Flock of Sea Gulls

Bluffton Today
April 14, 2010

If a stray cat wanders into your backyard and you feed her, what happens? She starts coming back for breakfast, lunch and dinner because she has found a food source and you are generous enough to keep the buffet open.

So, what happens if you feed the sea gulls on the beach? Uh, they keep coming back.

I’ve learned that there are two types of people on the beaches and sandbars of the Lowcountry.

Feeders (noun): people who feed sea gulls, willingly wave cheese puffs in the air, and are almost always sitting directly adjacent to Courtney Hampson on the beach.

Feeder-haters (noun): people who bring food to the beach so they can eat it; they don’t feed the sea gulls.

Now that summer has recently sprung, and I am taking full advantage of our beloved beach and boat days, I get the distinct honor of having weekly run-ins with the feeders.

You know the type. The feeders think it is funny to have dozens of birds swarming over head. The feeders laugh along with the gulls cackling call. Feeders don’t mind that this dirty bird will strut confidently within inches of their beach blanket for a small taste of their mid-afternoon meal.

It is no coincidence that the migratory path of feeders mimics that of the sea gull. Meaning it doesn’t matter what shore – ocean or river, Jersey or South Carolina - the sea gull will swarm if feeders are present.

It is my distinct hope that the feeder species are tourists from interior states, flocking to the shoreline for vacation, and awestruck by the sea gull, so much so, that they must get a closer look and feed them. In such cases, this may warrant a one-time excusable offense.

But for locals, to be a feeder is inexcusable.

Sea gull is actually a nickname for the Herring Gull. In North America, the sea gull breeds along the Atlantic coast and inhabit shorelines of oceans, seas, lakes, and large rivers. So, bottom line. They are here to stay.

And I am willing to peacefully co-exist with the species (the gull, not the feeder).

In fact, The Migratory Bird Act of 1918 tells me that I have to. Believe it or not, in the early 1900’s sea gull feathers were a hot commodity and were being pillaged. The Migratory Bird Act makes it illegal to harm or injure a gull without a Federal permit. This Act combined with the resources provided by human activity (food!), allowed the species to make a remarkable rebound. The success of the Act was, in fact, so great that now sea gulls have become a bit of a nuisance in many areas where large numbers of sea gulls coincide with human activity and land use. Yup, that means our beaches and sandbars.

Gulls are very opportunistic and adaptive feeders and will forage on anything -- from your lunch, to someone else’s leftovers found in the garbage can, to fish, to chicks of other bird species or their own.

Listen, it isn’t up to me to tell you who to invite over for lunch and dinner. But, it is important to note that the sea gull isn’t the cleanest bird in the ol’ food chain. They tend to carry avian tuberculosis and internal parasites, salmonella and botulism are often the cause of their demise and, they like to play host to fleas and ticks. Now, I’m no scientist, but why exactly do folks insist on sharing a meal with them?

As a founding member of the Feeder-Haters Association, I feel it is my duty to also point out that as with all living creatures ... when you eat, you poop. Unfortunately, the sea gull’s defecation reaction is almost instantaneous. Sea gulls don’t follow the “don’t $hit where you eat” mantra. The bottom line is, if they are eating off of your beach towel, they will probably be pooping there too.

Enjoy the beach and oh, bon appetite!

Courtney Hampson can’t make this stuff up, in fact, she even did some research on this one. For a plethora of sea gull facts and figures, visit http://bna.birds.cornell.edu/. And, if you want to share your tales of feeder-woe, email courtneyh@hargray.com.

Special thanks to Ro Carcione for the pic!

Profile: Sheriff PJ Tanner

CH/CB2, April 2010

On the morning of January 23, 1981, PJ Tanner put his pants on one leg at a time. However on this morning those pants were a part of his Beaufort County Sheriff Officer’s uniform. Tanner had waited for that moment for years. He knew at a young age that he wanted to “be all he could be,” and his intent was to do that through law enforcement.

Tanner spent his late teens and the first year of his twenties “just waiting to turn 21.” He didn’t want to commit to anything long-term post high school, because he knew his ultimate goal. So, as any good born-and-bred Bluffton boy would do, he farmed soy beans on the Ulmer’s Farm (now Old South Golf Links) and worked on the golf course at Moss Creek. And he counted the days.

After hitting the magical age 21, he was off and running (new shoes are also a part of the uniform!). Two years into his new career, Tanner remembers standing at the coffee pot and talking to then Sheriff Morgan McCutchen who asked Tanner what he wanted to do with his life. Tanner replied, “Well, I want your job.” A surprised McCutchen chuckled, and an immediate bond was formed. McCutchen became Tanner’s mentor, and they nurtured a decades-long relationship of mutual respect, both personally and professionally.

Tanner’s road to McCutchen’s job was a winding one. For 13 years, he moved up the ranks, working SWAT, drug task force, and internal affairs. “I was a cowboy, a sergeant answering directly to the Sheriff. I thought I could do anything,” he said.

And he did. On March 15, 1994 he filed the paperwork to run for sheriff. Continue reading ...

Tea for 2,000?

