A North Myrtle New Year

Tuesday, December 30, 2025

To celebrate New Year's, Brugger and I usually go... somewhere... more often than not with friends. This year, we'd settled on North Myrtle Beach, including special guest stars Terry & Beth and Bob & Yvonne. As it turned out, Bob & Yvonne couldn't get away on Tuesday with the rest of us, so they opted to come down on Wednesday morning.

Brugger and I took off about 9:30 a.m. this morning, bound for a nice condo called Crescent Sands we'd found in North Myrtle. On a previous trip southward, we'd stopped for lunch at La Cabana Mexican Restaurant in Rockingham, NC, which was really excellent, so we visited it again this time. Again, excellent. I highly recommend their margaritas.

I snagged a handful of geocaches along the way, and we rolled into our lodgings at the beach about 4:00 p.m. Terry & Beth had just arrived themselves, so we opened a couple of bottles of wine—the really good wine—and generally made merry. Just before sunset, I hoofed it up the beach to find a cache. Done and done. We enjoyed some fabulous smoked pulled pork for dinner, courtesy Terry & Beth's son, Brian, and then spent the evening shooting all kinds of shit. As of now, as it's closing on midnight, we're about shit-shot out, and our beds are calling us loudly.

 

Till tomorrow.

Wednesday, December 31, 2025

I was up and at 'em first thing this morning, heading into the wilds of North Myrtle for some caching—after a bucket of coffee, of course. I set my sights on two relatively nearby hides. I found one; the other one, a puzzle cache, was missing a vital piece of information for the final coordinates, so it was, unfortunately, a bust. The scenery was cool, at least.

Shortly, I got back to Crescent Sands, Bob & Yvonne arrived. We had a fairly massive charcuterie spread for lunch, courtesy of Beth, Kimberly, and Yvonne, along with a few lovely beverages (Dark & Stormies for Brugger and me). During the afternoon, I went trucking around the long outdoor corridors to get in my daily steps and burn off the lunch drink. It was pretty danged cold out there, I can tell you.

 

Toward the end of the afternoon, we gathered ourselves up and headed to Wine Therapy, a nice little wine bar a couple of miles up the road. It was happy hour, so we sampled several wines, all of which were very good, and some were even better.

 

We had reservations for 6:00 p.m. at The Brentwood Restaurant in Little River, not far up the road, so we arrived right on time and had a fine feast for our last dinner of 2025. I had escargot, duck confit, and bread pudding, with a very good Willamette Pinot Noir to accompany. I think everyone was satisfied with their choices, and our servers were excellent. They've been implementing a new payment system, though, and it didn't work properly, so we had to spend a fair while afterward trying to sort things out. I think it's all good, but if not, I think everything will be made right. (This was NOT a cheap dinner.)

I picked up a nearby cache afterward, and then we retired to Crescent Sands, where we played dice games and generally made merry for most of the evening. A little before midnight, Ms. B. and I went walkies on the beach, though we found neither fog nor fireworks, which have traditionally been the hallmarks of New Year's Eve at the beach. It was frigid and windy out yonder, so we didn't walk far.

At the strike of midnight, we old folks enjoyed a champagne toast and then crashed for the night. Happy New Year.

Thursday, January 1, 2026 Bob & Yvonne made a fantastic breakfast of bacon, eggs, and toast this morning, and talk about hitting the spot. It hit the spot, yes. Afterward, I ventured out on the caching trail, i.e., south toward Myrtle Beach proper. The highlight was a long walk on the East Coast Greenway, where I found three caches and a couple of cool sights—a large fossil rock and a big tree trunk carved into a bench, labeled "Caution." I found it amusing. At the end of it all, I found eight caches, which, for me, cleans out most of the Myrtle Beach area, except for several way down south toward Surfside. I expect I'll have an opportunity to hunt those on a future trip—and it'd be nice if some new ones come out between now and then.

L: Interesting fossil rock found along the trail; R: My first signed log of 2026

Don't sit on THAT bench!

Once back at Crescent Sands, I had a wee lunch, courtesy of Yvonne, who made some ham & cheese sliders. Soon, the women all went shopping, leaving Bob, Terry, and me to our own devices. These devices included going to a nearby liquor store and buying Bloody Mary fixings. We took advantage of those and made Bloody Marys. Twice over.

During this little spell of mellow time, I made reservations at a nice VRBO in Providence, RI, in August, when Kim and I will be heading up to Necronomicon and very likely Newport.

