Posted by: dharmabeachbum | June 16, 2013

Surfer missing after pursuing passion

A beachcomber must always be wary of lightning. When thunderheads move in from the ocean or push across the waterway, it’s time to head home, grab an oat soda, and enjoy the light show from the front stoop.

But there have been times that the fossil hunting is too good. Retreating tides expose massive shell beds. The temptation is too great to resist and, essentially, I put my life at risk by staying on the beach longer than I should. Anyone watching from a hotel balcony probably thought I was “crazy” to be out there.

Adrenaline can be like a drug.

No doubt Anderson Estep, 19, was looking for a rush when he carried his surfboard into the rough waters as Tropical Storm Andrea moved through the Grand Strand a little over a week ago. Estep disappeared shortly after entering the surf. His board washed ashore, but he hasn’t been seen since.

I’d been down to the beach that morning. Frankly, I’d rarely seen the surf so huge and choppy. Andrea’s strong winds pushed the waves atop one another, resulting in an undertow that was horrific. Ebbing waves tugged forcibly at my lower legs as I waited for a big tooth to slide down the sloped sand.

There were a few surfers up here on the north end of Myrtle Beach trying hard to make it out through the rough breakers, but nobody had any luck. I recall looking at one of them as he studied the waves from shore and thinking that he was “crazy” to even consider tempting fate. I thought briefly of warning him, then realized that he knew a hell of a lot more about the dynamics of those waters than I do.

A few hours later, the news broke that a local man had disappeared in North Myrtle Beach while surfing with a friend. As a newshound, I saw the story just after getting back from the beach. The website of a local television station reported that the man was missing after entering the water near Cherry Grove Pier, and I hoped that there was some kind of mistake. That he would show up alive and well somewhere else.

This past Thursday the local surfing community paid tribute to Estep with what is known as a “paddle out.” Roughly 100 of the tightly-knit group paddled just beyond the breakers and formed a circle as family and friends gathered on the Cherry Grove Pier and along shore. The ceremony was both beautiful and poignant as flowers were tossed into the ocean and everyone shared wonderful memories of a well-liked young man. A local pastor offered some comforting words.

Anderson Estep died doing something he loved to do. How can anyone fault or judge him for that? His passion for surfing was undeniable. His enthusiasm for life — admirable.

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Posted by: dharmabeachbum | June 10, 2013

Trashy streets, behavior no way to usher in Memorial Day

Blogger’s note: Last year on June 6, I wrote a blog, “Motorpsycho-rama too much drama.” What follows is its companion piece and I would respectfully suggest that one reads “Motorpsycho-rama…” to get a better understanding of the point-of-view from which I write. I suggested then that Atlantic Beach, Myrtle Beach and other Grand Strand communites coordinate their schedules and hold a single bike rally earlier in the month of May. My point then, as it is now, was that the Atlantic Beach Bikefest ends on Memorial Day, a time that should be set aside solely for remembering our nation’s fallen military heroes. Grand Strand activity coordinators should be reserving that last week in May for events that honor our war dead.

A month ago I smiled while sitting at the base of sand dunes, staring out over the greenish-blue ocean, and listening to the murmur of the coming storm. Locals are accustomed to the sound and for some, especially business owners, it means spring is about to kick in to full gear. The murmer grew to a roar as outer bands of the storm settled over the coast.

The Harley Davidson riders swept through the Grand Strand for a week and enjoyed all our area has to offer. By most accounts the spring rally went well. There were neither roadway fatalities nor violent crimes associated with it. Sure, there were traffic violations, noise ordinance violations, and some Hog riders who just don’t understand why those orange cones block off side streets leading through residential areas, but the front half of the storm blew over with no lasting damage to the area.

The storm’s eye gave the Grand Strand a brief reprieve from the constant thunder. The tranquility didn’t last more than a day or so until the second-half of the “system” slowly settled over the Strand.

