Last night, the wife and I took our youngest boy and two of our nieces to see the local high school’s rendition of The Wizard of Oz. I’ve been to a couple of high school plays here locally (Beauty and the Beast and High School Musical), and they were both very enjoyable. Good acting, great singing, a good testament to local talent destined to find futures somewhere outside of the panhandle where their talents will be useful. Last night’s performance, however, was something really special.
The wiring that caused the Wicked Witch and her monkeys to fly was cool, but that wasn’t the reason this performance was so special. The pyrotechnics made me jump on more than one occasion, but they weren’t the reason the performance won’t be soon forgotten. The reason I found Scottsbluff High School’s performance of The Wizard of Oz so endearing was… they got it right!
The original movie starring Judy Garland is over 70 years old. I grew up watching that stupid old movie once a year, every year, throughout my adolescent years. It never got old. It was always exciting. And last night, I felt like those teen-aged kids up on the stage had seen that stupid movie even more times than I had. All of the kids in this play were excellent. Even the tiny munchkins, played by a bunch of little kids who were up way past their bed times, were absolutely amazing. It was a few of the leads, though, who stole my heart.
Maggie Hopp, who played Dorothy, pulled off Judy Garland’s pouty, defiant innocence with flair. She sang Somewhere Over the Rainbow to near-perfection. At times, I almost believed that the late-Garland’s spirit had possessed young Hopp. Watching her made me feel like a child again, sitting in our small living room in front of our small television, my brother, sister, mom, dad and me, wishing for Dorothy to be able to click her heels at least one more time and once again return to Kansas. If I had realized then what I know now (that Kansas is a lot like Nebraska), I would have wished for poor Dorothy to go to New York, or Los Angeles, or somewhere she and Toto could have a successful future… but I didn’t.
Carlos Santana (no, not the aged-musician who still rocks) was amazing as the Cowardly Lion. His no-holds-barred performance was hysterical. For a teenage boy to get up in front of a full auditorium and hold nothing back in his performance of the blubbering coward who slowly finds his courage… it was unforgettable in the best of ways. It takes someone with a lot of talent and self-confidence to get up on stage and play a chicken so well 🙂
Chris Brening pulled-off a convincing and very likable Scarecrow. Like Carlos, Chris didn’t seem to have an issue being a complete goofball on stage, and this character needs to be goofy…. and dance… and wobble around… without falling off of the small stage. There was more than one occasion where I thought the Scarecrow was going to fall into the orchestra pit, but he didn’t!
During the first half of the play, Aaron Aguallo’s microphone wasn’t working very well and he was hard to hear. After the intermission, Aaron’s voice brought life to the heartless Tin Woodsman. Once I could hear his voice, I had a very hard time believing that Jack Haley himself wasn’t actually up on stage instead of Aaron. This was what was so cool about this performance: the kids pulled off the characters so closely to the original casts’ rendition… yet each with just a hint of uniqueness that made them their own.
Karenna Booth was stunning as the good witch Glinda, and her singing gave me goosebumps. The only things that commonly gives me goosebumps in Nebraska are the chilly winter nights.
Emily Yanke was terrifically evil as the Wicked Witch of the West. She cackled like an old pro and seemed to relish her inhumanity. Kind of makes me wonder what this young lady does to small animals on the weekends… but her performance was superb… and that’s not a word I use much 🙂
I could go on and on… but I’m not really used to having nice things to say. Don’t get used to it! If you don’t already have tickets to tonight’s performance or the final performance on Saturday, you are probably out of luck. Both nights are sold out. However, if you know someone who has tickets and you don’t like them very much… steal them. This show is worth petty larceny.
Thanks to the cast and crew of the The Wizard of Oz. Old guys like me seldom feel young anymore, but all of you helped me feel a little younger for a couple of hours last night.
The Holidays: Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Year’s, Kwanzaa (whatever that is)… Time to think of others and be thankful for what you have, right? Normally, I would take this opportunity to dog on each and every single one of these holidays. I would bitch about everything I see as being wrong with these holidays… which is a lot. But, then I asked myself, “What would Jesus do?” Jesus would not dog on the holidays. Jesus would tell us too look out for our fellow man. Jesus would tell us to put the needs of others ahead of our own needs. Jesus would tell us all about Stacy Rock!
Stacy who? Stacy ROCK! Say it like you mean it… ROCK! Although a few years younger than me, Stacy grew up in the same small Montana town that I did.