 

For dinner, we opted for Landshark Bar & Grill at nearby Barefoot Landing, a resort area where we spent many good times in years past with my late, much-lamented friend Bridgett and her husband, Gerry. Dinner was very enjoyable—good food, drinks, and service.

 

And so that pretty much completed our New Year's adventure. In general, this trip turned out to be fairly low-key; a bit more mellow than some in recent years. All in all, though, this made for a welcome respite from some of the lunacy in our "normal" day-to-day states of being.

 

May 2026's light shine bright for all of us.

Put a Little Fear in Your New Year!

When New Year's Eve is on the horizon, I love to recommend my 2012 novella, Gods of Moab, which is available in paperback ($9.99) and ebook (only $2.99). Don't know what you might be in for? Well, here's a little something...

A pleasant New Year's Eve outing becomes an experience in otherworldly horror when two close-knit couples discover a shocking secret in the darkest corners of the Appalachian mountains. At an opulent mountain inn, Warren Burr, his fiancee, Anne, and their friends, Roger and Kristin Leverman, encounter a religious zealot named John Hanger, who makes it his business to bear witness to them of his peculiar... and disturbing... faith. His efforts rebuffed, Hanger insidiously assumes control of the couples' technological devices, leading them to stumble into unexpected, surreal landscapes... landscapes inhabited by nightmarish beings that defy explanation. To survive, Warren and his friends must not only escape the deadly entities that pursue them but somehow stop John Hanger's nightmare-plague from spreading to the outside world.

"After devouring The Gods of Moab in one short sitting, this novella has not only become my favorite work by the author, it has become one of my favorite reads of the year. Rainey balances his supernatural frights with the natural, and it works beautifully. From the first page to its mind-bending final sentences, The Gods of Moab will have readers wide-eyed and enthralled." —TTZuma, HorrorWorld 

Love it or hate it, Amazon.com reviews are always appreciated. Thanks!

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Order The Gods of Moab from Amazon.com here!

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2024: The Best of Times, the Worst of Times, and All That In-Between

Over and out, 2024. Loved you and hated you (a sentiment I've seen from many folks of my acquaintance). For Brugger and me, 2024 was the first full year we have lived together at Ground Zero, as I sometimes refer to our homeplace. I absolutely love this old house, much about Martinsville (at least, the better aspects it has retained since my youth here), many of our neighbors, and the prevailing atmosphere of tranquility—a critical quality that came to be sadly lacking in Greensboro.

We're farther from so many of the people and activities that made living in North Carolina better than bearable, but not so far that we can't make regular trips back and forth. We have some good friends here in town as well, and we've managed to get some of those unruly North Carolina foreigners together with our local compadres numerous times—including last night at friends Bob & Yvonne's superb New Year's Eve party.

Yesterday morning, I went to Greensboro to witness NC friends Tom & Linda sign some legal documents, have lunch with them, get in a quick bit of geocaching, and pick up daughter Allison to bring her back to Mville for a few days' visit. A little later in the afternoon, friends Terry & Beth drove up from Kernersville, NC, to attend the aforementioned party at Bob & Yvonne's place, less than a mile from Ground Zero. We were soon joined by friend Gretchen, and off we headed to the party—the others by automobile, I on foot because I wanted to make sure I got in my requisite 5,000 steps for the day. Accomplish that I did, plus a couple of thousand in advance for New Year's Day, since I opted to walk home as well. (For the past 365 days, I've averaged 8,800 steps—about four miles—a day, with only two days, both back in January, that I didn't get in at least 5,000 steps.)

Bob & Yvonne throw dynamite parties. We already knew this, but I think last night might have been their best yet. Bob acquired a hell of a nice bar setup, and he served us a variety of killer drinks for the entire evening. What a gentleman! There were 15 to 20 people in attendance, some coming and going at various times, while about a dozen of us lingered till midnight to ring in the New Year with a champagne toast.

This past year, I've done a ton of writing I'm rightly proud of, perhaps most notably my novel, The House at Black Tooth Pond, due for release in February from Crossroad Press. It'll be available as an ebook, trade paperback, and audiobook. You can preorder it from Amazon.com here. I've also completed a few short stories (which I hope you'll be reading in various upcoming publications) and am currently co-writing a new novel with Elizabeth Massie titled Freezer Burn. We hope to have it wrapped up in the spring of this year.

In other writing-related business, I attended Scares That Care: AuthorCon III in Williamsburg back in April, NecronomiCon Providence in August (and I returned to Providence for a wonderful long weekend with Ms. B. in November), and had numerous successful booksignings over the course of the year.