The Atlantic Bikefest ushered in chaos. Yes, there were many well-meaning folks here who rightfully enjoyed themselves in a peaceful manner. The vast majority of participants were well behaved. Then the winds began to howl and there was a series of widely-reported indecent exposure incidents. A couple died when the motorcycle on which they were riding veered into the opposite lane after the bike’s operator allegedly lost control while swerving in and out of traffic. This kind of erratic maneuvering of cycles is prevalent throughout the Atlantic Beach Bikefest. Other fatal accidents followed. Seven people lost there lives in the area before the storm dissipated.

Demographics and defiance. That, largely, is the difference between the separate bike crowds. The Atlantic Bikefest cycle enthusiasts are younger than the Harley Riders in general. Some of the bikefest group visits here with a chip on their shoulders, feeling that Grand Strand locals don’t want them here.

The National Association for the Advancement of Colored People (NAACP) has worked hard to make them feel that way. A decade ago the NAACP sued Myrtle Beach for using what it believed to be an oppressive, one-way traffic pattern on Ocean Boulevard during the Atlantic Beach Bikefest. In addition, the organization accused the city of policing the two events differently. Since then, the NAACP has made discrimination claims against several area businesses, alleging that restaurant owners closed their properties or changed their business hours during the Atlantic Beach Bikefest.

I’m not saying that racism is non-existent here, but I do wonder where an organization like the NAACP thinks the money is coming from when it sues a municipality. It isn’t fair to hold an entire community responsible for the acts of a few. I reckon that’s what happens when the local branches of a civil rights organizations are run by Reverends who were most likely ordained after sending in three box tops from Captain Crunch breakfast cereals.

A friend and I did a walking tour of downtown Myrtle Beach this Memorial Day and our streets and parking lots were littered with trash. For the record, I didn’t see anyone from the NAACP out picking up trash from the streets that day. I reckon garbage detail isn’t high profile enough for the organization to consider. There’s no prestige in it.

Our town looked like we had just held a ticker tape parade with food wrappers, cans, bottles, cigarette packs and plastic bags having fallen from the sky. Did the Harley Riders leave trash along our roadways when they left town? Sure. But there is no comparison between their indiscretions and those of the Atlantic Bikefest participants. The Memorial Day weekend carnage was awful.

Let me ask you this, friends of all skin colors, is this any way to honor our fallen war heroes? No way. Or to put it as I walked through our litter-strewn Eden: “No f’n way.”

So, for the second year running, I’m calling for all Grand Strand communities to cooperate in the restructuring of our bike weeks. Let’s convince Atlantic Beach to move its festival to early May. My idealized proposal calls for the bike weeks to be held during the same 10-day period. Segregation, after all, ended long ago. Why doesn’t the Grand Strand take the forefront in promoting peace among all races? We could hold the events at the same time, ask neighboring beachside towns to the south to get even more involved, hold peace rallies from one end of Long Bay to the other, and celebrate together. There is no reason this proposal couldn’t work.

Anything is possible if we put our minds to it.

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Posted by: dharmabeachbum | June 3, 2013

Peace still possible on our pale blue dot

This is the first anniversary of my blog and I couldn’t be happier with my readership. Thank you so much for taking time from your busy schedules to read my ramblings.

I had the pleasure of seeing two of my readers, Tara and Kenneth Coggins from Gaffney, SC, Sunday morning on the beach. We chatted about the beach, fossil hunting, local politics and NASCAR among other things as we looked through a shell bed here on the north end of town. Miss Tara and Mr. Kenneth are good people and we’ve crossed footprints in the sand at least two years running. For me, it was really a nice moment and an appropriate way to mark the anniversary of starting my blog. I write because I love writing and because I love sharing points-of-view with others.

You know what else is cool? Reaching people throughout the world. WordPress (five out of five stars) provides me with statistics, including a map of the globe, complete with borders. Any country “hitting” on my site is colored according to my blog’s popularity in that country. I want to color in that map; ultimately I’d like to see those colors bleed across borders and obliterate them.

Borrowing a bit from the 1971 Coke commercial (here’s its youtube link http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ib-Qiyklq-Q ): I’d like to fill the world with hope and peaceful harmony. Naive? Extremely. Realistic? Nada. Possible for one beach bum? Nyet.