Whenever I think of Stacy, I think of her mom… Mrs. Rock. Mrs. Rock was my English teacher in 6th, 7th and 8th grades. All of the younger grades feared Mrs. Rock. She was the kind of teacher who would yell at a kid down a long hallway if said kid was screwing around. Mrs. Rock’s voice could be heard from one end of the school to the other and stabbed fear into the hearts of the young children. We knew that, sooner or later, we would end up with her as a teacher. There were rumors of children who had mouthed off to Mrs. Rock and just… disappeared. I held a suspicion that the Rock family had a freezer full of formerly-mouthy kids who were served — you guessed it — for the holidays.
When I finally reached 6th grade, I was terrified that I would end up as a Thanksgiving main course. Mrs. Rock was not only the English teacher, she was the homeroom teacher for 6th grade. 6th graders are too young to die. What was wrong with the Ft. Peck school system?!?
Well, it turns out, nothing at all was wrong with the Ft. Peck school system. Mrs. Rock was an awesome teacher. She was strict, but she was also kind. She had a great, cynical sense of humor, which, of course, I loved. Mrs. Rock ended up being my favorite English teacher of all time. It was an incredible experience to watch Mrs. Rock yell down the hall at the younger kids who were misbehaving… knowing the fear that was building in them… some of them probably wetting their pants… maybe even a touch of the poo… Good times! In fact, I contribute all of my writing success to Mrs. Rock. Yeah, this stupid blog is all her fault. So the five of you who read it can blame her.
Back to the real reason for this post. Stacy Rock is no longer a little girl. Stacy Rock is now a soon-to-be rock-and-roll LEGEND! She just needs a little help from whoever stumbles across this post. After school, Stacy moved to the Big Apple in search of fulfilling her musical dreams. She found some success with the release of her first album. Now, she is attempting to produce a second album, and she is raising funds in the effort to make that second album come to life. But Stacy isn’t just asking for money… she is giving out rewards at every contribution level. The rewards sound pretty cool, too. If it wasn’t the holiday season, I would have went for the $50 level just to get some of Mrs. Rock’s cookies, although I still suspect there may be bits and pieces of mouthy kids within (‘What’s the secret to your delicious cookies, Mrs. Rock’, ‘Why, just a little Robert Jones, Mrs. Smith.’) If one were a great contributor to the arts, he or she could actually end up with a personal concert from Stacy in his/her house. That would be pretty cool. Check out Stacy’s story:
Currently, there are two semi-famous people from Fort Peck, MT. One is Wayne Hawkins, who was like a guard for the Oakland Raiders or something. The other is Ron Hauge, who is a television writer who wrote for The Simpsons, Ren and Stimpy, and I think he wrote an episode of Seinfeld or something. Please, please, please help this small Montana town have one more semi-famous person to its credit: Stacy Rock.
Check out Stacy Rock’s Kickstarter page for more information on how you can help and what you get in return. There is a goal and a deadline, so don’t delay. Also, check out Stacy herself and her music at StacyRock.com. The holiday season is a great time to help someone out 🙂
The wife and I just celebrated our 17th anniversary. I know, I know… the fact that there is a woman alive who would be willing to put up with my crap for 17 years may lead one to question her sanity. Well, the fact that she is slightly tilted doesn’t make me love her any less. Anyway, one of the biggest problems we have here in the craphandle of Nebraska when it comes to celebrating events is the lack of good places to eat. We have a ton of little Mexican restaurants which are good and fine and all, but we weren’t in the mood for Mexican. We have a Chili’s and an Applebee’s, which are pretty interchangeable chains. We have a Shari’s and a Perkin’s, which, once again, are pretty interchangeable chains. We have a few fast food places, and a couple of bar and grills that tend to be more bar than grill… and our anniversary fell on the eve of a Husker game… so being surrounded by a bunch of drunk Husker fans didn’t sound like the most romantic choice. We wanted to go somewhere for a good steak-type meal, but didn’t want to have to take out a home equity loan to be able to afford it. We have a chain here called Whiskey Creek that isn’t bad, but again… bar and grillish with a Husker game. There is a place here called The Emporium, but it seems to be sort of European in flair (which means although the food is excellent, you get very little of it and spend a small fortune). Last time we ate at The Emporium, I had to swing through the drive-through at McDonald’s just to get filled up afterwards.
One of the great things about Facebook is that it is filled with people more than willing to give their biased recommendations. I put a post on Facebook asking for some recommendations for somewhere decent to eat. Of course, I know all of the restaurants in the area, but I was figuring there may be one I just wasn’t thinking of that someone else could remind me of. Lucky for me, just such a thing happened. One of my Facebook friends recommended the Little Moon Lake Supper Club. It had probably been 12-years since I had been to Little Moon, and I had forgot all about it. I could hardly remember the place, but I remembered that I liked the food. So, we were off to Little Moon!