2024 also hit Ms. B. and I with some significant setbacks, most notably Kimberly being laid off from her job of twenty-plus years in February—almost two years to the day after the company laid me off. Since losing her job, Ms. B. has fashioned herself into a very capable freelancer in the educational publishing business. Unfortunately, she makes considerably less than she did at her full-time job, but she enjoys the work, and as things currently stand, her income is adequate for us to get by. But here's the rub: in order to get health insurance, she had to purchase it through Virginia's ACA Exchange; and since her income is relatively low, she receives a decent subsidy to keep her policy affordable. However, by all indications, the Shitgibbon-elect and the Party of Freedom From Every Policy That Helps More People Than It Hurts don't plan to renew the subsidies later this year, so we may well find ourselves in dire straits—along with many millions who depend on the ACA subsidies to afford healthcare. I don't need to go into further detail about how calamitous this will be, but yes, if the GOP goes through with its plans, a lot of us are likely to end up in mortal danger. Yeah, that's the way to make America great, right?

What a load of pure horseshit, my friends.

Enough of that particular commentary. However, on a somewhat related note, while I've generally enjoyed pretty good health, especially since I've taken up my daily lengthy walks, I have occasional complications and unexpected setbacks that do—and will—require medical services. I'm on Medicare, so I also have to hope that the party in power doesn't decide to fuck over everyone who isn't rolling in superfluous dollars.

Coming up for 2025, we have a relatively short Caribbean cruise to look forward to, at least one convention to attend (Scares That Care: AuthorCon V in Williamsburg at the end of March), and I plan to participate in numerous other book-related events, as I did this past year. I've also plotted a few other writing projects, which I plan to undertake once done with the collaboration with Ms. Massie.

And that's about all I've got in me for right now. One more year relegated to the personal history books, and another coming up that represents the next step in the walk of the unknown, as friend Larry Blamire has put it.

I wish we could all be together on this journey into the future, but I swear, I cannot fathom all too many mindsets around me, especially the insane delight in indulging ignorance, stupidity, and general negativity. It's hard to stay above it when the world around us seems to thrive on it. Regardless, I wish everyone in my sphere of influence the very best, and I hope, however bleak things sometimes look, that there are silver linings galore for everyone. These have been known to happen.

Peace out.

A Virginia Beach New Year's

FRIDAY, DECEMBER 29, 2023

These past few New Year's holidays, Brugger and I have gathered with our regular partners in crime, Terry & Beth, and this year, friends Joe & Suzy joined the mix. This year, we had decided on Virginia Beach as our destination and made reservations at the Dolphin Run condos on the waterfront. Since we were all heading from different places — and I had geocaches to stop for — each couple drove separately. Ms. B. and I left about 11:00 a.m. Sure enough... there were some cool geocaches to snag along the way. We hit a few spots of traffic, but overall, the trip turned out to be a mostly pain-free six hours.

Once ensconced in our lodgings, we opened some wine for pre-dinner drinks. Come the dinner hour, we saw a few nearby restaurants, so we walked up to an appealing-looking place called Waterman's Surfside Grill, but the wait time — about an hour — struck us as a bit much. So we ended up walking another partial block and found Mahi's at the nearby Hilton Hotel. They specialize in sushi, and I ended up with some of the best dead fish I've had in ages... maybe ever.

Then we returned to our lodgings and — scandalous, I know — we opened some wine. Our revels, debates, and mud-wrestling lasted fairly late. Brugger and I took a nice, late-night walk on the beach. Then there was some heavy-duty bed-crashing.

The Dolphin Run Condos by night

SATURDAY, DECEMBER 30, 2023

After plenty of coffee, I set out walking after geocaches. Found a few physical hides and stages of several Adventure Lab (virtual) caches. I ended up hoofing it about two and a half miles, which is fairly typical of my daily walks back home. The wind behaved brutally for much of the distance, so I was still rather glad when I made it back indoors.

For lunch, our gang decided to give Waterman's another try because the menu had appeared appealing. This time, we were able to get seated quickly. One of their daily specials was an Angus burger with brie and applewood-smoked bacon, and it hollered at me. No drinks but water for me because I'm certain there will be no shortage of such refreshments this evening. The burger was very good, a bit shy of great. Still, it's been ages since I've had a burger, so it hit the critical spot.