But this world is smaller than we think and we are all brothers and sisters. People everywhere have the same dreams for their families, the same desires for success (regardless of what success means to them as individuals), and the same survival instincts. We all look at the same azure sky, the same sun and moon and the same universe around us. It’s our governments, in large part, that create voids among our peoples. Wouldn’t it be a glorious if we could all live in peace, if we could tend to one another with goodwill, if governments weren’t needed? Unfortunately, governments are necessary evils; without them there would be anarchy. For Ra’s sake, the whole world would be filled with delusional beach bums. Chaos!

Yes, my dreams for this world are idealistic. But nothing is impossible. E pluribus unum. Out of many, one.

I’ve been a statistics nut since I was knee high to a grasshopper. My brother, Brad, still teases me — and rightfully so — about how I used to watch baseball on TV and keep a scorebook. Here’s a look at my blog views per country:

United States 5,093, Canada 154, United Kingdom 57, Australia 29, France 28, Germany 19, Italy 18, Slovakia 16, Chile 12, Hong Kong 12, South Africa 12, Slovenia 11, Philippines 10, Ecuador 9, Netherlands 8, Japan 8, Argentina 7, Norway 7, Mexico 7, India 7, Romania 7, Sweden 7, Colombia 7, Turkey 6, Bahamas 6, Malaysia 5, Lithuania 5, Brazil 4, Switzerland 4, New Zealand 4, Russian Federation 4, Venezuela 3, Belgium 3, Poland 3, Viet Nam 3, Honduras 3, Republic of Korea 3, Greece 3, Denmark 2, Sri Lanka 2, Moldova 2, Portugal 2, Croatia 2, Spain 2, Grenada 2, Sudan 2, Bolivia 2, Kenya 2, Austria 2, Panama 1, Ukraine 1, Peru 1, Singapore 1, Morocco 1, Indonesia 1, Trinidad and Tobago 1, Bermuda 1, Georgia 1, Puerto Rico 1, Uruguay 1, Czech Republic 1, Qatar 1, Uganda 1, Guatemala 1, Israel 1, and Taiwan 1.

Come on China. Get with the program. Stop internet censorship. This is the 21st century. Taiwan is one up on you; you don’t want that, do you? Hey, wait a minute. Hong Kong, which has 12 views, is China. Right? Well, here is why mainland China is still white on my WordPress map — as it is explained on Wikipedia:

“Under the principle of ‘one country, two systems,’ Hong Kong has a different political system from mainland China. Hong Kong’s independent judiciary functions under the common law framework. Hong Kong Basic Law, its constitutional document, which stipulates that Hong Kong shall have a ‘high degree of autonomy’ in all matters except foreign relations and military defense, governs its political system.”

That’s it! I’m getting out my crayons and coloring in mainland China anyway.

Thanks again everyone. Peace.

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Posted by: dharmabeachbum | May 31, 2013

Thoreau, the beauty of fossil hunting, and wishing a promising young couple the best

Temps rose near 80 and the sun shone brightly as two fellow beachcombers crossed paths. The stranger uttered something to me that I’ve heard 1,000 times.

“I wish I could find just one shark’s tooth,” he said, while pacing through a massive bed as the ebbing surf shifted shell shards. “Just one tooth. That’s all I’m asking.”

I had a couple of teeth in my pocket at the time, but I understood his frustration all too well. There are times, even under the most perfect of conditions, that sharks teeth are very hard to find. Otherwise, my favorite hobby would be called finding sharks teeth, not hunting them.

I didn’t get a chance to speak with the stranger later, but I hope a little dharma beach bumism rubbed off on him and he was able to find a tooth as the tide continued to drop.

Dharma Beach Bumism is a mixture of many things. The main ingredient is nature and a spirituality involving the sun, the ocean, the moon and all living creatures with whom we share the seashore. Toss in a little zen and the belief that good vibes we send out come back to us in the karmic sense, i.e., positive things are more likely to happen to us.

A young, engaged couple, Astin and Jason, were blessed with a little dharma not long after starting to follow my blog — proof that Dharma Beach Bumites benefit via fate as would a spider pouncing from the center of the foggy web of destiny. Well, okay, that might be a stretch.