Bluffton Today column

The way to my heart is a grande non-fat mocha, with whip. Preferably delivered each morning. And, if you want to sweeten the pot, write a little note on the lid. Something along the lines of, “Good morning beautiful,” or “You make my day sweetheart.”

Clearly I’m a coffee girl, which is why all this talk about the “Bluffton Tea Party,” slated for April 15th at the Promenade, has me on the wrong side of the caffeine line. Rumor has that 2,000 people are expected to fill the Promenade for the festivities.

The national media has been all abuzz with the Tea Party movement. Governor-turned-vice-presidential-candidate-turned-reality TV-star-turned-talk-show-host, Sarah Palin, has been traveling the country touting the tea. If you’ve been under a rock and missed the pontificating, the mission of the tea party is to “attract, educate, organize, and mobilize our fellow citizens to secure public policy consistent with our three core values of fiscal responsibility, constitutionally limited government and free markets.”

Loose translation: the conservatives are perturbed that there is a democrat in the White House and that they don’t have the majority in the other house. (I’m pretty sure these are the same folks who were appalled by the anti-war protests and those speaking out against then President Bush. But, I digress…)

Locally, the Bluffton Tea Party Patriots (Check out their website ) have organized the April 15th Tea Party. Interestingly, the event tagline is “Let’s party like its 1773.” Sure, because 1773 was such a grand time. Slavery was legal. Women had no rights. The colonies were ruled by the British crown. And, we had to ride horses to work, for crying out loud!

As a side note for non-history buffs, did you know that on July 1, 1776, South Carolina voted against independence? Apparently minds were changed overnight (bi-partisanship in action at the birth of our nation!), and on July 2nd, South Carolina voted in favor of independence.

Anyway, the Patriots are pulling out all the stops for the totalitarian tea fete, with live music, citizen speakers, trivia, and prizes will be awarded for the best overall sign (what’s a protest without good signs?), most unique patriotic costumes and best decorated carriage, stroller, or wagon (expecting a big under-three crowd, are we?).

So let me get this straight. 2,000 folks are going to gather to protest national policies? Now obviously, I’m all for freedom of speech and having a voice but, what exactly is the intended outcome?

I’ll be conservative (but, only in my math) and say that 25% or 500 of the participants will actually live in Bluffton. Don’t you think that 500 people could make a huge impact right here in our community, by speaking up about something we see, feel, experience every day in our own neighborhoods?

Namely, I’d like to catch the idiots who are responsible for the rash of break-ins in my (and maybe your) neighborhood. I’d love to see the “drainage” ditches on McCracken Circle not overflow with every rainstorm (otherwise we should change the name, because nothing is draining). I’d like to help one or two or three or four dozen of the local families who’ve found themselves out of work and struggling. I’d like to donate my time to Bluffton Self Help, or the Boys and Girls Club, Palmetto Animal League, or The Curry Foundation.

So, why don’t we get something going here folks? Give two hours of your time locally. Let’s get together and talk about it. I’m thinking a little coffee clatch may just be my cup of tea.

Courtney Hampson sits a little left of center and can be reached at courtneyh@hargray.com.

Squeak, No Grease. Honey, No Bee.

Here is the story of how the squeaky wheel got not grease, and how the honey got no bee.

The short story is that I had to change my name on all of my accounts, and my go-to credit card (with the platinum sheen and the deliciously low interest rate) had yet to arrive. So, I called the 1-800-bank number and was connected to a customer service representative. I told Mr. Service my dilemma and he put me on hold to “review” my account.

Thirty seconds later he came back on the line to ask me some questions about my income. I answered, clueless. I mean, my income had increased nicely since applying for the card years ago, so I wasn’t worried. He put me on hold for another thirty seconds and came back on the line to tell me that “after further review, they would be lowering my credit limit to my balance, ” and in essence wiping out about a hefty chunk of available credit. My cushion, my just-in-case-plan, gone before my eyes, eliminated.

So, in a not-so-shining moment I went a little berserk. I may have gone a few decibels over really loud in order to point out that 1-800-bank was home to my checking account, my savings account, and my mortgage. I went on to point out that I have never had a late payment with ANY credit card, my balances were low compared to my available credit and that 1-800-bank was, of course, utterly ridiculous.

1-800-bank man wasn’t won over by my hysteria, and as such I flung the cordless phone across the office thus ending the call.

Breathing exercises commenced, and I decided to let it go.

Until the next morning, when in a rare “aha moment” I decided to call back and try being nice. My plan was to sweet talk the customer service representative. And boy, did I luck out. 1-800-bank person was kind, understanding, she listened and then she broke the good news … “Courtney, I don’t see any notes about this on your account. The limit hasn’t been dropped.”

“Wow, really? Well, I’m not making it up …”

“Of course not,” 1-800-bank lady chuckled. She asked me the same questions about my income, commented on the increase since my application, and put me on hold to “review just one more thing.”

And that, my friends, is the moment when I should have hung up!

But I didn’t, and she got back on the line and “after further review decided that 1-800-bank would be lowering my credit limit to my current balance.”

“Um, what?” I stammered. “So, you’re telling me that the thing I called about, that you said never happened has now happened, because you made it happen?”

“Yes ma’am, is there anything else I can help you with?”

Uh, yeah, you can buy me a new phone because this one is about to be launched across the office, again!