To my dismay, I discovered that our power back home had gone out. Apparently, it was a widespread outage in Martinsville, as people all over the city were posting about it. It lasted a couple of hours, and I don't know what caused it, but at the moment, all seems well again. We certainly did not want the cats and their sitter to get too cold!

Writer/editor/Crossroad Press CEO/good friend David Niall Wilson was apparently in town, and we'd had an idea we might try to get together during the afternoon, but circumstances didn't come together for it. However, come April, we'll be seeing each other at the upcoming AuthorCon III in Williamsburg, so we'll have a good time there to anticipate. 

There is a walkway along the beach that runs just below our eighth-floor balcony — the "boardwalk," it's called, although it's not so much boards as concrete. It's been all done up with a holiday light show, so, during the evening, a huge parade of vehicles rolls by to go through the show. It doesn't bother us at all, though now and again, we venture out to the balcony to hurl insults at the crowd and look at some of the visible lights.

Several of the gang were out and about for the afternoon, so they picked up vittles for dinner, including a couple of rotisserie chickens for the main course. Joe made us a lovely Italian concoction of beans and escarole to go with the bird, and so we were set. Once well-fed, we settled in for an evening of wine, games, and generally acting up.

Crazy white people!

The opening of the light show below our balcony: "Welcome to VA Beach!"

SUNDAY, DECEMBER 31, 2023

I'd hoped the weather might be a bit less blustery this morning to go walkies, but while the sun blazed brightly, that air remained frigid. So... no. I got some writing done. Finally, at about 11:00 a.m., the temperature pushed up to the 40-degree mark, and I decided to head on out. Joe & Suzy had a lunch date with her sister, who lives nearby, and the rest of us planned to eat leftovers, so I reckoned I could walk as far as I wanted to, and we'd be on our own time until later this afternoon. I went a full two miles outbound, grabbed a traditional cache and the stages of a couple of Adventure Labs, and I had just reached my farthest goal when Ms. B. shot me a message. Apparently, the gang had decided to check out lunch options other than leftovers, and could I please get back pretty soon? Hoo boy... long way....

Fortunately, I walk pretty fast.

Our lunch destination was Firebrew Bar & Grill down by Oceana Naval Air Station, where Terry and Joe had been stationed back in our nation's earliest days. Terry and I started with a couple of bloody marys (quite good) and ye women opted for wine. Possibly the wrong thing to do because we're having a big New Year's Eve dinner, but I went for a half-rack of baby back ribs, and damn... they were delicious. There was a cache nearby, so I grabbed it... and ran into a local geocacher in the process. We had a brief, enjoyable conversation.

From there, ye women went shopping, and Terry and I headed down to Oceana to meander around his old stomping grounds. For me, the real treat was getting to view a fair number of "antique" Navy aircraft up close and personal. Due largely to my model-building days, which ranged from my wee childhood until post-college, I recalled the names and types of the majority of the jets. Fun stuff!

F4 Phantom

F2H Banshee

F14 Tomcat

The Lunch Bunch

For New Year's Eve dinner, we had reservations at Mermaid Winery. It was a three-course dinner with choices of pork belly, scallops, crabmeat-stuff lobster, filet mignon, and various sweets for dessert. They served really good wine with dinner — not their own, which turned out to be fortunate because Kim and Terry sampled some of theirs and came away with expressions that were not at all pretty. Regardless, the atmosphere, service, and food made the overall experience a great finish for the year.

Back at the condo, we sat up playing tunes and making merry. Brugger entertained us with nonstop dancing from the time we arrived until we crashed, well after midnight.

2023 has left the building...

Our Gang at Mermaid Winery for dinner

The final moonrise of 2023

A LOOK BACK...

Without question, 2023 has been one of the most eventful years of my life. It was my first full year of retirement and included a major move back to my old homeplace in Virginia. In Greensboro, Ms. B. and I went through some of the worst household issues ever, first and foremost being the downright monstrous expense of replacing our sewer line ("Ain't That the Shit!"). Once we decided to move to Martinsville, we simultaneously went through the processes of upgrading our Greensboro house to sell and upgrading Pleasant Hill to move. What a long, expensive, labor-intensive job ("I'm Getting Too Old for This Shit!"). Fortunately, we got a good price on the Greensboro place, and while there are still some things we need (and want) to do in Martinsville, the house and town have turned out to be — unlike Greensboro has become — a comfortable, peaceful place to settle.

