I have neglected my vacation diary because I, like many current politicians, have been carrying on an affair. It's with Dreamweaver. Last night I spent three hours putting a Lightbox gallery on a site that maybe 15 people will see. If only I could have done so while traveling to South America.
Don Funk is the self-professed master of the roundhouse kick. On the final evening of first year of beach vacation, Don introduced this technique. It could not be performed on our porch, which was probably a good thing since he was drunk. No, this graceful athletic movement needed to be completed in the pool.
We went to the pool. Don showed off his moves, many times. Small children were frightened. OK, no kids were at the pool, which is good since Don is a first-grade teacher.
In the subsequent three years, we talked about the roundhouse kick but there was no actual kicking. It could have been because Don hadn't made it back to the Florabama club to drink a bushwacker, which tastes like milk mixed with turpentine. In any case, we missed out. Don promised not only to display the kick, but to give lessons on the half hour.
It was Wednesday night. On most beach vacations, we would have headed home by then. We usually stayed four nights but this year we had a buy-four, get three free deal. We had worn Don down. He was going to display his might. My wife had her mini video camera, so we were going to get a Youtube-quality production for sure.
A friend had insulted Don, stating that he would not be able to break a piece of toilet paper with his kick. Don moved into action. He grabbed a roll of toilet paper and wrote messages. They called our friends many names. Now I was part of roundhouse kick lore. I would have to hold up the paper.
We went down to the indoor pool, strangely located on the 7th floor. The view was across the street, not of the gulf. Don got in the water and I held the paper up outside the pool. It was apparent, not at all due to Don being a short man, that I would have to get in the water. I would be in the line of fire.
I imagined Don firing through a kick and breaking my nose, or missing the paper and injuring himself, a more likely result. I held the paper a couple of feet above the top of the four-foot level. Don's first attempt was low. He is not easily swayed. His second kick went through. There was jubilation.
I've heard that one of the problems with society today is that people don't know when to say "enough". This is true of eating, spending, some distant unmentionable relationships, and very rarely for me, football obsession. I brought my circular Titan inflatables to the pool, and decided that it would be cool to try to jump from the side of the pool and land on the inflatable so that I would be sitting. My attempts were laughable.
Don wanted a turn.
I assumed that he would follow my example. Do the butt flop and call it a day. Don went for another tact. He dove.
The hole was at most a foot across. It was probably designed for a pre-teen. Don's entire furry body went through the opening. If he tried it again a hundred times he wouldn't be able to do it again. Did I mention the pool was four feet deep? Don came up, and I laughed (it's all on video that could be used for many lawsuits if ever published online) as Don held his head. He had cut his scalp. When you're with kids, the fun is over when someone starts crying. With adults, it's over when someone starts bleeding.
Don survived, because he's he tough kind of guy who's allegedly never had a hangover. We were on concussion watch for a day. The offending inflatables were used once more in the ocean and left behind with leaks. I do not at all consider it a metaphor for the 2008 season.
The best part of a vacation is detaching from the world and your troubles. A week seems like the perfect amount of time to be away. I wouldn't mind finding out if two would be better.
Thursday, June 25, 2009
Monday, June 22, 2009
On the beach, part three
This is less of a narrative than a discussion on one facet of the beach trip. It's a big facet. It's drinking.
Drinking and the beach go together like salt and water. Don and I celebrated putting up the tent by cracking a beer. In fact, we celebrated every tent reopening with a beer. If we went into the water, usually due to consuming a solid quantity of beer, we had a beer. When it was time to eat lunch, we had a beer. At the end of the beach day, when we went to the room, we had blender drinks. Then we took either a blender drink or more beer to the grill as we cooked. It was one person's responsibility to watch the meat and the other's to go back upstairs and get more beer. After dinner, and maybe one more blender drink, we had one or two more beers. It's not surprising that we were asleep by ten o'clock on most nights.
If I drank this much at home, I'd be in some kind of 12-step program within a month. On the beach, it's par for the course. I invested well in my beer. Naturally I'm too much of a beer snob to buy Miller Lite. Once I'm on the beach, well, what happens on the beach stays on the beach. Except that I'm writing about it now. The reason why we drink Miller Lite during the day is that it's available in acceptable can format. This year, Don brought bottles. No one really cared as long as the bottles ended up in the trash and not ground into the sand.
My beach beer is Abita Strawberry. It's basically a lager with strawberry flavor. Does drinking flavored beer make me less of a man? Not if I drink a case of it. Yeah, that's the ticket. I also brought some of my favorite Corsendonk, but I didn't get around to it. Between the blender and the Miller Lite and the Abita and some Shiner I bought on a whim, we drank away the week.
