliciousness last month on my vacation in Charleston, S.C. My wife wondered what all the fuss was about. Then she took a few sips. Now my Iowa girl loves this flavorful southern concoction as much as I do. Of course my kids like it, too. They even enjoyed drinking a fair amount of it until we realized it contains lots of caffeine. Oops.
 
The problem now is there's only one can of Cheerwine left in my fridge. I want to be gracious and let my wife have it. But on the other hand, I really, really want it for myself. After all, I'm the one who had the foresight to buy the 12-pack in the first place, right?
 
That can won't be sitting there for long.
 
More about Cheerwine here.