Those of us in the Powell family are an easy-going, agreeable sort, not too likely to get worked up about anything. However, there are two passions that all of us share: an inexhaustible hatred of mayonnaise, and an overwhelming love for the beach. Tomorrow, we pay homage to the second of these with our annual pilgrimmage to the land of seaweed, fat guys in speedos, and washed-up condom wrappers. If you've noticed a shortage of SPF 45 at your local Wal-Mart, it's because we haven't been able to contain our excitement.
We've done this every year, me with my dad, sister, uncle, and cousins, for as long as vacations have been vacated. The locale often changes, but not my blue swimsuit or my uncanny ability to confuse clumps of seaweed with man-eating giant octopi. In fact, twenty years from now, I fully expect to find myself scouring the Motel 6s and campgrounds of North Austin, trying to round up my illegitimate children so we can go get some family time. It's going to take one hell of a rolodex to get those bastards together, but I don't have 3 PDAs for nothing.
With such an enduring legacy, each year emerges with its own story. Last year's trip got started with a bang when, on the first night, I was awakened during a nightmare by the sound of someone trying to enter our hotel room. In a fit of sleepy insanity, I jumped up from my bed, ran to the door, began screaming, and came perilously close to hurling a lamp at the intruder, who just so happened to be my dad. Not one of my prouder moments. There are many scapegoats I could blame: screwy genetics, a harrowing encounter earlier that day with a man-o-war, the squid tacos I had for dinner. Instead, I will take the high road here and blame Mexican tap water for the whole encounter.
I certainly have my work cut out for me if I want to top that episode. However, I am, as they say in baseball, a clutch-hitter, and I manage to save a few inspired bouts of insanity for the one time of year when everyone is supposed to be relaxing. I'm putting money that I either get kidnapped by mermaids, or activate some old pirate booby trap and get an arm chopped off. I'm confident that with a combination of beach + Mexico, I can put together something compelling. I will be back on Tuesday, sun-burned and delirious from jellyfish venom. Goulash will resume at that point. Until then, I ask the law enforcement agencies of the USA and Mexico to give me the benefit of the doubt: I'm on vacation.
Posted by Cody at July 7, 2004 6:13 PM