I did a test tonight. I drank a beer with dinner. Yep, it's not the same as sitting on a reclining chair, listening to the surf.
Drinking and the beach go together like salt and water. Don and I celebrated putting up the tent by cracking a beer. In fact, we celebrated every tent reopening with a beer. If we went into the water, usually due to consuming a solid quantity of beer, we had a beer. When it was time to eat lunch, we had a beer. At the end of the beach day, when we went to the room, we had blender drinks. Then we took either a blender drink or more beer to the grill as we cooked. It was one person's responsibility to watch the meat and the other's to go back upstairs and get more beer. After dinner, and maybe one more blender drink, we had one or two more beers. It's not surprising that we were asleep by ten o'clock on most nights.
If I drank this much at home, I'd be in some kind of 12-step program within a month. On the beach, it's par for the course. I invested well in my beer. Naturally I'm too much of a beer snob to buy Miller Lite. Once I'm on the beach, well, what happens on the beach stays on the beach. Except that I'm writing about it now. The reason why we drink Miller Lite during the day is that it's available in acceptable can format. This year, Don brought bottles. No one really cared as long as the bottles ended up in the trash and not ground into the sand.
My beach beer is Abita Strawberry. It's basically a lager with strawberry flavor. Does drinking flavored beer make me less of a man? Not if I drink a case of it. Yeah, that's the ticket. I also brought some of my favorite Corsendonk, but I didn't get around to it. Between the blender and the Miller Lite and the Abita and some Shiner I bought on a whim, we drank away the week.
I did a test tonight. I drank a beer with dinner. Yep, it's not the same as sitting on a reclining chair, listening to the surf.
Sunday, June 21, 2009
On the beach, part two
Call this episode "Day One".
It's important when you're spending a week on the beach to set the scene. We set up the tent on Saturday and spent some time admiring the water, but Sunday was the real first day.
I got up at the early hour of nine. Note that we're in Central time, so it was more like 10. Don woke up early, as he always does. He might have been on his second pot of coffee. It was time to get ready. We packed Don's giant cooler with ice, beer, and not much else. The wives were going to the grocery store.
What does one bring to the beach? I had a towel, a book (Zach's beach reading book reviews will come later in the week), sunscreen, my iPod in a zip-loc container, and one of the room keycards that sported an ad for Dominos.
We went down. It was time to erect the tent. In Year One of our beach trip all we had for shade was my Titans umbrella. It didn't offer much salvation from the sun. Don, ever the competitive one, bought a replacement. We put up the canvas, spread out the tent and pulled up the legs at each corner. The one and only Chicago Bears tent in the state of Alabama was up, with the "C" logo facing our room. We unfolded our chairs and cracked the first beer of the day.
Normally I'm a beer snob. When you're on the beach and likely to drink half a dozen before "cocktail hour", you go with the Lite stuff. We assumed the positions. Don sat on his chair and alternated between his iPod and crossword puzzles. I read my book and sometimes listened to podcasts on my iPod. Who needs conversation on the beach?
I ventured out after a while to do something Don called "seeing the turtles". That meant one of us had to go to the bathroom. On the first day of our trip, we saw a yellow flag. That meant the water was somewhat choppy. The waves topped out at three feet. It was not what you'd call rough. The water itself is a constant shade of dark green. The gulf was free of debris but you weren't able to see to the bottom. The opening shelf, before you really got in the water, was full of shells. I walked out maybe twenty yards into the gulf. Problem was, I had to go out another thirty or so to get to waist-level water. That was my introduction to the beach. Something underwater grabbed at my foot, but other than that, nature did not interfere.
Later in the day I decided to bring out one of my Titans floaties that my mom bought for me a while back. It was circular with a hole in the middle about a foot in diameter. I spent a good 15 minutes on our opening day blowing the two items up. I wasn't sure that I'd fit in this device.
It was sunny so I kept my sunglasses on. Ideally I'd get out deep enough in the water, flop my butt into the hole and relax for a spell. I could have used a drink holder. I got into the proper spot, pushed the inflatable down, and jumped. I bounced off the edge. My glasses fell off. Miraculously, they sunk right to where my foot was. I didn't bring my sunglasses into the water again. Later in the week I found that I fit, albeit barely.