So, to the old wives who’ve spun the ridiculously contradictory tales that claim that the squeaky wheel gets the grease and that you attract more bees with honey, what say you now? I’m maxed out and I need a new phone!

As a foot note, I figure this is my opportunity to thank BJWSA for refusing to change my name on my account. So, here goes …

Dear BJWSA People:

Now I know that you haven’t been present in my home office for the last five years while I have sat down and been the one to actually make the payment to you each month, despite whose name is on the bill, but it was me. It’s been me all along. So the fact that you won’t change the name on my account without a hefty deposit irks me to no end. However, I give up, you win, and I’m not fighting you anymore. I do have one question for you though. If I stop paying the bill (and find an unlikely alternate water source), who are you going to call?

Heck, Honk If You Love Me

Bluffton Today Column
March 3, 2010

I am out walking or running the Bluffton Pathways almost every day. I’ve been doing it since the ol’ New Year’s Resolution of 2008. Not too shabby, huh?

Depending on the time of year, you’ll find me burning calories just as the sun is coming up and the street lights are flickering out. Or, at the end of the day as the sun is making its final decent. I tackle the terrain along the pathways on Buckwalter Parkway, McCracken Circle and Bluffton Parkway.

While out this past weekend, I was reminded of an incident that occurred about a year and a half ago. Twice in one week I had received a little more attention that I bargained for whilst on my trek. Both involved some brainiac driving by, slowing down their vehicle, and hanging out the window to whistle, hoot, holler, and my personal favorite sending me a kiss -- you know a loud, wet, smooch that was audible over the purr of their engine. Really?

At the time, I was overly spooked by the smooch. It was barely dawn and I remember keeping my eyes straight ahead and focused. First on the house where I knew a Marine lived and would most likely be awake and have a gun fully loaded. Then, my Mom's house was in sight and I knew she would be on the couch, with coffee in hand, waiting for the Today Show to start. Mom’s next-door-neighbor’s police cruiser was in his driveway so I was safe for just a few more houses. Finally, I rounded the corner to my house, where two Sheriff's officers live just doors down. Whew. Home. Alive and well. And, in tears.

These days my dog, Darby, is usually with me and my iPod is lulling me into my groove. Once I hit cruising altitude, I am unstoppable. Darby enjoys the walks too and quickly falls into his sniff, pause, and pee routine.

So, we’re happy. Until …

The inevitable honk. And, it’s THE honk that got me all bent out of shape this past weekend.

If I hear a horn honking while walking I tend to assume one of three things: 1) there is a vehicle that has lost control and I am in harm’s way. 2) The driver knows me and is saying a quick, “hello.” 3) Another driver has just cut driver #1 off, and he is less than thrilled.

What I don’t anticipate is the honk, just to honk. But, you do it every time. You honk. I look over my shoulder. Your vehicle is not careening out of control. I don’t know you. There are no other drivers on the road with whom you are communicating.

You’re honking just to get my attention as you cruise by? You’re honking to break my stride? You’re honking because while attending male chauvinist school you learned that this was an appropriate greeting for strangers? I don’t get it.

Believe it or not, and all evidence to the contrary, I’m a nice person. I would say hello if you called out a simple “hello,” “nice weather we’re having,” or “cute sneakers!” Something, give me anything. Because guys, ladies would much rather you string a sentence together than emit a noise from your steering column.

And, I would much rather enjoy my exercise than spend the next 10 minutes memorizing your license plate number.

Soulful Singer: Angie Aparo

CH2/CB2, February 2010

Its midnight in Nashville, TN, and Angie Aparo’s phone is ringing. He answers. On the other end is John Rich, of Big & Rich, who’s calling from his bar. “You’ve got to get down here,” Rich says, “Jeremy Piven is at the bar and you have to sing for him.”

So Aparo stumbles out of bed, heads to the bar, downs three Jagermeister shots and a Miller Lite, (“to catch up”), and joins the party. He gets on stage, sings a couple songs, and before he knows it, Jeremy Piven is inviting him to play his birthday party.Fast forward three weeks and Aparo is in an oceanfront house in Malibu doing just that. “I’m doing my thing, playing, and I look up; and in a surreal moment, I realize I’m staring out at Dane Cook, Cindy Crawford, John McEnroe… it was like I was watching T.V., but it was real,” Aparo joked. When he finished the set, he brushed past McEnroe in the hall who said, “Nice singing.” At a rare loss for words, Aparo replied, “Nice tennis playing.”

Ah, the life of a star. CONTINUE READING

Sleight of Hand Held

Bluffton Today Column
February 17, 2010

I was at an event a few months ago where I didn’t know the majority of the guests. There, I was introduced to a woman who said, “I think we’ve met before, I am friends with so-and-so.” Ah yes, I vaguely remember, “good to see you again!”
Two hours and one open bar later and vaguely familiar woman and I started chatting. Then, she leans in real close and says, “I heard all about what happened with you and your husband”. The shock of her statement prevented me from saying anything at the time (however in hindsight, I can think of plenty to say). So she proceeded to provide me with all of the details regarding my break-up with my ex-husband. Which by the way, I was already aware of. I mean, it was my story she was re-telling me.

