Domiciles of St. Thomas: The Fort

When I first made my way back over to St. Thomas from St. Croix on New Year’s Day, I was to meet up with one Mike Keller. We had only met, briefly, one time this past summer, but had the South Jersey connection, so he had agreed to pick me up at the ferry and let me crash at his place for the time being. He had worked late barbacking the night before, but was off that Friday, so said it would be no problem to come get me. Sweet deal for me, because I had no fucking clue where I was or where I was going as I sat on my North Face duffel bag, simultaneously drawn to and terrified of the sun beating down on me in the parking lot.

So he gives me a lift up to his place, situated in the more remote northern side of the island. It’s mostly a gorgeous drive along the lookout to Magen’s Bay. I start congratulating myself on my inspired decision to flee the harsh New York winter. He refers to his place as “The Fort.” I think that he is just being modest or something. But as we pull down the winding, bumpy driveway and I work my way down to his front door, I quickly realize that his place is, in fact, a fucking tree fort (although, I guess, not technically in a tree). Walking past the cistern where he gets his water, he shows me:

The porch

 

The kitchen

 

The bathroom

The den

The backyard

All told, Keller’s little mountain hacienda is a pretty peerless clubhouse. Sure, it has bugs and lizards—the occasional rodent (Sorry little guy. I’ll never buy a glue trap again)—but that is all part of the experience. And if you feel kind of cooped up, you can always hike down the hill to a private beach, where there are rocks to jump off of and no cruise ship behemoths stealing all of the sun.

Wildlife of St. Thomas: The Graceful Rat Eater

 

We should import these chaps to NYC

 

The island has many examples of exotic plant and animal species. Colorful fish, sun-bathing reptiles and weird half Chihuahua mongrels are but a few. Today, I’d like to focus on the long-necked bird that seems to live across my driveway near our dumpster. This bird, all white and delicate, doesn’t on the surface look to be much of a dumpster diver. However, each day it perches on the dumpster, scanning the ground for…rats?

Yes, this wolf in swan’s clothing hunts rats. I only scarcely believed it when my neighbors told me about the creature’s dietary habits, but just today saw for myself its predatory proclivities. After catching an unwary rodent in its pointed beak, the bird wrung the squirming, disease-carrying trash eater until it was dead, and then SWALLOWED THE ENTIRE THING WHOLE.

The whole process recalls nothing more than a snake eating a shivering mouse, but in this case we’re talking about a beautiful bird and disgusting rats. 

I suggest, when visiting, not trying to give Polly a cracker (as you might very well lose an arm).

New Year in St. X

I’ve now been away for about a month, which seems a sufficient amount of time to look back on my trip so far.

After flying in to St. Thomas, I hung out at the airport for a few hours and waiting for my seaplane flight to St. Croix, where I would be spending some quality time with former roommate Thomas Shelley and the peerless lady musician and hostess Alisha Westerman. They now reside in St. Croix, and seemed like the perfect company to ring in 2010.

Thomas picked me up at the airport, and took me to their place, where I was greeted by not only Alisha, but her father Llewellyn—reportedly the finest sailor and Calypso musician on St. Croix—and Ramona, possibly the cutest dog in the world.

Thomas and Alisha and Ramona have cows in their backyard. This is only one of many differences between this domicile and the one we frequented in Brooklyn. Brooklyn is bovine deficient.

In the way of a proper welcome, I was also introduced to a jar of Cruzan rum—a beverage both cheap and plentiful in the USVI. It was not my last encounter with this nectar of the awesome.

St. Croix and St. Thomas don’t have too much in common—maybe just the weather, gorgeous beaches and cheap booze. The residents of both each seem to have strong feelings about the other as well (some Cruzans referred to St. Thomas as St. Trauma, for instance).

Laser wants me to clean up from lunch, but I’ll continue later. Meanwhile, I suggest checking out James Lee’s travel blog at megooks.wordpress.com.

Sweat stains

Still don’t have the internet, but I seem to have a reasonably good connection at the moment, so I’ll drop a quick update.

Laser and I have settled in to our new crib. Our flatmates Jeff and Jess seem pretty rad—at the very least, not bloodthirsty psychopaths. They have a flatscreen and a Rott puppy named Hercules, and we live across the street from Food Center, which makes grocery shopping without a car immeasurably easier.

Other than that, we’ve been keeping pretty low and stretching out the funds. Lots of reading and games and movies—ranging from Beerfest to Hoosiers to, yes, Twilight (“I loved it!,” exclaimed a smitten Laser). It is, after all, a love that spans time and stuff.

In the Times today, I saw that prison inmates aren’t allowed to play Dungeons and Dragons. This bums me out. Prison seems like an ideal time to build up levels on your half elven, dual class Bard-Ranger character. He’d be super powerful by the end of a ten year stretch, is all I’m saying.

So, yeah, give a call, or an email, or whatever. Once again, I promise more regular updates when I get more regular internet access.

Hi again

Hey kids

Sorry for not updating. Since flying out on the 29th, I haven’t had anything like regular internet access (right now, I’m sitting at a bar and using their wifi). But, yes, I’m still very much alive and largely in control of my faculties.