Astin found her first shark’s tooth recently just as Jason, her soul mate of nearly two years, was walking to the beach to meet her. She made the discovery south of Wither’s Swash. It was great to see how excited she was. The good news: once you find one tooth, the rest get easier to spot.

So, what does it really mean to find a shark’s tooth?

Some cultures in the South Pacific consider the finding or the wearing of a shark’s tooth to be good luck. Others around the world feel sharks teeth are a sign of power against the perceived evils of the sea. Warriors even used them as the cutting edge of weaponry.

In regard to my friends, Jason and Astin, this is all good news. May you be lucky if you need it. By finding a shark’s tooth, you have been granted bravery against the powers-that-be in the universe. Just remember to fight the good fight. Stand tall and use your warrior skills when others threaten the unity you now share.

As Henry David Thoreau thought while smoking some vine near Walden’s Pond, “Go confidently in the direction of your dreams. Live the life you have imagined.”

That’s one of the beautiful things about being a Dharma Beach Bumite. Its philosophy can readily be personalized by adding pinches of one’s tastes.

My brand of Dharma Beach Bumism, for example, includes a little of Thoreau’s philosophy. As individuals, we shouldn’t permit government to overrule or atrophy our consciences. We have a duty to avoid through acquiescence the enabling of government to become agents of injustice. The pen is mightier than the sword and I’ll use my pen from time-to-time to brandish some civil disobedience. My ink won’t shrink or disappear.

But that’s just me. I’m heading to the big pond now. Whether I’m lucky or not, I’ll find myself a fossil.

Peace.

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Posted in Fossil-ology | Tags: , , ,

Posted by: dharmabeachbum | May 20, 2013

Skinnin’ cats and findin’ sharks teeth

There’s more than one one way to skin a cat, so I recently hunted for sharks teeth in piles of silt and shells as opposed to combing the beach for them.

The piles, which lay a hundred yards or so south of the Grande Dunes marina near Highway 17 Bypass, were dredged from the Intracoastal Waterway as a means of keeping the channel deep enough for bigger boats or yachts to navigate the inland passage.

After hunting there for nearly two hours, my booty included 13 small sharks teeth and two nice pieces of fossilized coral. I’d hoped to find a bigger tooth. Perhaps a megalodon. But I don’t regret the effort. It was clear and sunny and I had a full view of the waterway and of some gnarly gondolas. Only a fool would need more.

Getting back to skinning cats for a moment. Did you ever wonder where and when that strange saying was first uttered? What sicko goes around carving pelts from our feline friends? (Insert your own oriental food joke here.)

Nobody knows for sure, but some believe that “skin the cat” is derived from Charles Kingsley’s 1855 book “Westward Ho!”: “There are more ways of killing a cat than choking it with cream.” I’ll take your word on that, Sir Kingsley.

Another of my favorite dead writers, Mark Twain, used the phrase in “A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court” in 1889: “…she was wise, subtle, and knew more than one way to skin a cat…” We all know of Twain’s love of the Mississippi; I think he first heard one of his friends yell it as the associate was skinning a catfish. “Hey, y’all. Hand me that mallet. I’m fixin’ to drive a nail through this catty’s haid so as I can skin it from its neck to its tail. Reckon you can he’p me?”

Of course, Twain, also known for his humor and eccentricities, and battling the onset of senility, would have misunderstood and mumbled, “A man who carries a cat by the tail learns something he can learn in no other way.”

There’s also a gymnastics maneuver called skin the cat, but the next summer Olympics is in Rio de Janeiro in 2016, so I won’t go there — unless, hint hint, someone wants to send me a round-trip plane ticket to South America. Hey, my buddy Mark “Marco Polo” Sanford has connections down that way. Maybe he can…Nah. That’d be blood money.

I’ve meandered away from the crick again. Where was I?

Oh, yeah. The silt piles at the marina. Loved every minute of it and I managed to do it without any involvement of the property owners or the city police. Thank Ra for small miracles. The local flora was in full bloom and the scents of spring were everywhere. The colors of my surroundings were magnified as if I were under the influence of some mild hallucinogenic. I wasn’t; couldn’t find any stray cannibis plants or any dried magic mushrooms.