Aaaaaaawkward.Ok almost stranger, now where do we go from here?

Utterly infelicitous social moments happen all the time. And it is how you handle those moments that probably define you best. So, in a rare moment of self-control, I swallowed back the lump in my throat, blinked back my tears, tilted back my drink, high-tailed it to the bathroom, and immediately commenced breathing exercises in order to prevent gasket blowing.

But, I am not usually so well-mannered.

In fact, I avoid awkward moments and unwanted conversations every day. Every day. It is a skill. One that has been made universally easier now that we all posses a Blackberry, an iPhone, or whatever latest handheld technology suits us best. “Handheld” being the operative term here; because we are always clutching our devices in our sweaty little palms. We can’t put them down. We’re addicted. But, that’s ok. This obsession allows us to much more deftly perform a well-executed technology duck, or as my brilliant colleague dubbed it, the “tuck.”

You know the move. When someone that you have very little interest in speaking with, much less spending any quality time with, approaches and you raise your handheld device to eye-level and immediately begin pushing buttons. If you are lucky the phone will actually ring. If not, you can continue to pretend that you are taking some very important emails.

The “tuck” effectively deters any extraneous conversations. It also provides a security blanket. Meeting someone for drinks and you don’t want to walk into the restaurant alone? You’re not alone! Just hold up your handheld and it will be clear to everyone that you are concluding a very important business exchange, not a single woman hoping you haven’t been stood up.

This phenomenon is taking over society. In fact, 3,479,414 people are fans of “Pretending to Text in Awkward Situations” on Facebook.

In the old days, back when we used to walk up hill (both ways), barefoot in the snow, to get to school, we actually had to look someone in the eye and say, “I’m not interested.” Or, “please stop talking about that.” Or, “I’m not sure this is appropriate.”

Today however, thanks to the brilliance of the computer club kids (who walked up hill both ways with us), we can simply lift up our handheld and declare to the world with dexterous thumbs that text forty words a minute and declare, “I don’t give a damn what you have to say!”

Ironically, with the technology to text and email we are saying more … but communicating less.

P.S. I am still searching for the “friend” who shared all of the details of my life with an utter stranger. Of course, once I figure out who you are, and when I bump into you again, you can be certain that I will deliver a big ol’ tuck (to) you.

Not a People Person Per Se?

Bluffton Today Column
February 3, 2010

While watching a segment on Inside Edition last Monday, I totally lost it. I cried my eyes out while a fire fighter rescued a German shepherd who was caught in the raging waters of the California floods. As the fire fighter, via helicopter, was lowered into the water to save the pup, I couldn’t control my sobs. And this was a happy ending!

The next story was about Haiti and the 150,000 lives lost and how they were burning bodies in the street just to get rid of the stench. And oddly, I didn’t shed a tear.

So, it begs the question. Am I a heartless you know what?

I pondered that question that evening and into the next morning when, while packing my lunch for work, I heard my cat Skye vomiting in the living room.

Skye puking was not a normal occurrence, but she has, on occasion scarfed down her food so fast that it has come right back up again. So, I was not alarmed. Until I got to the living room, where I found my sweet girl vomiting, shaking, struggling for breath and balance.

As her legs went limp beneath her I lost it. My dog, Darby, sat close with his eyes darting back and forth from me to Skye as if to say, “Mom, what are you going to do now?”

Well, as any good “mom” would do, I called my Mom to ask her what to do. The sobbing commenced again as I told her that I thought I was watching Skye die in front of me. And, luckily my Mom snapped me into reality and yelled to call the vet. Duh!

I called Bluffton Vet’s emergency line and Dr. Davison called me back immediately and told me to head right over. I put Skye in her carrier, and paused for a moment by the door while Darby gave Skye one last sniff. I guess I subconsciously had a feeling it might be the last time he saw her.

When I got to the Vet’s office they whisked Skye into the back and immediately started an IV and began a battery of tests. It happened so quickly that I never took the time to consider what the outcome would be. I guess I hoped it was a virus, the kitty flu, something treatable and I would walk out with a prescription and my Skye.

Unfortunately that is not how this story ends. I had to say goodbye to Skye with little warning and no preparation. They gently brought her back to me so I could say my goodbyes. I whispered in her ear and told her about when I first brought her home fourteen years ago, and how she used to sleep right on my chest. I reminded her that I loved her, that she was my first “baby” and will always hold a special place in my heart. And, I apologized for yelling at her the night before when she missed the litter box. That was utterly heartbreaking. If I had known I would be saying goodbye, I would have cuddled her next to me all night and given her the pillow that Darby has since claimed as his own. (He’s pretty lonely these days.)

Skye drifted to sleep, with my hand on her head, and my nose to hers. There I was again, a mere fourteen hours after the Inside Edition incident, crying like my heart was breaking. And, it was.

Bob Bromage: Cold Case Files

CH2/CB2, February 2010

At first glance, he is your typical cop. Cop hair. Cut short, a sprinkle of salt among the pepper. Cop shirt. Tan not white. Cop tie. Tan and green—no contrasting colors.

