vacation

Tonight I’m in Phoenix, AZ at the Scottsdale Marriott at McDowell Mountains. My dad is here for a business convention and I am quite happy to be his golf partner for the weekend. (Apparently the UCLA Bruins football team is staying at this hotel as well, which is odd because we’re not very close to ASU.)

I would never really have considered myself a frequent flyer until about 2000. I was born in Rhode Island and went to elementary school and high school in Daytona Beach, Florida. In the summer I would usually fly — with my little sister — to see my dad in New England. Then I went to the University of Florida in Gainesville, Florida. Aside from one major adventure to London (and Dublin) during my junior year, and frequent travel in the Southeast for crew (rowing) competitions, I wasn’t much of a traveler. I’d been to New Orleans and Colorado. I had been just about everywhere in the state of Florida, and once I got to college I started driving to New England instead of flying, so I got to see most of the East coast of the U.S. But then in late 2000 I moved to Los Angeles …

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My girlfriend and I spent most of the last week in Mexico. One of her best friends got married at the El Dorado Royale resort in Cancun. Almost five full days of tequila and sun makes for a pretty good time. The place was terrific and the wedding was lovely. I’d love to say more, but every day was wonderfully monotonous — wake up, breakfast buffet with bloody mary, lay in the pool reading magazines with a never-ending margarita, lunch buffet, cervezas on the beach, dinner buffet, martini bar evenings … If you’ve never done an “all-inclusive” vacation, you don’t know what you’re missing.

So did anyone miss me last week? I have the feeling that nobody even noticed I wasn’t here. It’s okay. As much as I kid, it’s a feeling I know well. Whatever. While I was gone - and my week away from the keyboard was probably the longest I’ve gone without posting anything in almost year - I visited my family in New England. It was more fun than you could possibly imagine. My parents got divorced way back in the mists of time and my mom and my little sister and I moved to Daytona Beach, Florida. That’s where I was raised. (reared? brought up? nurtured? developed?) My dad had visitation rights (or something like that) for a few weeks every summer and Jenny and I would always spend a few weeks there. As I’ve gotten older (and months-long summer vacations disappeared) I haven’t been able to visit as often as I wish I could. (I’m sure there’s all kinds of grammatical problems with that sentence, but I just don’t feel like fixin’ it. I’m sure you know what I’m sayin’. Know what I’m sayin’?) So it was great to see my dad and the rest of my New England relatives. Here’s a quick review:

• Tuesday and Wednesday: Took at 10:30pm pst flight from LAX to JFK, then a shuttle to Logan. Dad was there at 9am est Wednesday and we went to his house in Portsmouth, RI and dropped off the bags and then jumped on the Ferry Schamonchi to Martha’s Vineyard. We had never been to the island and rented mopeds to tour. I’d never ridden a moped before, either! I think it made me itch a little for a motorcycle. It was really cool. We went back to Dad’s house and got some much-needed sleep.
• Thursday: We got up early and drove to visit my little brother Michael. He’s in the Coast Guard stationed in Gloucester, MA. That was quite the exciting trip! We got to ride on a 47′ mega-super-duper rescue boat all around the bay. Mike gave us a tour of the base and we had a terrific lunch at The Gloucester House. Then we returned to Portsmouth for an old-fashioned lobster and clam dinner that was faboo.
• Friday: We visited Newport, RI and some of my dad’s favorite lighthouses, which was hip. Then we packed our stuff and drove to pick up Nana Rainy in Somerville, MA and headed to Uncle Richie’s lake house in Acton, Maine. We stayed at the Mousam Valley Motel.
• Saturday: We spent the day water-skiing and tubing and playing at Uncle Richie’s house. (Here’s an awesome shot of my little sister Michelle tubing.) Most of the family came to visit! It was like a mini-reunion. At night we had a bonfire and my dad played guitar and we all sat around singing Irish drinking songs and talking about … well … everything that’s been happening in the two years since I was last there.
• Sunday: We goofed around some more at Uncle Richie’s and then returned to Portsmouth.
• Monday: I spent the morning uploading all the pictures from my dad’s new digital camera and then packed up and headed to Boston. We met Mike at Nana Rainy’s and then tried to go to the Coast Guard base in Boston so I could buy a cap with “Gloucester Coast Guard” on it, but they were closed for Labor Day. My dad got a great shot of me and Mike in front of one of the big Coast Guard cutters, though. We got to tool around Quincy Market and Faneuil Hall a bit, and then jumped on a 6pm est flight back to LAX. Got in around 9:30pm pst.

It’s not the heat, it’s the stupidity.

I just spent a week telling all my New England relatives how wonderful the weather is in Los Angeles and what a great place this city is to live and work. And then I returned. Dumb move on my part I guess. For at least the tenth time this year the air conditioning is malfunctioning in my office building. My cubicle is only slightly less comfortable than I imagine the burning flames and constant anguish of hell to be. Consider this: I wore a long-sleeve, warm shirt to work today because last week we couldn’t get the thermostat above sixty degrees F.

Or maybe it’s just that everything sucks after a vacation.