Showing posts with label beach. Show all posts
Showing posts with label beach. Show all posts

Monday, July 21, 2014

Oreos for Breakfast.

Summer Vacation Blitz 2014 is in the books, and all that’s left are a bug-streaked windshield, one bottle of warm IPA and a lazy attitude.

After our four-day junket to San Diego, we joined seven other family members down in Manzanita Oregon. It’s about twenty minutes south of Cannon Beach, that legendary hamlet where a buck will still buy a scoop of ice cream, but if you want a dish or cone with it, you’ll need to toss in a five spot.

Just to give you an idea of the situation in our rental house, picture the setting of Dan in Real Life, where a large extended family gathers in a picturesque locale. That’s exactly how this was, except we didn’t have a talent show or morning aerobics and my brother didn’t punch me in the face this time.

But other than that it was crazily similar. 

Oh, yeah, and I’m not a widower and my teenage daughter didn’t accuse me of being a murderer of love, but everything else was exactly the same.

I don’t want to give you the verbal equivalent of your Aunt Melba’s Little Big Horn slide show, so I just thought I’d share a few of the lessons I’ve gleaned from shacking up with family for a whole calendar week. In the workplace these are known as “learnings, “takeaways” or “knowledge soak,” if you happen to work at Microsoft. Maybe you’ve gathered some of the same findings:

1) I eat too much. For God’s sake, when else but vacation do I slither out of bed and grab a couple of Oreos on the way to the cinnamon rolls? Throughout the week, I singlehandedly transformed a five-pound jar of Red Vines into a smudgy husk coated in Red Dust Number Forty.

2) I sleep a lot, but not well. You know how it is—the bed feels a little off and the covers have a slight skeeviness, like that coating your fingers accumulate while browsing through the jeans rack at Goodwill. The room was painted a shade of blue made famous by cadaver genitals, and smelled slightly of kelp and pork roast.

3) I drink too much. Beer-Thirty arrived early most days, and on others, even earlier. Consequently, please see Takeaway #2.

4) Hiking is fun—but I’m not good at it. A 1400-foot vertical climb means there’s a good chance I’ll be tripping over up to thirty exposed tree roots. Not to disappoint, on the way back down, I rolled my ankle and ate trail. I currently have a bruise on my outer butt that resembles a chubby Mother Mary with one eye.

5) Family vacations keep improving as the kids get older. Let’s face it—it kind of sucks to travel with little children, especially when your idea of a vacation doesn’t include getting up at 6:30 to play Candyland, a game you could despise just as much without the nice ocean view. Nowadays, those girls of mine sleep more than house cats on Ambien.

6) It’s great to hang out with my dad, brother, sister and all the in-laws I know my older brother was disappointed that I didn’t want to share a bunk bed like the old days, but the dude’s bladder isn’t exactly the elastic parcel of youth it once was. I told him I’d be willing to try if he’s willing to invite a thousand daily Kegels into his life.

7) Nothing beats laughing so much that your gut aches for seven straight days. There’s a washboard stomach somewhere under there from nonstop guffawing. 

Trust me, because after last week, I’m not lifting my shirt in public for a while.

Monday, August 9, 2010

Go Fathers!

Vacations are not necessarily a slippery slope, but they're definitely a well-lubed, slanted surface.

My wife, two daughters and I returned this evening from beautiful San Diego, Cali, after six days of sun-soaked lounging, eating, arguing, driving, getting lost, swimming, blaming, sleeping in and looking at animals.

The looking-at-animal experiences were a little strange. Between the San Diego Zoo, Sea World and the Wild Animal Safari, we witnessed:

people behaving like animals,











animals behaving like people (right after this whale did an awesome Nestea plunge, he swam up on the concrete and waved to us),








and animals behaving like animals (I'm not going to show the photo of the zebras humping, or I might end up on a few other websites and be busted on a future Dateline NBC. I'll just show you what the zebras would have seen from their perspective):









We hit a lot of beaches, which sealed the deal for my fifteen-year-old daughter.
"Dad, I'm so gonna live here."
"Okay, what would you do for a living down here?"
"I don't know, but it's sunny and hot boys are everywhere. I think my abs have gotten more toned from boogie boarding. Check it out. I'm hungry. What's for dinner?"
"I don't know."
"Dad, couldn't you just picture me standing on a beach here."
"Actually, I don't have to, because that's what you're doing right now."
"Do we have any chips and salsa?"

We stayed at the Omni Hotel in downtown San Diego. It overlooks Petco Park, which is actually a baseball field, not a dog run. I was very happy about this, as you can see, even though the team, the San Diego Padres, wasn't in town while we were.

I've always found the name "Padres" interesting for a sports team; I understand "Tigers" and "Yankees" and even "Nationals," but isn't it odd that their moniker is Spanish for "Fathers"? Go, Fathers!


Our rental car was a Nissan Cube. You may ask, as did I, "Why would any vehicle be shaped like a cube?" I don't have an answer to this or other questions like, "Why are my nipples 94 percent useless?"

They just are, friend.


We had a fantastic time in southern California. Sure, there were a few random scuffles regarding who had worse sand-and-saltwater-induced-inner-thigh chafing, or why wasn't I able to effectively apply sunscreen without a bright pink map of Indonesia appearing on my stomach after a day at the beach.

Overall, however, we recharged our batteries,











and enjoyed each other's company.
And let me tell you, surfing must be really hard on the body, because I smelled a lot of that medicinal California marijuana down there. Poor surfers.