At second glance, Captain Bob Bromage is all business. In his twentieth year with the Beaufort County Sheriff’s Office, Bromage is Criminal Investigations Branch Commander, responsible for all detailed and technical criminal investigations not assigned to the Enforcement (Uniformed) Patrol.

Originally from Connecticut, Bromage entered the Army after High School and was stationed in Savannah, where he became familiar with the Lowcountry and Beaufort County. After leaving the Army, he moved back North and began his search for a position in law enforcement with the Connecticut State Police. At the time, however, available positions were few and far between, and a job posting would attract 2,000 applications. Rather than waiting to be the needle found in the hay stack, Bromage journeyed south once again and was hired in 1990 as a patrolman for Beaufort County, working the midnight shift.

CONTINUE READING

T.M.I.

Bluffton Today Column
January 20, 2010

I woke up last Friday morning to a Google Alert notifying me of the Naughton v. Naughton final divorce hearing in Beaufort County Family Court. As if I didn’t have enough stress surrounding the day’s proceedings, now even my Blackberry has to taunt me?

I spent my drive to the courthouse mumbling under my breath, crying on the phone to an extraordinary friend, and cursing technology. Of course, I was also simultaneously thanking the technology gods for allowing me to listen to my favorite radio personality via satellite during my drive. I was a little out of sorts, to say the least.

I realize that I am a technology addict. I can’t imagine life without the internet, my laptop, my Blackberry or my iPod. Seriously, how did I exist without them? Over Christmas break when the track ball on my beloved b-berry broke I had a momentary panic attack and addressed a series of questions in rapid succession. Do I call IT? Are they in the office? How quickly can I get a new Blackberry? Is it under warranty? Should I go to the Verizon store?

I am over-exposed to technology. We all are. But, I do believe it makes me more efficient and a little smarter in that I know where to go for information and I don’t have to battle the Dewey Decimal system to find it. But, it also makes me - all of us - less personal. We can easily lose our personal connections by hiding behind an email or a Facebook status update.

So, in an ironic twist … while my wake- up call was like something out of “2010: A Space Odyssey,” my divorce hearing was like an episode of Little House on the Prairie. (Well, if Ma and Pa had indeed decided to divorce.) The role of the court – in their not so humble opinion – is to reconcile the husband and wife. Two strangers to the court whom the judge knows nothing about. Smart, right?

I do give them some credit. I mean, if you embarrass easily, the line of questioning may be enough for you to run right back into the arms of your betrothed. In my case, even though I knew the question was coming (special thanks for the heads up from my attorney), I was still taken aback.

“When was the last time that you and your spouse had sexual relations or last co-habitated together?”

Apparently the court system is all about getting personal.

As if it wasn’t bad enough that I had to answer the question. I also had to provide a witness who could swear to the same. So, there sat my brother-in-law – selected as my witness because of the close proximity of his office to the court house – answering whether or not my ex and I had rendezvoused at any point over the last twelve months.

Suffice it to say, my face was as red as a Jersey tomato in July when I marched back down the courthouse steps, a little worse for wear.

I’m thinking it may be time that we update the ol’ South Carolina law books and maybe bring things into the twenty-first century? And, while we are making the bold move to not care about who people live with and/or have sex with we may also want to address why dance halls may not operate on Sundays; why horses may not be kept in bathtubs; why merchandise may not be sold within a half mile of a church unless fruit is being sold; why every adult male must bring a rifle to church on Sunday in order to ward off Indian attacks.

And why, if a man promises to marry an unmarried woman, the marriage must take place.

Um, I’m pretty sure that’s how I got into this mess to begin with.

This column is in no way meant to disparage the wonderful state of South Carolina. Check out www.dumblaws.com for more state law hilarity, even New Jersey.

Victory, Valentine, Vagina

Bluffton Today Column
January 6, 2010

Vagina.

Does that make you uncomfortable? The word vagina? Is that inappropriate? The word vagina? Is this bothering you?

It shouldn’t.

What should bother you is that a woman is beaten by her boyfriend or husband every 12 seconds in the United States. Not convinced yet? In 2008, 32,889 victims received services from a domestic violence program or shelter in South Carolina. A 2006 SLED report indicates that Beaufort ranks 9th of the 46 counties in the state for domestic assaults.

Need more? Statistics show that one in every three women will be a victim of abuse – physical, sexual, financial or emotional. Look around you right now – your neighbor, your colleague, your teacher, your student, your mother, your sister, your daughter. Are the odds with you or against you?

I understand that we don’t like to talk about taboo subjects, or things that make us uncomfortable. Like violence against women. But, what is more uncomfortable, talking about it openly and honestly or being a victim, or knowing a victim, or ignoring a victim?

I speak from experience. Right out of college I was with a guy who liked to control me, to intimidate me, to accuse me, to call me every four-letter word in the book, to push me … All in an effort to keep me down when, in fact, he was so down on himself. And I was in a committed relationship with him, wearing the love blinders.

Eventually I had to escape. I ran back to my parents with all of my belongings in tow - including two cats and those two damn oversized sofas that haunted me for years.

I was lucky. Sadly, I’m not alone. Fortunately, there are people in Beaufort County who find this issue as disturbing and important as I do.

