New Travel Slogan: "South Carolina - Just Hickier"
Could we just break off North Myrtle Beach/Atlantic Beach and Charleston, move them to either NC or GA, and close the borders to South Carolina forever? We could rename what's left "Evangelical Jesus Land" or my personal favorite, "We Don't Like Your Kind Here". They're actually contemplating a bill that would force pregnant women to have and view an ultrasound before they have an abortion. People from other parts of the country may not know that many people in other Southern states, themselves typically the target of derisive comments, look down on SC, and deservedly so in my book. I say we give Mississippi and Alabama a break, and focus our collective ire on South Carolina from now on.
I remember our vacations to Myrtle Beach when we were kids -- before the Spring Break crowd and the developers turned it into the trailer park playground it is today. It was touristy, sure, but a lot of fun, too. We used to go the The Dolphin, this four-story glass-front gift shop, and buy beach-themed stuff. One year M&D bought us rafts for playing in the surf, and Dad and I floated so far off shore on mine that we got caught in the offshore current. It took us an hour or so to fight our way back to shore - scary and fun. The Swamp Fox (the old one) was so much fun to ride - I love wooden rollercoasters, and it was one of the first I ever rode. Granny and Grandpa Miller would join us sometimes (Granny Miller being the only other good thing to come out of SC) for some pier fishing.
One of the funniest moments in my entire life happened during one of these fishing excursions. Grandpa Miller, Dad and I went fishing off the Steel Pier in Wilmington, and had a pretty good catch. I think I caught a few big flounder as did Dad, but Grandpa Miller wasn't having much luck. He always ran two or three lines off the piers, master fisherman that he was, but not catching much. That is until a seagull got tangled in one of his lines. We could see that the poor bird had its leg tangled up in the line pretty badly, so Grandpa reeled him in slowly, thinking he'd cut the line off once the gull was close enough. He took the bird's head and tucked it under his arm so he could unwrap and cut the line off its feet. Of course the bird struggled, not knowing what was happening. As we watched him work, the bird grew more agitated, flapping its wings and trying to get loose. Then, the bird got a killer idea - it unceremoniously bit Grandpa Miller square on the butt cheek. Dad and I laughed so hard we could barely stand up. Grandpa Miller failed to see the humor, though, and had to finish untangling the bird. After a few more seconds, the bird dropped to the ground free, and took off, leaving Grandpa Miller cussing like I'd never heard before.
I'll have to call Dad and reminisce about that trip.
I remember our vacations to Myrtle Beach when we were kids -- before the Spring Break crowd and the developers turned it into the trailer park playground it is today. It was touristy, sure, but a lot of fun, too. We used to go the The Dolphin, this four-story glass-front gift shop, and buy beach-themed stuff. One year M&D bought us rafts for playing in the surf, and Dad and I floated so far off shore on mine that we got caught in the offshore current. It took us an hour or so to fight our way back to shore - scary and fun. The Swamp Fox (the old one) was so much fun to ride - I love wooden rollercoasters, and it was one of the first I ever rode. Granny and Grandpa Miller would join us sometimes (Granny Miller being the only other good thing to come out of SC) for some pier fishing.
One of the funniest moments in my entire life happened during one of these fishing excursions. Grandpa Miller, Dad and I went fishing off the Steel Pier in Wilmington, and had a pretty good catch. I think I caught a few big flounder as did Dad, but Grandpa Miller wasn't having much luck. He always ran two or three lines off the piers, master fisherman that he was, but not catching much. That is until a seagull got tangled in one of his lines. We could see that the poor bird had its leg tangled up in the line pretty badly, so Grandpa reeled him in slowly, thinking he'd cut the line off once the gull was close enough. He took the bird's head and tucked it under his arm so he could unwrap and cut the line off its feet. Of course the bird struggled, not knowing what was happening. As we watched him work, the bird grew more agitated, flapping its wings and trying to get loose. Then, the bird got a killer idea - it unceremoniously bit Grandpa Miller square on the butt cheek. Dad and I laughed so hard we could barely stand up. Grandpa Miller failed to see the humor, though, and had to finish untangling the bird. After a few more seconds, the bird dropped to the ground free, and took off, leaving Grandpa Miller cussing like I'd never heard before.
I'll have to call Dad and reminisce about that trip.