Communing with nature is my favorite pastime, especially when I’m near an ocean or a river. Heck, I was so close to the waterway that I almost could’ve cast in a fishing line and landed a catty.

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Posted by: dharmabeachbum | May 13, 2013

Hemingway’s description of the sea something to behold

Hemingway's 1923 passport photo

Hemingway’s 1923 passport photo

Ernest Hemingway is among my favorite writers and I especially love when he describes the ocean in his works. He did so in a book that was published posthumously, “The Garden of Eden,” which I borrowed recently from Chapin Memorial Library on 14th Avenue North.

I was hooked before I finished the first paragraph.

“In the evenings and the morning when there was a rising tide sea bass would come into it and they would see the mullet jumping wildly to escape from the bass and watch the swelling bulge of water as the bass attacked.”

Oh, how I’ve seen those mullet and menhaden jumping wildly just off shore along the Grand Strand when being chased by larger fish. The big boys go crazy fighting for the same prey and the water’s surface becomes a choppy battlefield. Glorious.

The “it” to which Papa referred was a canal running straight to the sea, which he had explained in the book’s opening sentence.

Reading about the canal reminded me of the Intracoastal Waterway, which runs not straight to the ocean but parallel to it as it circumvents our little Eden. The waterway empties locally just to the north of North Myrtle Beach and into Winyah Bay near Georgetown. Our section of the waterway was opened in April 1936 with dedication ceremonies held in Socastee. I think of the fishes that bigger fish chase “into” either end of it.

By the time I finished the second paragraph of “The Garden of Eden,” Hemingway’s trademark lean, tight prose once again had me mesmerized.

“A jetty ran out into the blue and pleasant sea and they fished from the jetty and swam on the beach and each day helped the fishermen haul in the long net that brought the fish up onto the long sloping beach.”

The Master tells a magnificent story in one sentence and he conveys images to the reader without using syrupy adjectives. Brilliant.

The beaches here on the strand are often long and sloping as is the sea’s floor as it drops gently for miles and miles away from shore.

Anyone meeting me on our beaches best not make the mistake of getting me started on Ernest Hemingway. “The Old Man and The Sea” has long been my favorite book and I love to talk about Santiago and the boy and the lions on the shore across the big pond.

Papa was one adventurous cat and he spent a lot of time in Europe. So, I’ll close this tribute to him and to the Grand Strand and to the ocean with a salutation that Hemingway surely used many times.

Adieu.

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Posted in Foreshore Philosophy | Tags: , , , ,

Posted by: dharmabeachbum | May 8, 2013

Bum lauds person who made others feel special

LoraIf ever a woman was born into her name, it was Lora Ann Greene. She had a magical touch with flowers and she always had her homestead adorned with them. Her marriage to the late Gary Linwood Green left her with the most fitting name of Lora Greene Green. To make matters less complicated, she went by Lora Green until her death.

Lora was surrounded by her loving family when she passed away on Sunday, April 28, 2013.

She was born in Charlotte, North Carolina, on June 15, 1954, moving to Myrtle Beach in 1980. She worked for many years as a beautician.

She is survived by her daughter, Emily, and by her beloved granddaughter, Jada, who reside in Socastee. She is also survived by a brother, Paul Greene of Davidson, North Carolina. She was predeceased by a brother, who was killed in Vietnam.

Lora, who lived the last few years of her life in Conway, would chastise me if I failed to mention her lifelong friends — two women she regarded as sisters, and vice-versa — Candace Travis and Sherrie Pemberton.

I’ll always remember the tenderness with which Lora nurtured her flowers, talking to them as she navigated her way through her daily watering routine. “Y’all better pep up now. Ya hear? It’s gonna be gettin’ hot real soon.”

As great as she was with flora, she was even better with people. She was such a caring woman. She looked after everyone, including me, when we first met nearly 14 years ago while living in small monthly rentals on the south end of Myrtle Beach.

“When I think of Lora I remember her ready laugh,” wrote Patsy, a friend of hers who left the most loving of tributes on an online memorial guest book. “Her love for her family. The way she was quick to enjoy a moment. How she made me feel like I was special when she was the one that was special.”