Enter Megan Roberts, University of South Carolina Beaufort junior, student life intern, and orchestrator of USCB’s “Stop the Violence Week” slated for March 22 – 27. “Stop the Violence Week” is a part of the global V-Day movement created to call attention to and stop violence against women and girls.

The “V” in V-Day stands for Victory, Valentine and Vagina. No coincidence since we are talking about overcoming the fear and the stigma, loving ourselves, and well I think we all know what the latter represents.

Roberts is bringing her A-game. And she has brought her passion for women’s issues to the USCB campus. This makes us – as a community – lucky. Lucky that a young woman is willing to voice her opinion and rally the community around an important cause. Lucky that she is not afraid to have her voice heard. And lucky that she is providing a venue for women to have their voices heard as well.

V-Day is a catalyst that promotes creative events to increase awareness, raise money and revitalize the spirit of existing anti-violence organizations. V-Day generates broader attention for the fight to stop violence against women and girls. Through V-Day campaigns, local volunteers and college students produce annual benefit performances of The Vagina Monologues and screen the V-Day documentary Until the Violence Stops, to raise awareness and funds for anti-violence groups within their own communities.

Roberts’ efforts at USCB will include educational forums, self-defense training courses, creative outlets for participants to express their feelings, and yes, a three-day performance of The Vagina Monologues.

The Vagina Monologues (the inspiration for the V-Day movement) from playwright Eve Ensler has been performed in cities all across America and at hundreds of college campuses. The Monologues give voice to women's deepest fantasies and fears.

Roberts is excited about the diversity of the fifteen cast members for the USCB performance who range from 17 to 60 years of age, and include both students and community members.

The first performance is scheduled for Thursday, March 25 at the USCB Performing Arts Center in Beaufort. Two additional performances are planned for March 26 and 27 in Bluffton and Hilton Head. However, there is one hiccup. They need a venue.

Now, I don’t want to speak for Hilton Head, but I think we – Bluffton – can come up with a venue to offer? Town Hall has an auditorium. An auditorium that seats a couple hundred people. An auditorium that is empty most nights of the week. An auditorium that our open-minded and ever-loving (yes, I am kissing ass) Town Council would be willing to donate for the one-night performance to support USCB and the women in our community who are silently suffering?

What say you Town Council? What say you?

Let’s do it for our neighbors, our colleagues, our family, our friends. And, let’s do it to support Megan Roberts a passionate student leader who is working with her community and her fellow students to bring awareness, health and balance to us all.

Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. said, "Our lives begin to end the day we become silent about the things that matter."

Let’s not be silent. Let’s speak up.

Writer’s Note: Women are not the only victims of domestic violence and/or assault. If you or someone you know is in need of help, Citizens Opposed to Domestic Abuse (CODA) is a Lowcountry resource. Visit www.codalowcountry.org or call 843.770.1070 or 800.868.2632.

Man on a Mission

CH2, January 2010

“Strive for Success”; “Chamber Recognizes Year’s Best”; “Just One of the Guys”; “Intriguing Islanders”; “Good Men”; “Fruits of His Labor”…These are just a handful of the headlines that decorate the walls in Tim Singleton’s office at Hilton Head Island High School. After spending time getting to know Singleton, his colleagues, his students and his supporters, you realize that no headline is an exaggeration.

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Roger Pinckey and His Reefer Moon

CH2, January 2010

He lives his life by the tide, the sunrise, and the sunset. His way of life is the Daufuskie Island way. Laid back. Sand and sea soaked. Preservation focused.

With a gruff exterior and a questioning eye, Roger Pinckney may not endear you at the outset. However, I warmed to him almost immediately the first time I met him three years ago. When he calls you “dear” in his sweet Southern twang it’s hard not to.

But, I think it’s fair to say that some folks may be put off by his pointed commentary regarding those who have invaded his beloved Lowcountry, where he was born and raised.

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Sleep in Heavenly Peace

Bluffton Today Column
December 23, 2009

Growing up in our house, Christmas Eve was much anticipated. This was the day our entire family – grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins - would gather to celebrate.

We’re a sarcastic family, as you may have gathered from moi, so it only made sense that some torture be included in our annual holiday gathering. You see, tradition with my Mom’s side of the family was that Santa would visit on Christmas Eve. However, in order to get your first gift, you had to sing for Santa. This was especially fun when a new and potential significant other would be introduced to the family and be put on the spot. We lost quite a few good prospects over the years!

So, each year as the Christmas decorations would come down from the attic, so would the song books. My sister, Sharon, and I would pore over the books making our selection for the “big show.” For years and years (and decades before we were born) we placated Santa with musical mumblings of “Jingle Bells”, “O Christmas Tree”, and “Rudolph, the Red Nosed Reindeer”.

But one year it all changed.

Maybe it was the eggnog.

Maybe it was the festive green Jell-O-mold decorated with maraschino cherries.

Whatever it was, Uncle Al and Aunt Madeleine upped the ante. That year, Santa didn’t just get lyrics. He got a choreographed routine that would have put the Von Trapp children to shame - hand gestures, fancy footwork, and a little miming to boot. Uncle Al and Aunt Madeleine stole the show and the competition was on.

After that year, it became each family unit’s mission to out sing and out dance the others. We added background music, dance steps, lip-synchs, and song parodies. This was serious business. And, it became a new tradition. One that we continued until the year our “branch” of the family tree migrated south.