Early in the year and into the summer, along with all the physical labor, I was immersed in editing Deathrealm: Spirits, which came out in October from Shortwave Publishing. As with any anthology, it was an involved process, but overall, I reckon things came together as smoothly as I could have hoped. It's a beautiful book that includes superb work from many of the biggest and best names in the business. I hope you'll avail yourselves to it if you haven't already.

One of the hardest events to deal with this past year was the death of my good friend and regular geocaching partner, Rob Isenhour. We had well over a decade of experiences together, and whenever our (mostly) weekend geocaching group, The No-Dead-Weight Irregulars, manages to get together (sadly, not as frequently these days, since we are far more spread apart), the gap that Rob left behind seems massive. We do so miss him.

Having turned fairly old, this year has hit me with a few health challenges — none all that severe, but numerous and just serious enough to become real, if mostly temporary impediments. This last round of dental difficulty ("Fun & Games with Tooth Extractions") was the icing on the medical cake for this year. I can't say I approve, but at least I've mostly mended.

All in all, I can safely say this year has been another positive, if bumpy step forward in the walk into the unknown. I suppose, to put it in the immortal words of Dr. Franklin Ruehl, it's better (at least sometimes) than being slapped in the belly with a wet trout.

A Carolina Beach New Year’s

Following what has become a longstanding New Year’s tradition, Brugger and I joined up with frequent traveling companions Terry & Beth to celebrate, this year bound for Carolina Beach, NC, about four hours down the road from us. Late morning on Friday, 12/30, Ms. B. and I departed Greensboro, and after stopping for lunch and a few geocaches, we arrived at our destination no more than five minutes before our compadres. None of us had been here before, so we weren’t sure what to expect crowd-wise; happily, the locale isn’t deserted, but neither do we face a huge and/or oppressive crush of homo sapiens. I suspect, however, that on our return trip, traffic will be a monster, particularly as we approach the fuckin Triad. Because it’s the fuckin Triad.

A lovely little graveyard we found while
geocaching on the way into Carolina Beach

Some time ago, food evangelist Guy Fieri apparently gave the nearby Cork and Fork restaurant a glowing recommendation on Drive-Ins, Diners, and Dives, and it’s now Carolina Beach’s top-rated restaurant. So, for dinner, we decided to check it out. It’s an appealing enough location, with a menu that features a wide variety of burgers, eclectic bar food, and an extensive wine list. Unfortunately, they did not have our first wine selection in stock, nor any of their renowned duck wings, which I had hoped to sample. We ended up ordering a bottle of a decent syrah, and I went for the Hay Dios Mio burger, a massive construct of dead cow, chipotle mayo, jalapeño jack cheese, ghost pepper jack cheese, lettuce, tomato, onion, avocado, and jalapeños on a brioche bun. Make no mistake, it was danged good, yet I couldn’t say that it racks up with some of the better burgers we can snag back home. That said, apart from some of our choices being unavailable, we had no complaints about the food.

Afterward, we hung out in our apartment for a while, mostly sampling various treats we had on hand. A late and most enjoyable night it turned out to be.

Saturday, 12/31, most of us slept in until at least 8:00 a.m. (we are old) and, once up, drank massive — MASSIVE — quantities of Good Morning America. Brugger and I took a long walk on the beach, which was shrouded with a dense layer of fog. This fit in perfectly with tradition, I reckon, for each New Year’s that we’ve spent at the beach, thick fog has been a constant companion. Hey, I like it.

A foggy morning on the beach

A well-fed seagull taking flight, caught by Ms. B.’s camera

Eventually, we trucked up to Wilmington proper, where we found vittles and wine (a lovely syrah) at a little place called The Vine. I ordered a trio of pulled pork sliders, which I rate very, very high on the scale of pulled pork goodness. The service and atmosphere were perfect, so we give top marks all around to The Vine.

We rambled forth, shopped, geocached, and eventually ended up at another little wine bar called The Fortunate Glass. Fact: this wine bar has the most extensive wine list of any establishment in my experience that I can recall. It took a while, but we selected a bottle of wine — this one an incredible Crianza — and ordered a few munchies (or maybe a few too many munchies). I chose a paté plate that I thought would probably be a wee appetizer-type thingummy, but no... it was a massive bunch of puréed dead critter, and though I enjoyed it, it was too much to finish.

I grabbed a few more geocaches, one at a fascinating location — a military surplus store at which one may find a vintage jet fighter, a couple of cannons, and a few other examples of military hardware parked right out front. The geocache lurks in a somewhat difficult-to-access location amid the fixtures, which presented me with an unexpected challenge. Eventually, I ended up calling geocaching buddy Mike, a.k.a. MWFerrell65, who lives in the Triangle but — coincidentally — happened to be caching in the Carolina Beach/Wilmington area at the same time as us. How handy!