Lora and I used to sit at her living room table near a sliding glass door overlooking her second-floor apartment balcony, admiring hummingbirds that visited her flowers and hummingbird feeder. We laughed at woodpeckers sorting through the seeds in her birdfeeder until they got what they wanted before flying to nearby trees and telephone poles to store their bounty. Carolina chickadees, cardinals, finches, wrens, juncos and a wide variety of songbirds visited her daily.

I sit here now and laugh through tears as I recall her chasing squirrels away from the feeder, shouting at them in her trademark southern drawl, “Git. Git out of here now. Y’all are thievin’.” She loved them, too, even as they taunted her by scampering just far enough away, turning around, and staring back at her defiantly.

Lora’s friends became my acquaintances. One of them was John Lawrence Smith, who knew Lora for roughly 50 years. He had this to say in tribute to her.

“Lora, I will miss you more than I can ever express. You have been a true friend to me since I was 18 years old; we have been through so much, happy and sad. But now you can rest while I cry.”

Well said, John. There are so many of us crying now and words escape us when we try to put Lora’s impact on our lives into perspective. The world has lost a good, good person.

Lora and I had a tiff and we hadn’t spoken, at least with any civility, in nearly three years.

Nevertheless, I’m shattered by her passing. Shaken that we hadn’t told each other from our hearts what we really meant to each other. Stricken with pangs of guilt that I wasn’t strong enough to rise above the pettiness that put our friendship on hold. But Lora would have been the first to reach across that table by the sliding glass door, grab my arm, and tell me that everything will be okay. “It’ll be alright, Rob,” she’d say, elongating my name into two syllables the way she always did. “Everything will be okay. I’m going to a better place.”

Jada. It was a great privilege for me to watch you grow from the time you were knee high to a grasshopper. Your Grammy is watching you from that better place. She’ll always be watching over you. So talk to her whenever you feel like it. She’ll listen and she’ll even answer sometimes. You’ll hear her in the wind and in rustling leaves. You’ll see her in blooming flowers and in the reflection of the sun off ponds.

In closing, I need to mention another of Lora’s passions. Candles. Especially tealights. She often lit them after the sun went down to enjoy an ambience that spoke to her persona. Soft, yet glowing.

Lora, the fire that is your memory will forever flicker in my very being. You were — and will continue to be — a flame to which so many of us look for comfort.

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Posted by: dharmabeachbum | May 6, 2013

Kudos to the men and ladies in blue

Kudos to the Myrtle Beach Police Department.

Local law enforcement officers did a fantastic job defusing a potentially lethal situation last week.

Last Monday, police arrested a 34-year old man after finding him in possession of gunpowder and two PVC pipes. The pipes were approximately six-inches long and had end caps. Police had stopped the man near 5th Avenue North and Chester Street in Myrtle Beach after recognizing him as someone against whom there had been a bench warrant issued.

A second arrest was made — that of a 55-year-old man — a day later. Police allegedly found bomb components in a search of the second suspect’s home. Police said the search was conducted after the first suspect told them that the second suspect gave him the pipe bombs that he was carrying when arrested.

Now. I’m not going to post the mug shots of the suspects. They look like two guys who might have been planning to blow up a trash can to snort the ash and refuse. If we learned one thing from the Boston Marathon massacre, however, it is that the most crude of devices can lead to widespread devastation. Myrtle Beach police officers should be commended for disarming the putrid, alleged perps before anyone was injured.

The arrests reminded me once again that law enforcement officers put their lives on the line every day. Even traffic stops that start as routine can end in tragedy. On Dec. 29, 2002, Myrtle Beach Police Officer Joseph McGarry, 28, was shot and killed in a parking lot on North Kings Highway.

I shouldn’t have needed reminding of the inherent dangers of police work. My grandfather, Gordon Hufnagle — then a public safety officer in Lewsburg, PA — drowned in 1972 while trying to save others from flood waters during Hurricane Agnes. He’d been the chief of police in the same town for 28 years before being demoted, in part due to age discrimination, to the public safety position.

