Recently my hometown of Beaufort in Carteret County began hanging banners from the streetlights with the slogan “Delightfully Different since 1709.” Seeing this, my mind got to pondering the reasons behind this slogan.
Maybe it’s the guy who sits in front of Piggly Wiggly and plays guitar while singing to cars as they pass.
Maybe it’s the fact that Blackbeard, one of the most dreaded pirates, had a house in Beaufort, that still exists today. Despite numerous legends that it is haunted, and a bloodstain remaining on the stairwell, the house is privately owned.
Maybe it’s the 300-year-old Graveyard that’s also been voted one of the top 50 most romantic places in NC. A friend of mine actually got married inside.
Maybe it’s the Hardees that still sells fried chicken, when most Hardees now a days focus just on the thickburgers.
Maybe it’s the Pirate Festival, where pirates re-enact storming ashore, fighting with townsfolk, etc.
Maybe it’s the wild horses you can spot along the waterfront just across the waterway on Carrot Island.
Maybe, just maybe, my sarcasm was undeserved, and Beaufort is actually “Delightfully Different Since 1709”
Unless you get caught in traffic by that old drawbridge.
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
Out the door
We're so over.
Fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice shame on me.
Don't try to deny it. You promised only a 10% of rain yesterday, AND that it would arrive in the late evening. I got stuck on campus having biked with no way of keeping my backpack dry. And damp shoes. Your radar that morning was as blank as my mind in a chemistry class.
Then today you had the audacity to promise 60 degree weather still. I saw through your facade as soon as I stepped outside, but my need to get to class prompted me to brave the cold and deal with it.
We are through Weather Channel (aka Weather.com). Your bookmark I have deleted. WITN Weather has moved in its place, and may I say she has a far better sense of humor than you.
Maybe if you're lucky, Taylor Swift will write about how you wronged me and are now by yourself.
Fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice shame on me.
Don't try to deny it. You promised only a 10% of rain yesterday, AND that it would arrive in the late evening. I got stuck on campus having biked with no way of keeping my backpack dry. And damp shoes. Your radar that morning was as blank as my mind in a chemistry class.
Then today you had the audacity to promise 60 degree weather still. I saw through your facade as soon as I stepped outside, but my need to get to class prompted me to brave the cold and deal with it.
We are through Weather Channel (aka Weather.com). Your bookmark I have deleted. WITN Weather has moved in its place, and may I say she has a far better sense of humor than you.
Maybe if you're lucky, Taylor Swift will write about how you wronged me and are now by yourself.
Monday, February 22, 2010
First sticky on the fridge
Nothing.
Then sound pierces nothingness. I swing my hand out from my cocoon and silence the sound, then I pull my hand back into its shell. I remain on the edge of nothingness until finally willpower forces me out from under the covers. Slipping into some slippers, I pad my way across the floor and open my blinds.
As my feet work in tandem, I make my way through my living space, and I walk into the kitchen. Stopping in front of the fridge I ignore the countless magnets, the dinosaur drawing, even the garfield cat magnet sitting coyly on the top looking down at me.
But my attention does come to rest on a new note, that while still waking up, my mind takes moments to realize is new. Scribbled on the note I find the message
"Ate the last of the pancakes
Take the trash out on your way down"
Heaving a giant sigh at this gross injustice, I reach for a box of cereal, even though its cold goodness is not why I finally drug myself out of bed.
My fridge, once an expression of all things me and my brothers, has now become a crux on how my morning starts, and ultimately life.
Maybe tomorrow life will start off on a better foot, with a side of flapjacks.
Then sound pierces nothingness. I swing my hand out from my cocoon and silence the sound, then I pull my hand back into its shell. I remain on the edge of nothingness until finally willpower forces me out from under the covers. Slipping into some slippers, I pad my way across the floor and open my blinds.
As my feet work in tandem, I make my way through my living space, and I walk into the kitchen. Stopping in front of the fridge I ignore the countless magnets, the dinosaur drawing, even the garfield cat magnet sitting coyly on the top looking down at me.
But my attention does come to rest on a new note, that while still waking up, my mind takes moments to realize is new. Scribbled on the note I find the message
"Ate the last of the pancakes
Take the trash out on your way down"
Heaving a giant sigh at this gross injustice, I reach for a box of cereal, even though its cold goodness is not why I finally drug myself out of bed.
My fridge, once an expression of all things me and my brothers, has now become a crux on how my morning starts, and ultimately life.
Maybe tomorrow life will start off on a better foot, with a side of flapjacks.
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