Back at our apartment, we hung out and made merry for a while. Ms. B. and I took another long walk on the beach before heading back to prepare for the chiming of the hour. That put our hoofing-it distance at about four miles for the day. Once again settled in our place, we celebrated the changing of the year with a toast — not champagne but some excellent red wine.

Woo-fuckin-hoo, goodbye, 22.

Terry, Beth, Brugger, Old Dude

The jet plane appears to have sprouted a pair of legs. Wonder what that could be about?

Our Carolina Beach lodgings by night

The bombs bursting in air a mile or so up the beach

Sunday, 1/1/23: Most of us (well, only Brugger, really) slept in a bit later than usual. Once we were all up and going (hurry up, Brugger!), we buzzed back to Wilmington, where we took to wandering along the Cape Fear River on the River Walk. We found lunch at a nice enough establishment called Rooster & The Crow. Again, a few menu items were unavailable, but none of us came away hungry. I had fried chicken, one of their house specialties. Not bad — though, again, no more remarkable than the fare we can find at numerous joints back home. Mind you, I’m so not complaining, for I quite understand the difficulties resulting from supply issues, and none of us are scratching the earth to seek subsistence. It was all a treat, as far as I am concerned.

Once done with the feeding frenzy, we split up — Terry to hunt drinks and football at a sports bar; Brugger and Beth to shop for all kinds of shopping things; and I to geocache. I found a bunch — enough to damn near clear out Wilmington’s historic district. A couple of these were ingenious, highly creative hides, and I had a physical challenge or two to keep me invigorated. A lovely afternoon indeed!

And tomorrow... off we go.

The USS North Carolina, seen from Wilmington’s River Walk

Another view as the sun settled lower in the sky

Our last toast as our evening drew to a close

Some great things happened in 2022. The most significant include the releases of my collection, Fugue Devil: Resurgence from Black Raven Books, and my latest entry in Elizabeth Massie’s Ameri-Scares series for young readers, Georgia: The Haunting of Tate’s Mill from Crossroad Press. On the writing front, I’ve got a new novel in the works as well as a new editing gig — easily the biggest such project I’ve taken on in decades. It will be announced in the coming weeks. Now, it behooves me to ask: if you’ve read any of my work, please leave a review on Amazon or Goodreads, or any site that will help spread the word. Reviews are critical to authors, and I assure you, every little bit helps. I very much appreciate everyone who has taken the time to post a review, whether short and to the point or long and in-depth.

Early in 2022, I retired from my position of 23 years at The Mailbox, although I continue to do freelance work for the company. Brugger and I took a few trips to Michigan to visit her parents, who are still managing pretty well on their own but are reaching that age where they need a bit more assistance. In the fall, Kimberly and I also visited Michigan’s Upper Peninsula, which is one of my favorite places on Earth. Such a beautiful location, with countless waterfalls, trails, quaint little towns, massive forests, and many opportunities for hiking and geocaching (I claimed my 14,000th geocache in Michigan on our Thanksgiving trip, thus maintaining my average of about 1,000 cache finds per year).

In May, Ms. B. and I spent an excellent week in Chicago, visiting my old stomping grounds and many good friends from days of yore — Bill Gudmundson, Ed Godziszewski, Bob Issel, and more. On this trip, we spent a few days in Nashville, TN, and saw Colin Hay perform; an excellent show. The only downside was that we came home with the covidz. Fortunately, they turned out to be very mild cases.

In July, I attended my first Necon in a quarter of a century. Reigniting some personal relationships, building new ones, and simply hanging out with so many of my peers in the writing business was the proverbial breath of fresh air and helped jump-start some projects I’ve had in mind to produce.

I made two pilgrimages to Gainesville, Georgia, where I spent so much time as a youth at my grandparents’ place (and in the fall, I made a day trip to my old alma mater, the University of Georgia, in Athens). The highlight of my most recent visit was making the personal acquaintance of author and professor Leverett Butts, whose book, Guns of the Waste Land: Departure, I reviewed here. I will be speaking to his literature class about Fugue Devil: Resurgence coming up in February.

In November, after far too long, I was able to visit with friend, fellow writer, and proprietor of Crossroad Press, Mr. David Niall Wilson, plus his wife, Trish, and their family in Hertford, NC. That was an excellent, memorable, and much-needed trip. We’ve all been friends for many, many years, but it’s far too rare for our paths to cross. I hope the next gap between visits isn’t nearly so long.