Day 1 is the most likely day to get sunburned. We found that out when we went back to the room for cocktail hour. Don hadn't applied sunscreen at all and was medium rare. I had applied sunscreen, although not as often as I should. I had the trademark Zachy splotchy burn. If I miss a spot, it looks like a modern art masterpiece. Half of my right forearm, an area from the middle of my right bicep to my shoulder, and both legs from mid-thigh to just below the knee were red.
We weren't allowed to slow down. My wife made blender drinks. From the first year of our trip, she has been in charge of the cocktail hour. It's either rum or vodka and a can of those frozen drink mixes. We had strawberry. They were very good and in no way slowed me down from drinking a few Abita Strawberries later in the evening.
Near the bridge to the beach is the cooking station. There are four charcoal grills. The property is well maintained, and the grills are usually cleaned every day. The grill we chose was clear of charcoal but had a little water. We had our lighter-fluid free charcoal but no lighter. We borrowed a lighter and ripped off pieces of paper from the charcoal bag to start the fire. I'm a landlubber so I had chicken. We had grouper in foil. The ladies were boiling the "royal red" shrimp upstairs. Don was not happy with the fire. Later he purchased additional charcoal and lighter fluid. Even though I had a brand-new grill set with the coolest spatula ever, Don preferred to flip the chicken manually. I kid you not.
Why is it the coolest spatula ever? It has a beer opener. That's the only reason. Don thought it was cool as well. The ladies were less impressed.
We had our feast upstairs and drank a few more. It was maybe ten in the evening when we went to bed. Our master bedroom featured a king-sized bed, a flat-screen TV with DVD player, a bathtub with jacuzzi jets, and a stand-up shower. One downfall of the bed was that it was impossible to get all of the sand out, and every time I rolled over I got some on my burned legs and arm.
That's my report from day one. Who knows what tomorrow will bring. Drinking is a given.
It's important when you're spending a week on the beach to set the scene. We set up the tent on Saturday and spent some time admiring the water, but Sunday was the real first day.
I got up at the early hour of nine. Note that we're in Central time, so it was more like 10. Don woke up early, as he always does. He might have been on his second pot of coffee. It was time to get ready. We packed Don's giant cooler with ice, beer, and not much else. The wives were going to the grocery store.
What does one bring to the beach? I had a towel, a book (Zach's beach reading book reviews will come later in the week), sunscreen, my iPod in a zip-loc container, and one of the room keycards that sported an ad for Dominos.
We went down. It was time to erect the tent. In Year One of our beach trip all we had for shade was my Titans umbrella. It didn't offer much salvation from the sun. Don, ever the competitive one, bought a replacement. We put up the canvas, spread out the tent and pulled up the legs at each corner. The one and only Chicago Bears tent in the state of Alabama was up, with the "C" logo facing our room. We unfolded our chairs and cracked the first beer of the day.
Normally I'm a beer snob. When you're on the beach and likely to drink half a dozen before "cocktail hour", you go with the Lite stuff. We assumed the positions. Don sat on his chair and alternated between his iPod and crossword puzzles. I read my book and sometimes listened to podcasts on my iPod. Who needs conversation on the beach?
I ventured out after a while to do something Don called "seeing the turtles". That meant one of us had to go to the bathroom. On the first day of our trip, we saw a yellow flag. That meant the water was somewhat choppy. The waves topped out at three feet. It was not what you'd call rough. The water itself is a constant shade of dark green. The gulf was free of debris but you weren't able to see to the bottom. The opening shelf, before you really got in the water, was full of shells. I walked out maybe twenty yards into the gulf. Problem was, I had to go out another thirty or so to get to waist-level water. That was my introduction to the beach. Something underwater grabbed at my foot, but other than that, nature did not interfere.
Later in the day I decided to bring out one of my Titans floaties that my mom bought for me a while back. It was circular with a hole in the middle about a foot in diameter. I spent a good 15 minutes on our opening day blowing the two items up. I wasn't sure that I'd fit in this device.
It was sunny so I kept my sunglasses on. Ideally I'd get out deep enough in the water, flop my butt into the hole and relax for a spell. I could have used a drink holder. I got into the proper spot, pushed the inflatable down, and jumped. I bounced off the edge. My glasses fell off. Miraculously, they sunk right to where my foot was. I didn't bring my sunglasses into the water again. Later in the week I found that I fit, albeit barely.
Day 1 is the most likely day to get sunburned. We found that out when we went back to the room for cocktail hour. Don hadn't applied sunscreen at all and was medium rare. I had applied sunscreen, although not as often as I should. I had the trademark Zachy splotchy burn. If I miss a spot, it looks like a modern art masterpiece. Half of my right forearm, an area from the middle of my right bicep to my shoulder, and both legs from mid-thigh to just below the knee were red.