Our branch will celebrate our fifth Christmas here together in the Lowcountry tomorrow. And the tradition will continue. (If your dog starts howling around 7:00 p.m. it is because I am singing and I am most certainly off key.)

But this year as I prepare - by practicing in the mirror with a hair brush as a microphone - there is an angel on my shoulder.

You see the matriarch of our tradition, Aunt Madeleine, passed away two weeks ago. And I know that Christmas will have a new meaning for our family this year.

In the eulogy my Mom wrote honoring Aunt Madeleine, she talked about her favorite memories and the best way to memorialize Aunt Madeleine.

“As I took my Christmas ornaments out I realized I had a treasure trove of memories from her. And they are, right now, adorning my tree. For Christmas I'll give Courtney and Sharon the felt stocking ornaments she made for them when they were little and the rest I'll keep for myself and every year I will pay tribute to the kind, loving, wonderful woman who made them. You know how we all sang Christmas songs on Christmas Eve and sometimes changed the words to our favorite carols? Well Aunt Madeleine ... ’Sleep in heavenly peace’.”

So, from me you’ll get no sarcasm for Christmas this year - just a wish for silent nights, holy nights, and peaceful sleep.

Merry Christmas Bluffton.

The Shallow End of the Bluffton Dating Pool

Bluffton Today Column
December 9, 2009

Disclaimer: this is not a personal ad.

However, in case you are taking notes, I do like pina coladas and getting caught in the rain.

You may have noticed that my byline has two last names. This is my gradual transition back to my maiden name upon commencement of year-long, state-required separation, which will result in the finalization of my divorce this month. Special thanks to South Carolina for making this process so damn long, much appreciated. Cue religious right who abhors divorce and is adding another slash mark to my trail of sins. (Get in line!)

This all means that I am newly single. And I recently had my first foray into the art of letting someone down easy.

Last time I dated, oh a decade ago, there was no Facebook, no Twitter, no blogs, no Google Alerts, and no newspaper column where I trounced my life out in print for the world i.e. Bluffton to read. Meaning I was able to live my life without someone being able to “find me online”. Well, the times they are a changing.

Last month, a member of the opposite sex, let’s call him Mr. X, sent me a message on Facebook.

Hi Courtney. My name is Mr. X and I live in X-town. I'm originally from X-state and moved here three3 years ago. I just finished reading your Proust Interview in CH2 magazine and was really impressed with what I read about you. I don't know if you are married or if you are in a relationship but you sound like a really intelligent and down to earth woman and the type of person I would be interested in getting to know and I wanted to know if you would be interested in meeting me for coffee sometime. If you are presently in a relationship I apologize for the intrusion.

If you're interested in learning more about me please feel free to email me via Facebook.

Best wishes, Mr. X.

So, in keeping with my salty sarcasm I replied with a little challenge.

Hi Mr. X. Wow. I was definitely not expecting that, but I am flattered. And, if you learned anything about me in my interview ... you know that I am now questioning whether or not you are an axe-murderer or a nice guy?

So, I'll offer this challenge. If you can provide three references, I'll think about it.

My hope was that my obnoxious wit would immediately stall his efforts but alas, one hour later I had three references in my Inbox. What to do, what to do?

Well, upon review of the references I realize that neither his high school best friend, nor his realtor who he hasn’t spoken to in four years, nor the elderly couple who he befriended up North, are what I was looking for. So I decided the best plan of attack would be to ignore, ignore, ignore.

Five days later Mr. X appeared again requesting an answer to his inquiry. So, despite every instinct to the contrary, I was a lady, I curbed the sarcasm, and I simply said that I was once again flattered, but extremely busy and did not have much time for a personal life. All true!

Then Mr. X turned on the obnoxious with a simple response, “Your loss.”

Now I thought I handled this appropriately. I was kind and gracious. When what I really wanted to say was, listen buddy with that Hawaiian shirt and spray on hair, it would never work between us.

So, it is my hope that this was merely a floater in the shallow end of the Bluffton dating pool. But regardless, now I face the million dollar question … join a convent or jump in?

A Bluffton Tradtion

CH2, December 2009

What started last year as my family’s annual ritual to the Bluffton Christmas Parade ended with a muddied shoe and a bruised ego. That’s the day I fell into a drainage ditch along May River Road.

Now, I didn’t take a header straight into a pile of muck and mud. No, I teetered precariously along the edge as I trekked from the Promenade to “our spot” at the Squat & Gobble corner.

You see last December there were no sidewalks along that stretch of road. So I stepped over dogs, strollers, lawn chairs and a small child or two (lest someone move out of the way and find themselves in the ditch) – all jammed along the roadside with nowhere to go, but down.

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I'm Back ...

Bluffton Today Column
November 25, 2009

I’m back.

Perhaps you hadn’t noticed?

But yes, it’s me. The Jersey Girl. The Cranky Yankee.

After a one and half year hiatus, I have returned to the Bluffton Today ring. And yes, I fully expect a smack down via VOX and blog. (In fact, it has already begun. In record time) But, this time will be different. I won’t read the blogs or peruse the VOX comments. No this time, I am only going to take the feedback offered by my Mom. She loves everything I write.