Along with all the loveliness, challenges and stressors aplenty struck over the course of the year, though none as dire as those we dealt with during those years of my mom’s long decline and eventual passing and then my brother succumbing to leukemia. It’s clear that 2023 will pose plenty of challenges of its own; I hope we all not only weather them but prosper in every respect.

Be well, and Happy Fookin’ New Year to the lot of ye.

Dirty Myrtle Madness

Actually, "Dirty Myrtle" is the name of an IPA I tried while at the beach, and I quite liked it. But it kind of fits the motif of this most recent visit, which was both intensely fun and something between unsettling and infuriating.

Three years ago, Ms. B. and I had spent our New Year's holiday with friends and frequent traveling companions, Terry & Beth, at Myrtle Beach, SC, and have been hoping to do it again. This year, since we've all had our three COVID-19 shots, we figured we'd give it another go. We traveled halfway around the world together without issue, and domestically, almost everywhere we've been in recent days, the populace has been pretty good about taking the proper precautions. So, even with Omicron variant rearing its ugly head, we decided to go forward with our plan.

After work on Thursday, 12/30, Brugger and I hit the road for the beach, roughly a four-hour drive. Severe rainstorms along the way slowed us down a bit, but we still arrived at our lodgings — the Carolinian Beach Resort — by mid-evening. We spent a few pleasant hours in our suite with wine and good company until quite late, when Brugger and I went walking on the beach. A beautiful evening it was, and I procured information to complete an EarthCache ("Shark!" GC5ADB4).

The old dude about to wail on
a hapless golf ball

Friday morning, I got up fairly early and hoofed it after a nearby geocache (one of the few in the area I hadn't claimed on previous trips). Then Terry & I girded our loins and headed over to Whispering Pines Golf Course to indulge in some masochistic fun on the links. It was here that we really began to get the feel for how little heed anyone — anyone — in Myrtle Beach is paying to the realities of the pandemic. While our group, without exception, religiously wore KN-95 masks anywhere and everywhere we went in public, all too rarely did we see another mask or even any attempt at social distancing. Now, on the golf course, we had plenty of open space to work with, so it was literally a breath of fresh air. We ended up playing with a couple of nice gentlemen — brothers — from Kentucky, both of whom were vaccinated and respected social distancing. And to be sure, the round was fun, if a bit frustrating, since it was only the third time in the last decade that I've picked up a golf club (the other two being with Terry in the past year). To say one of the foursome was still way out of practice is one hell of an understatement (though I did manage to make a few marginally spectacular golf shots). Fortunately, our companions, while competent players, at least did not completely and utterly put me to shame. Terry played a generally consistent round, with a respectable score (the kind I used to have when I played on a far more regular basis, and that I almost hope to achieve again).

Being New Year's Eve, we knew that, without having made prior reservations, finding a decent restaurant for dinner might be problematic. It kind of was. Eventually, we ended up at an okay Italian restaurant (Toscana Italian Kitchen), which had a limited (and very expensive) menu for the evening, but I'd say we made the best of it. The dishes were all way heavy on the cheese, even on such selections such as Veal Saltimbocca, which in my experience generally are not nearly so dairy-laden. The available wines were nothing to brag on, so while I will credit the servers for their very cordial and professional performance under very busy conditions, I can't say I was all that enthused with the dinner fare, especially not at the price. Again, not a mask in the restaurant.

With the coming of darkness — as on our previous New Year's sojourn at Myrtle Beach — the fog began to roll in (see "Waylaid, Shanghaied, and Hauled Away," January 1, 2019). No patchy mist, this, but an incredibly dense cloud that settled over the beach for the entire night. If anything, this was even thicker and more opaque than last time — and we loved it. From our 19th floor balcony, we could scarcely see the well-lit pool deck below us, nor even the barrage of fireworks that began going up a couple of hundred feet away on the beach. Happily, some far more potent blasts went off just beyond our balcony, so, also as before, we had the perfect view for the brilliant if all-too-brief display.

We did a bit of hollering at midnight as the rockets burst around us, but it wasn't long before all went quiet and dark. So Brugger and I took the opportunity to take another walk on the fog-shrouded beach. If you'll take a gander at the photo up top, you'll see my flashlight beam focused on our balcony, which was the only one brightly lit at 12:30 a.m. on January 1, 2022. I quite enjoyed the effect.

