Bourgeois Movements of the Tidal Persuasion
My step-dad recently retired his position as a Lieutenant with the Pennsylvania State Police, and rather than having us throw him a retirement party, he insisted instead on taking the entire family on a cruise which, incidentally, begins tomorrow.
We’ll be hobnobbing with the waves that find themselves crashing anywhere between Florida’s drip, along Cuba and down the coast of Central America, with reportedly fabulous stops in Cozumel, Mexico and Belize. I’m highly looking forward to this trip, aside from obvious reasons like sunbathing in climes 1000 miles south of the Pittsburghian Winter, but also because of the better than likely chance that some of us may be renting a busted up old Jeep and driving out to see some Mayan ruins. As you may all know being such devout readers of this, my blog I’m a huge fan of the native cultures of what is now known as Central and South America, particularly for the whole mystery that lays behind their vast amounts of knowledge pertaining to astronomy and calculating time, but also for their stellar performance in that Mel Gibson flick.
It’ll also be great to hang ten with the family, who are a smooth combination of foreign and domestic blends, my own lovely wife (to which I have been married 2 years to this day) is a South African, and my sister’s boyfriend hails from Australia. Throw in my son’s inexplicable Texan accent and you’ve got yourself a well-rounded family of otherwisers.
I hope to get as burnt as a sun, as crisp as a fried, and as drunk as a drunkard, all while wearing khaki cheesecloth style pants with a mostly unbuttoned white shirt. If Internet access via my phone is a reality, perhaps I will share some pictures or short quips about the locals I encounter, who I assume will either be grass-wearing spear toters or, more likely, similarly dressed, similarly touristy, Americans.