Yes, I’ve been known to criticize those sworn to protect and serve us — often for good reason. Journalists have a job to do, and it doesn’t always involve writing glorified public relations articles like the majority of those published in our local paper, The Tidal Eyechart. Journalists are watchdogs of democracy.

But sometimes you’ve got to give credit where credit is due. This time it goes to the men and ladies in blue. Thanks.

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Posted by: dharmabeachbum | April 30, 2013

Pretentious Pagans at Patrick’s Place pathetic

Burt

Burt

“May Day. May Day. This is the S.S. Myrtle Manor. Our ship is taking on water. She’s sinking fast.”

I heard the distress call on my imaginary ham radio and responded accordingly. “Don’t reach out for me,” I said. “Can’t you see I’m drowning, too? A rogue wave of idiocy known as Welcome to Myrtle Manor has hit my town, endangering lives.”

Oh, this is all too real. Three cast members of TLC’s Welcome to Myrtle Manor — aka, Pretentious Pagans at Patrick’s Place — were arrested this past weekend after separate incidents. At this rate, Myrtle Beach will have to build a hoosegow annex out on Highway 15.

TLC producers came to town to document drama in a resort trailer park. They got just want they wanted. Thanks, assholes. And congratulations for prostituting a once-glorious network. Sadly, as we’ve learned from trashy shows like Jersey Shore, the more controversy the cast stirs up, the better it is for ratings. So, I don’t expect TLC to cancel Myrtle Manor any time soon. That doesn’t mean some us won’t continue to protest its putrid broadcasting.

“This is the S.S Myrtle Manor. May Day. May Day. Morality has already been tossed overboard. May…”

“Yes, tomorrow is May Day,” I answered, somewhat bitterly. “There was a time in this country in which we spent May Day celebrating our innocence, dancing around the maypole and crowning the May Queen. Now days, we offer our innocence and it gets repaid with scorn by people who would sell their souls for 15 minutes of ‘fame.’ Infamy, in this case.”

“S.O.S. Please, call the Coast Guard. Please.”

“Nope. I have better things to do — like watching shadows on a wall — than helping save rats from a doomed vessel.”

Mercifully, my ham radio went dead.

Here’s the skinny on what went down this past weekend. And I’m not talking about the Myrtle Manor grandmother who went skinny dipping in one of the show’s first episodes.

Cast member Amanda Lee Adams, 26, was arrested for DUI early Friday morning after her vehicle hit a utility pole near U.S. 501 and Broadway. Her blood alcohol content was 0.20, police reports said. The legal limit in South Carolina is 0.08

Lindsay Brooke Colbert, 21, was arrested Sunday morning on charges that include DUI and driving more than 15 miles-per-hour over the speed limit. She was stopped near Highway 501 and Fantasy Harbour Boulevard. Her blood alcohol content was 0.15, according to police reports.

She reportedly asked Myrtle Beach officers if they were giving “them” a hard time because they were on the surreal show. Worse yet, she apparently insulted officers while being transported to the city jail.

Some locals questioned online whether the arrests were publicity stunts. No, I responded, publicity stunts of this nature would take far more intelligence than these two girls could muster. Driving around town while marinated in alcohol isn’t cool, girls. You could have killed innocent people.

In the meantime, Taylor Jonathan Burt was arrested late Saturday night on charges that include criminal sexual conduct with a minor. The 15-year-old victim’s mother took her to Grand Strand Regional Medical Center for medical evaluation after learning of her daughter’s alleged involvement with Burt. Burt was incarcerated on a $25,000 bond.

Before going further, I’d like to point out that each of the three cast members is innocent until proven guilty (in theory) in our justice system. I’m not the judge of anyone. The accused have been arrested and charged. That doesn’t necessarily mean that they’ve done anything.

With the arrests following one another so quickly, I’m sure conspiracy theories will emerge. I’ve already seen people defending Burt online. Some say he was set up because the powers-that-be in Myrtle Beach don’t like the negative publicity Myrtle Manor is generating and they want the show cancelled.

In reality — pardon the pun — this city’s elected officials have bent over backwards (possibly forward, too) for Myrtle Manor. In late March, the city council approved a resolution designating Patrick’s Mobile Home Park as a “film district.” The designation permits commerce in an area previously zoned as residential, meaning the Patricks can sell souvenirs and concessions on the property. A hair salon is also allowed to operate from April 1 to June 29; the Patricks can re-apply for special events permits after 90 days.