"The fog is getting thicker!"

On New Year's morning, once I dragged my weary self out of the sack, I headed out after some geocaches. Had to be done, don't you know. First destination was Warbird Park, at the south end of Myrtle Beach, where you'll find a trio of US Air Force warplanes on display (an F-100 Super Sabre, an A-7 Corsair II, and an A-10 Thunderbolt II [a.k.a. Warthog]), along with a trail of plaques that chronicle the history of the 354th Fighter Wing and the Myrtle Beach Air Force Base, which closed in 1993. Back in the days when my family vacationed in Myrtle Beach every summer, our timeshare was just across the main highway from the air base, and I took great pleasure in watching the military jets come and go at very close range. Now there is an Adventure Lab cache at the site, and I enjoyed the hell out of visiting the location.

F-100 Super Sabre

A-7 Corsair II

A-10 Thunderbolt II (a.k.a. Warthog)

After Warbirds Park, I headed over to a nearby trail for a couple more caches, and then to Myrtle Beach State Park, just across Highway 17, to see if I could avenge a prior DNF (did not find) from a couple of years ago. At that time, the cache was missing but has since been replaced. I found it indeed, and so turned a little blue frowny face on the geocaching map to a big happy smiley.

That was it for the morning's caching, so I rejoined our intrepid group. And then...lunch! We opted for Abuelo's Mexican Restaurant, which the ladies had visited the day before and enjoyed enough to go back. I had eaten there on a previous beach trip and liked it well enough, so I was pleased to return. In general, it was all right, but much like at Toscana, the cheese brigade had gone on a rampage. Now, make no mistake, I love me some cheese, but I'm not really looking to croak of a coronary because I had the audacity to eat lunch. Truly, I've never seen so much smothering of foodstuffs with dairy stuffs, and while the food tasted all right, I then and there slammed headfirst into the cheese wall. I'm sure the hankering will again knock on my door (and probably too soon), but for at least some while, cheese and I are going to keep a respectable distance.

After the cheese extravaganza, we headed to a few shops to pick up wine, other assorted provisions, and new shoes.

Creeple People at Abuelo's Mexican Restaurant, about to be cheesed off

After shopping, we rested and recuperated for a while at the suite, and eventually set out to dine again, this time at RipTydz Oceanfront Grille and Rooftop Bar, a relatively short distance down Ocean Boulevard. Again, the usual lack of masks. But in general, the place turned out to be most agreeable, with excellent service and delicious seafood (I had snow crab legs and steamed oysters on the half shell). It was here I tried the Dirty Myrtle IPA. I do like a good IPA, so on those rare occasions I actually drink beer, it tends to be my brew of choice. The Dirty Myrtle rates as highly respectable. Definitely the best dinner experience of the trip, this RipTydz.

We finished off the night back at the suite with a smidgen of dessert and a tad more wine (and very fine wine at that).

This morning, we got up, packed up, and bid the Carolinian adieu for this time around. We found an excellent breakfast at nearby Donald's Pancake House, which we had visited on some previous trip or another. This was, if I may say, a DAMN good breakfast. Again, the service was top-notch. In fact, at all the places we visited on this trip, service proved superlative. I was impressed by how well we were treated at every establishment, as well as the timeliness and efficiency of their wait staffs. Now, some places clearly were short-handed, such as Toscana, but even then the folks there made every effort to attend to us as best they could. They have my admiration.

But for the love of Yog, there really is a pandemic. While at the beach, I received distressing news about a good family friend who is now in dire shape with COVID-19. During these trying times, Brugger and I have done our very best to do the right, responsible things without sheltering ourselves completely. But this time around, if we don't get infected, we'll have dodged a bullet. I personally know too many people who've lost too much to go waltzing blithely along without taking responsible precautions. I personally know too many healthcare workers who are at the ends of their ropes because some of you are truly too stupid — or chickenshit — to do the right things and are overloading our healthcare facilities. Dress it up any way you want; the intellectual gymnastics required to justify not taking the pandemic seriously are ludicrous, dangerous, asinine, and selfish in the extreme. Those of you doing this ought to be ashamed, but you clearly do not have the self-awareness — or consideration for others — to accept such responsibility. Given the people in my life this disease has affected so profoundly, it's fair to say that I hold in utmost contempt those of you who simply can't be bothered, or have been so indoctrinated into wingnut ideology, to be fucking decent Americans.

If for this you choose not to like me anymore, well, I really don't give a rat's ass.

Happy New Year.