In all seriousness, when offered this opportunity to return I grabbed it without a second thought (ok, I had one second thought). Heck, I even updated my Facebook status to reflect my return to BT. The comments included a mix of “I can’t wait” and “oh, no”. Tell me about it people.
However, I shall prevail. At my first public event since my re-appointment I offered a little smack down of my own. Last month I participated in the “Toss for the Cure” corn hole tournament at Monster Pizza.

In the first round my partner and I were pitted against Bluffton Today publisher Tim Anderson and his wife Jill. We beat them in straight sets … or the corn hole equivalent of straight sets ... successive holes?

Either way, it was extremely embarrassing for Tim. So, I wanted to publicly apologize for publicly humiliating my new (again) boss.

But, while we are talking corn hole. Everyone who is anyone is doing it. And I know this because well, I am someone.

Ryan and Leah McCarthy owners of the Downtown Deli, Downtown Catering and Monster Pizza started a corn hole league over the summer and it has been growing with increasing fervor. More than 30 two-man teams gather each Wednesday night at Monster Pizza on Burnt Church Road for friendly competition. This is a brilliant move on the part of the McCarthys whose Wednesday has become the new Saturday. I mean, they are guaranteed that sixty people will eat pizza and drink beer. That my friends, is brilliance.

But it is more than the food and drink.

In fact, it is the only time all week that I don’t have my Blackberry with me. I disconnect for three hours every Wednesday, which in turn allows me to actually connect with people. Real live people. Standing right there in front of me. And I talk to them face-to-face. And without my right thumb rolling feverishly over the track ball of my Blackberry to see if a new message has arrived.

If you don’t know what corn hole is, I invite you to come and check it out. The new league starts Wednesday, December 2. Stop by Monster Pizza to register and come see what everyone is talking about.

I promise you it is quite a scene, and the place to be seen. And heard. After all, when you get sixty locals together there are bound to be some column ideas brewing there.

Until then, Happy Thanksgiving!

Let Pooping Dogs Lie

Bluffton Today Column
November 11, 2009

“Pet owners are to have their dogs urinate / defecate in their own lawns prior to taking them for walks. If you cannot control the animal from urinating/defecting while being taken for a walk, then you need to find another place to walk your dog.”

This quote is taken from a recent update sent out by my Property Owners Association. Pardon the pun, but I expect that this may insight a $hit storm.

Let me shed a little light on how dog walking works.

The moment I lace up my sneakers my dog, Darby, begins spinning in maniacal circles. He knows that we are going for a walk. When I open the closet door and reach for the leash, the spinning is joined by jumping and an audible increase in breathing rhythm. So now I have a spinning, jumping, out of breathe dog who if he was a little smarter would realize that we can’t go for a walk until I put on his leash. And, I can’t get the leash on while he is spinning and jumping.

Eventually good sense kicks in and I am able to get the leash around his neck and us out the back door. Where we pit stop in our yard for the first “go”. I hope the POA is watching!

Then, we begin our trek through the neighborhood to the main entrance. Now, because Darby is a dog he does stop at almost every mailbox to take a sniff, each stop sign to take a whiff, and every fire hydrant to take a … well, you get it. In some instances he is marking his territory and in others checking out an already pre-marked locale. I think it is because he is a dog!

Once on McCracken Circle we get moving at a pretty good clip. And undoubtedly each time I hit my stride, Darby hits a mandatory pit-stop and practically separates my shoulder. Again, I think it is because he is a dog.

Believe me I am the first one to complain when I see a steaming pile of poop that someone didn’t scoop. But, I do think the POA needs to be a little more realistic. It isn’t as easy to control a dog’s bathroom habits as they may think.

So, I pose this scenario to Mr. POA. Imagine you just had a huge Mexican dinner. Beer, tacos, salsa, hot sauce, re-fried beans. About half way home you start to feel the rumble in the tumble. You park the car haphazardly in the driveway, fumble with the keys, and race through the front door only to find that your wife is in the bathroom. You dance around outside the bathroom door, holding “it” in agony pleading with your wife to hurry.

And, she says, “honey can’t you hold it just a little bit longer?”

Better yet, she comes out of the bathroom, ties a leash around your neck and tries to drag you to somewhere that she deems better for doing your business.

I don’t know about you, but I’d bite your wife and bust through the bathroom door. When you’ve gotta go, you’ve gotta go.

Proust Interview

I love writing, but was super-excited to have someone write about me. For about a minute. Then I got embarrassed. Then I re-considered all of my answers. Then it was over. Then I emailed the writer to change my answers. All is all, she did a hell of a job ...

Read my "Proust Interview" in CH2/CB2 here ...

And ... is Photography By Anne not pretty darn talented? She made me look good!

College Life Comes to Bluffton

CH2, November 2009

She laughed. She cried.

She is Kate Torborg, Student Life Director for the University of South Carolina Beaufort.

She is one of the first people students meet when they arrive on campus and it is her job to make sure their college experience is everything they’ve imagined, and for the traditionally-aged student, everything their parents have hoped for.

She is helping to transform Bluffton into a college town and I am pretty excited about it.

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