Brief recap: 

Dec 29: Departing at 3am, my father drives me to New Brunswick, where I catch a train to Newark Airport and flying into St. Thomas. From there, I catch a seaplane to neighboring St. Croix, where I meet up with former roommate Thomas Shelley and his awesome and talented girlfriend, Alisha Westerman. I spend most of my time sitting in their hammock, and we have a fun NYE.

Jan 1: I take a ferry back to St. Thomas. Piss’s friend Mike picks me up and takes me to his place of residence, set in the remote northern reaches of the island, dubbed “The Fort.” The fort is essentially a treehouse with running water and electricity. You can see Magen’s Bay from up there. It’s pretty rad, if out of the way.

Jan 2–Jan 8: Drink lots of beers. Go to beach. Repeat.

Jan 9: Eat cheese quesadilla and talk to you people.

So, yes, not freezing and crystal clear waters are pretty awesome. Adjusting from the hyperconvenience of life in New York, though, is sometimes a challenge. Laser is set to arrive on Wednesday. Hijinks will ensue.

Promise much more (and regular) updates later, once I have regular internet.

Last day at TONY

My farewell email, under the subject line ‘Remember that time I sent an allstaff suggesting that I was leaving but turned out was only a ploy to get you to actually read the email and help me out on a story?‘:

“Well, that kind of trick only works once, so I guess this is the real thing. We’ve had lots of laughs. Many at my expense (see: the time Michael made me proposition Boyz II Men. Thanks for the years of trauma, sir). But, as I told that guy, I’m kind of a drifter by nature, and after my near four exciting years here (intern [where I almost got fired in my first week. Thanks for not canning me, EBarr], weekend receptionist [where I shredded papers, played Age of Mythology on my laptop and wondered how I'd get a girlfriend as such], part-time receptionist [same, re: girlfriend], evening receptionist [solved problem by dating my boss], assistant Seek editor ["Elise, I know nothing about haircare products. LOOK at me!"], Ashlea’s I, New York servant, assistant features editor, Hot Seat editor, staff writer, ardent acolyte of the School of Howard, etc)—and finally realized my dream of asking Chevy Chase who he considered his own personal el Guapo (Will Ferrell)—it is time for me to hit that old dusty trail (that’s a nod to my short-lived western blog on the Frame-Up [we hardly knew ye]). In closing: Love you guys (yeah you), and am still amazed and eternally grateful that I was paid cash money to talk kung fu movies with the RZA and work with such an amazing group of people. Be on the lookout for me in the summer of 2010, crawling through the front door, in rags, and begging Michael for my job back. Better scenario involves me reading Proust and comic books in a hammock for the foreseeable future. Reality will, as always, be somewhere in the middle.

If you can’t come out to Billy Mark’s tonight, stop by my desk and give a goodbye high five (I’ll be here for a little while yet). Or come out to Harefield Road in Brooklyn Friday, where I will be the entire evening talking about the ‘good ol’ days’ and drinking good ol’ booze. If you can’t make either of those, or just have better things to do like sitting at home playing Modern Warfare II, please stay in touch. andrewtoal@gmail.com. 609 385 6794. Be good, kids.

God save the Queen (and lukewarm apologies to Noah, for all the parens and run-on sentences. [I regret nothing!]),

d

Lord Andrew Toal
Staff Writer/Bon Vivant/Future Author of Clever Bumper Stickers

PS Thanks for the Bud Pyramid.”

Xmas Gchat between two atheists from South Jersey

me:  So I’ll see at you at Mass Christmas eve?

Sent at 4:29 PM on Tuesday

Tom:  haha definitely

if by “mass” you mean the high point

me:  The Communion Wafer otherwise known as the High Point Special?

Sent at 4:32 PM on Tuesday

Tom:  haha hell yeah

and the blood of christ, aka $2 miller lite pints

me:  Both will get you fucked up

Only one is brewed with triple hops

American pride

As part of my swan’s song at TONY, boss Michael Freidson took me out for a few drinks at Brandy Library last night, and that place is awesome. I ordered the American whiskey sampler, which includes six different boozes and descriptions of each, all organized to heighten your whiskey drinking pleasure. MF ordered the rum sampler. I definitely recommend this place, but make sure you call ahead for seats.

This event came on the heels of our holiday party at Bowlmor Lanes. It was all going swimmingly until I got outside, on my way to the afterparty, and realized that I still had my bowling shoes on. Moron.

Heroes

Tonight I will attend my fourth and final Time Out New York holiday party. This particular event is at Bowlmor Lanes (we’re having a bowling tourney), but past years have seen karaoke, video games and a whole mess of booze and questionable decisions. Should be a fine time. A few nights ago, Laser and I went to the new Brooklyn Bowl in Williamsburg, for a tuneup. I bowled decently (depite, or perhaps because of, that place’s weird attached bowling pins), but today my forearm is a little tight. (Please hold off on the masturbation jokes.) So I’ve resolved to make myself the Kirk Gibson of bowling, and stage some improbable late-game heroics to win the day. And drink beers.

Let’s kick something

Sad days.

Good hair.