118 SARASOTA SCENE | FEBRUARY 2018
Even in a state where weirdness is par for the course, things still
surprise me, however. Like the other day when I saw a woman
in a wedding dress driving a Jeep on Fruitville Road. To be clear,
“driving” might not have been the most relevant word since
she simultaneously smoked, gabbed on a hands-required cell
while adjusting what might’ve been a push-up bra beneath all
that white tulle. I couldn’t help myself—I rolled to a stop next to
her at a red light then lowered my window to ask, “Excuse me,
but would you have any Grey Poupon?”
That’s when I realized the Jeep’s driver was a dude. Weird, right?
Who gets married in December, after all?
I share all this by way of getting to the real point of this month’s
column.
Beavers.
Let me explain. Out of professional curiosity, I was researching
“rodent problems in Florida” and a website from a professional
And it all became clear. This is a Serious Problem for Florida—
appreciate a good engineer? And what’s not to like about
swimming? Or paddling? Not to mention that these furry
fellows mate for life. No 50+% divorce rate among the Castor
Canadensis
But my issue with beavers—or Florida’s lack thereof—is perhaps
a-lifetime frost killed it. Who knew I was supposed to go out
and toss winter coats on all of my foliage in the middle of a
January night that doesn’t even register on my Chicago-honed
sense of cold? This isn’t even to take into account that Wikipedia
promises that “Sarasota averages LESS than one frost annually.”
In any case, the aftermath of Mother Nature murdering my tree is
tired of mowing around it. So I called up a grinding service and
Laughing MATTERS
by Ryan Van Cleave
“Did Ryan blow his entire humor arsenal with his inaugural
Hey-look-at-me-I’m-like-Dave-Barry column last month?”
And by “people,” I mean “mother-in-law.”
By “humor arsenal,” I mean “the weird stuff that keeps
happening to me that I intend to share on these pages for
money.”
I told her that I’d have to get back to her on that after I
Amazon. Yep, I live in Florida, all right.
Now it’s true that I’ve been living in Florida since 2009,
but that’s not the same thing as being a Floridian. And not
into being, I made the decision—I’m going to be a Florida
resident for real. I’m going to embrace the weirdness that
makes Florida...well, Florida.
“But how do you know that Florida is weird?” you might
be asking. Because native Floridian and award-winning
journalist Craig Pittman seems to believe that it’s so. The
Oh,
in the April 2016 issue of Sarasota Scene in
my Literary Scene column. The clue? How he admits that his
role as author in this book was “a cross between squint-eyed
Rod Serling and one of those patter-drunk boat captains on
the Zambezi Zelda boat into the “Fruitcake Zelda” during
the Gunshine State, where the motto appears to be “senior
discounts available.” Plus, if I’m being honest here, it’s not
• A 24-year-old man is arrested for assault with a deadly
weapon by tossing a 3½-foot gator through the drivethrough
window of a Wendy’s
• A would-be mermaid gets in trouble with a homeowner’s
association thanks to her fake tail violating the
• A 22-year-old woman claiming she’s a vampire bites off
part of the lip of a 68-year-old man (in a motorized
insider
“When the going gets weird, the weird turn pro.”
—Hunter S. Thompson