<H1> The semi insane and the total nutcases of Sobe</H1>

South Beach is unique. The art deco district is divided into two parts, north of 5th street and south of 5th (sofi). When we first came down, we tended to stay away from Sofi. That was sort of a ghetto wherein lurked some questionable people. The working poor had to mix with the violent and the crazy. Now, with the rehabilitation of South Pointe park and several new high-rises, Sofi has become gentrified, driving the crazies north of 5th and into the parks and beaches across the street from our condo (rented). Fortunately, the crazies are non violent, a little off-putting at times, and seem to be confined to he homeless. They tend to be solo nut cases; although sometimes the gather in herds and then they can make me nervous.

Don't get me wrong, I have never encountered violence, nor have I seen any but, you never know.

Here are a few of the colorful

• The stone lady. This elderly woman staked out a spot on a side street. She sat in the same chair every day, every hour, her possessions around her and she and her treasures covered with thin, colorless plastic sheets. She never moved. I don't know what she ate. I was told she sometimes would walk to the beach for a shower. Think of it, 24 hours a day, like a mute stone statue, she starred out from the confines of her plastic prison. Then one year, she was gone. Apparently a parked car blew up in front of her and she was injured. She never returned.
• The dreadlocks traveller. This fellow took up residence under a palm tree, toting a large suitcase that seemed to be full to bulging, and a smaller one that he used for a pillow. For 2 years he sat under that palm tree, never moving, never talking, just watching the world passing by, his dreadlocks getting dirtier by the day. He too disappeared.
• The Shit Picker - I passed him on the beach today in the early morning. He was bending over and picking up....nothing, but in his mind, he was keeping the beach clean.

  "I am picking up shit," he yelled at me. "It's not my shit. It is somebody else's shit, but I am picking up that shit." Then he would look at a passing runner and the refrain would begin again.

• Santa Claus - a regular for a few years. He dressed in a Santa suit which got soiled and dirtier until the fur of his white collar turned gray. He would say things that nobody understood but I caught one phrase. "Merry f@$#ing Christmas. Let me just say to you...." I hurried away and Santa got on bike an went the other way to preach to another reluctant tourist.
• The pirate - this guy dresses like a pirate, complete with a "Captain Hook" type hat and a beard. Wait a minute, that looks like a half a beard. It's true, he has a long grey beard on one half of his face and neck. The other half is clean shaven. Schizophrenia personified.
• Then there are the fellows who sleep in doorways of vacant buildings, shouting obscenities at the passersby.There are several, but my wife and I were accosted by one of them who occupies a closed door way of a liquor store and, with his limited vocabulary shouted, "Mother-f$#kers, f%#king, f@#kers." Over and over as we passed him, our eyes straight ahead and hoping he wouldn't get up and follow. He stayed put. He was angry at someone only he could see.

Sounds like a terrible place, doesn't it? It isn't. It is one of the safest places I know of. The many police ensure troubles are quickly quelled.

Funny guys, sad even tragic, but what has this got to do with PD? It is a lesson. No matter how far along you are in your battle with parkinson's, there is always somebody worse of than you. Look at your condition and your personal world through optimistic, rose colored, glasses.

I mean, as long as there is Coca Cola, how bad can things be!