We weren't allowed to slow down. My wife made blender drinks. From the first year of our trip, she has been in charge of the cocktail hour. It's either rum or vodka and a can of those frozen drink mixes. We had strawberry. They were very good and in no way slowed me down from drinking a few Abita Strawberries later in the evening.
Near the bridge to the beach is the cooking station. There are four charcoal grills. The property is well maintained, and the grills are usually cleaned every day. The grill we chose was clear of charcoal but had a little water. We had our lighter-fluid free charcoal but no lighter. We borrowed a lighter and ripped off pieces of paper from the charcoal bag to start the fire. I'm a landlubber so I had chicken. We had grouper in foil. The ladies were boiling the "royal red" shrimp upstairs. Don was not happy with the fire. Later he purchased additional charcoal and lighter fluid. Even though I had a brand-new grill set with the coolest spatula ever, Don preferred to flip the chicken manually. I kid you not.
Why is it the coolest spatula ever? It has a beer opener. That's the only reason. Don thought it was cool as well. The ladies were less impressed.
We had our feast upstairs and drank a few more. It was maybe ten in the evening when we went to bed. Our master bedroom featured a king-sized bed, a flat-screen TV with DVD player, a bathtub with jacuzzi jets, and a stand-up shower. One downfall of the bed was that it was impossible to get all of the sand out, and every time I rolled over I got some on my burned legs and arm.
That's my report from day one. Who knows what tomorrow will bring. Drinking is a given.
Saturday, June 20, 2009
On the beach, part one
It was dark. Other than an old security guard named Floyd, we were alone. We walked on the bridge that led to the sand. The rhythmic sound of the waves hitting the shore was all we could hear. We kicked off our shoes, confident that no one would steal them, at the end of the bridge. The sand was chilly even though it was warm in the night. I would compare the consistency to sugar. The stars were out, although not as prominent as you would expect far from a big city. Looking back at the building, we saw less than half a dozen lights on in the twelve floors.
We walked to the edge of the water. The waves nearly got us. It must have been high tide. We stood still and looked out at infinity. That's what the water looks like. Like it goes on forever. People who thought the world was flat never made it to the ocean.
We turned and kissed. It was a moment we'd remember for a while, and it would have to do for nearly a year. We passed the wooden benches that during the day sported blue cushions and umbrellas. We didn't see the spot where our tent was.
Walking back over the bridge, we didn't see Floyd. We opened the gate and found the elevators. It was 4:30 in the morning, and it was time to go home.
We walked to the edge of the water. The waves nearly got us. It must have been high tide. We stood still and looked out at infinity. That's what the water looks like. Like it goes on forever. People who thought the world was flat never made it to the ocean.
We turned and kissed. It was a moment we'd remember for a while, and it would have to do for nearly a year. We passed the wooden benches that during the day sported blue cushions and umbrellas. We didn't see the spot where our tent was.
Walking back over the bridge, we didn't see Floyd. We opened the gate and found the elevators. It was 4:30 in the morning, and it was time to go home.
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
Bad Timing
“I never meant to make you cry
And even though I shouldn’t call
It just reminds us of the cost
Of everything we’ve lost
Bad timing, that’s all” – Blue Rodeo
No one writes a broken-heart song as well as Blue Rodeo did it in the late 80s/early 90s. At the time this song came into my life, I was in the midst of an intense crush. I assumed that timing was perfect for a relationship to blossom as I just had ended one the day before I first talked to the object of my affection. As it turned out, timing was not so good. She went to Mexico the following semester, wrote me once to my significantly more than once, and gradually faded from my life.
I’m going on vacation a week from Saturday. That’s good. At the same time, while I’m gone my company’s going to roll out a new e-mail newsletter template. I will miss out on part of that. Talk about bad timing. I thought today of some of the other bad timing moments of my life and felt compelled to share. Here are some of the highlights:
Breaking up with my girlfriend the day before she had a medical procedure: The breakup was a long time coming. We were doomed, and for months had been in a death spiral. She had a heart condition and needed a procedure to attempt to recreate the issue in order for doctors to properly diagnose the condition. I did not plan to break up with her then. It just kind of came out. I still escorted her to the hospital that day, fending off death ray looks from her mom all day. All in all, it could have been handled better.