Folks, a rhinoceros could have seen disaster looming when the council passed that resolution. A reality show based on a trailer park? And the city is going to allow them to set up shop? Come on. Who’s running this town? Mr. Magoo and his kin? I’ve always heard that morality can’t be legislated. But I reckon it’s okay for a local governing body to condone immorality.

Let me make this clear. Many good people live in mobile homes. I’ve known many of them in my nearly 14 years in town. I know a decent dude who lives in Myrtle Manor and he wants nothing to do with the drama, or, as I’ve described it before, the contrived, sensationalized, somewhat-scripted, highly-manipulated portrayal of day-to-day life in a mobile home park. Many upstanding citizens live in trailer parks. They are different than what is commonly referred to as trailer trash. Trailer trash is a term I save for those who spend their lives lost in substance abuse while avoiding responsibility, those who thrive on using foul language and insist on acting in ways that are far outside the norms of society.

To the Patrick family: I saw the newspaper article in which one of your family members bragged about selling t-shirts. He was so giddy as he said something about not being able to keep merchandise in stock. I almost choked; I’m one of those guys to whom morality means something. I hope the money that you’re getting from the show and souvenirs is worth the embarrassment that you’ve brought to your family name. Not to mention Myrtle Beach. That money can’t buy back your soul.

Here’s hoping TLC’s Welcome to Myrtle Manor is headed for Davy Jones’ locker like the Titantic did so many years ago. Casualties optional for any alleged man who “allegedly” sleeps with minors.

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Posted by: dharmabeachbum | April 28, 2013

Waging heavy peace can be tough

(This is Volume VIII of the Seagull Saga. Volumes I through VII can be found under Archives or Categories.)

“So,” Jon Seagull said. “You wrote that you walked away from society.”

“That’s not what I wrote. I wrote that my obsession with hunting sharks teeth led me as far away from society as I could get.”

“Same difference. You walked away from society.”

“First of all, you’re a seagull. You can’t read…”

Jon interrupted me. “No, but you can.”

“Okay, you’re right. I walked away from society.”

“Tell me something, genius,” said Jon. “If one is trying to escape society, the last place one would go, seemingly, is to the beach of a popular resort town. You could have disappeared in the thickets bordering the marshes and settled for wrasslin’ alligators.”

“I guess I didn’t plan out my flight very well. I didn’t make it very far before I decided to turn around and confront things head-on.”

“So, now you take cheap shots at everyone. Local government. The good ol’ boys. Builders & Crashers Inc…Even us.”

“Tough love,” I responded. “Or, to borrow a phrase from the great Neil Young, I’m waging heavy peace. With the city I love. With myself.”

“Aren’t you going to write about the city services employee who looked right at the overturned trash barrel at the 67th Avenue Access and just kept driving? Remember? You picked the potato chip bag and the plastic cup from the sea oats and stood the barrel up, beer cans and all. Aren’t you going to…”

“Nope. Not right now.”

“What about the two cops you saw making turns without using their turn signals — one maneuvering from 65th Ave. onto Somerset Drive and the other from 63rd onto Somerset. Two routine-patrol incidents within three days in your neighborhood. Come on. They’re not above the law.”

“Wait a minute. You didn’t see those traffic violations. You weren’t even there.”

“Wasn’t I? Now quit avoiding the subject. You’re not going to write about those two officers failing to lead by example?”

“No. Not now. I need to back off a bit.”

“What happened to tough love?” Jon asked, shaking his head in disgust. “You’re still an idiot.”

“Yeah, I am. I’ve always said that the world is full of idiots and I’m one of them.”

Jon stretched his wings and paused. “You know. We’re alike in a lot of ways. Self-loathing and hyper-critical.”

“That’s better than being a hypocrite.”

Jon sqwauked in the hilarity of the moment. Then he got serious. He spoke solemnly — almost as if he sincerely cared. “I’m always here if you need to chat. If you need the company.”

“Thanks Jon. Back at ya.”

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