Purchasing my Scion: The “smart” car buyers purchase their vehicles in the last month of the year. That’s when you get the best deals because the new year’s stock has arrived and the old year is, well, old. I went to a Toyota dealership looking at a Corrolla, the base model. It was boring. I test drove the Scion and liked that it was much more sporty. Scions were hot cars at the time, and they sold for sticker price. I paid. As we know now, the economy tanked and just six months later the guy who sold me the car called me up, asking me to let friends know that Scions were now selling for invoice. If I went to a dealership now, I could get a car for well less than that, and probably the dealer’s first born.
Investing from 1997 to today: When I started as a contractor at IBM in 1997, I got signed up for one of those 401ks. Those were the halcyon days. Put away 10% of your money and when it was time to retire, you’d have plenty of cheese. Unfortunately, I’ve been through an Internet bubble, the Asian market insanity of the late 90s and the mess of the past year. My 401k as a whole is worth slightly less today than the total that I rolled over from that 401k in 2005. And I’ve put a lot away since 2005.
Here’s the last one, and the only one that’s sports-related: LenDale White fumbled the ball twice in more than 200 touches last year for the Tennessee Titans. The second happened to be in the second quarter of a divisional playoff game. White tried to get the extra yard to get a first down on third down. He lost the ball and the Titans missed on a field goal opportunity. Had Rob Bironas made that kick, John Harbaugh might not have challenged Bo Scaife’s catch on third and seven. It was overturned. If Bironas made the 46-yard field goal there instead of missing the 51-yarder due to the overturned catch, the Titans would have had a 13-7 lead. It would have been game over and possibly, just possibly, led to a Super Bowl victory.
Bad timing, that’s all.
And even though I shouldn’t call
It just reminds us of the cost
Of everything we’ve lost
Bad timing, that’s all” – Blue Rodeo
No one writes a broken-heart song as well as Blue Rodeo did it in the late 80s/early 90s. At the time this song came into my life, I was in the midst of an intense crush. I assumed that timing was perfect for a relationship to blossom as I just had ended one the day before I first talked to the object of my affection. As it turned out, timing was not so good. She went to Mexico the following semester, wrote me once to my significantly more than once, and gradually faded from my life.
I’m going on vacation a week from Saturday. That’s good. At the same time, while I’m gone my company’s going to roll out a new e-mail newsletter template. I will miss out on part of that. Talk about bad timing. I thought today of some of the other bad timing moments of my life and felt compelled to share. Here are some of the highlights:
Breaking up with my girlfriend the day before she had a medical procedure: The breakup was a long time coming. We were doomed, and for months had been in a death spiral. She had a heart condition and needed a procedure to attempt to recreate the issue in order for doctors to properly diagnose the condition. I did not plan to break up with her then. It just kind of came out. I still escorted her to the hospital that day, fending off death ray looks from her mom all day. All in all, it could have been handled better.
Purchasing my Scion: The “smart” car buyers purchase their vehicles in the last month of the year. That’s when you get the best deals because the new year’s stock has arrived and the old year is, well, old. I went to a Toyota dealership looking at a Corrolla, the base model. It was boring. I test drove the Scion and liked that it was much more sporty. Scions were hot cars at the time, and they sold for sticker price. I paid. As we know now, the economy tanked and just six months later the guy who sold me the car called me up, asking me to let friends know that Scions were now selling for invoice. If I went to a dealership now, I could get a car for well less than that, and probably the dealer’s first born.
Investing from 1997 to today: When I started as a contractor at IBM in 1997, I got signed up for one of those 401ks. Those were the halcyon days. Put away 10% of your money and when it was time to retire, you’d have plenty of cheese. Unfortunately, I’ve been through an Internet bubble, the Asian market insanity of the late 90s and the mess of the past year. My 401k as a whole is worth slightly less today than the total that I rolled over from that 401k in 2005. And I’ve put a lot away since 2005.
Here’s the last one, and the only one that’s sports-related: LenDale White fumbled the ball twice in more than 200 touches last year for the Tennessee Titans. The second happened to be in the second quarter of a divisional playoff game. White tried to get the extra yard to get a first down on third down. He lost the ball and the Titans missed on a field goal opportunity. Had Rob Bironas made that kick, John Harbaugh might not have challenged Bo Scaife’s catch on third and seven. It was overturned. If Bironas made the 46-yard field goal there instead of missing the 51-yarder due to the overturned catch, the Titans would have had a 13-7 lead. It would have been game over and possibly, just possibly, led to a Super Bowl victory.
Bad timing, that’s all.
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