The Little Moon Lake Supper Club isn’t in Scottsbluff, NE. The Little Moon Lake Supper Club isn’t in Gering, NE. The Little Lake Moon Supper Club is right outside Henry, NE.
“Where is Henry, NE?”
Henry, NE is in the middle of NOWHERE! Little Moon is not in Henry, but is located about a mile back on a dirt road outside of Henry, and it is about 30 miles from my house… and it’s getting dark… and it’s raining cats and dogs.
We drove through the pouring rain. This is the first decent rain we have had in weeks, so the roads are a little oiled-up-slicky. We crept along at a safe speed well below the speed limit. Now, I can’t exactly remember how to get to Little Moon, I just remember that there is a sign off the highway that points the way. So, we were driving for over a half-hour when we finally got to Henry. I slowed down and started looking for the sign once we passed town, and there it was.
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So we turned south and drove over a pot-holy, washboardy, rain covered, muddy road very slowly for the next mile. This is what the visibility was like:
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Okay... maybe the visibility wasn't this bad, but it was for the camera on my Droid.
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Finally, after much bouncing and jarring and being splattered by muddy water, off in the distance, we saw what we thought might be our destination.
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Is this it?
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“Is that it?” I asked the wife.
“I think so,” said the wife.
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Really... this is it?
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“Not much too it, is there?” I said.
“No, but I remember the food being good,” said the wife.
Well, I guess if your first impression is bad, the odds go up of thinking the food is better than expected, right?!?
Once we got a little closer, it looked a little better… and I stress little.
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Night-time pictures taken by a Droid in a rainstorm kind of... uh... suck.
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Once we got inside, things started to look a even better (or, at least I can take a little better pictures).
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Yes, I believe the decor dates back to the 60's, but I'm not sure... since I wasn't alive for most of the 60's.
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We walked in and there is like no one there. I saw tables up ahead, but there is no one sitting at them. There was one dude wandering around with a jacket on, but he appeared to be slightly disturbed, so we left him alone. This seems strange, since the gravel parking lot was pretty full of cars. I looked to my left and there’s a bar, but there is no one at the bar.
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Kind of reminds me of the bar in The Shining... as most empty bars do.
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There were some people leaving, and the disturbed dude in the jacket, but I didn’t see anyone eating fabulous grub. Finally, a harried lady came shooting out from a little room on the side and asks how we’re doing. We told her we were fabulous, and she asked if we have reservations.
Oh crap.
We most definitely did not have reservations. The lady said that they have room and that wouldn’t be an issue, they just need to do some rearranging. She quickly disappears back into the room and I saw her darting back and forth past the door and stuff clanged and clattered.
“Oh crap, do you really think they have room?” I asked the wife.
“I’m sure she wouldn’t have told us they do if they don’t,” said the wife.
The harried lady jetted back and forth past the door a few more times as more clanging and clattering transpired. Finally, she reappeared back by the bar, brushing her hair away from her sweat-covered brow.
“I can seat you now,” she said.
So, we followed her through the little side door and found ourselves in a nice little dining area. The paneling on the walls, carpet on the floors, and lighting hanging from the ceiling all screamed “I was cool before disco was a glint in it’s father’s eye,” but it was clean. There were a few empty table, but most of the tables held groups of people who were dressed a lot fancier than the wife and me. We sat down and scoped the place out. There was apparently another room off of the dining room we were in, because people came in and went through another door in our dining room and disappeared… never to return. Also, the waitresses would disappear back in that nether-region, but they would reappear. So, there was either like a private party going on back there… or those unlucky guests who disappeared into the “special” seating section were actually what we ate later that evening. Either way, there were only two waitresses on duty, and they both seemed as harried as the seating lady. There did seem to be an awful lot of people for only two waitresses. Guess that’s why places like you to make reservations. I made a mental note.
In addition to the two waitresses and the seating lady, there was a young woman who, I’m guessing, was on her first night as an employee. The young lady looked like she may still be in high school, and she appeared to be terrified of screwing something up. She was very fun to watch. Harried-seating lady directed the young-one to get us water. Young-one nervously brought over a pitcher and attempted to pour out of the side of the pitcher into the wife’s and my glasses. She did the wife first, and a small splash of water spilled over onto the glass-topped table.
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” said Young-one.
“It’s alright,” the wife smiled. Really, it wasn’t that big of a spill. In fact, we wouldn’t have probably even noticed the small spill if Young-one didn’t seem so nervous and hadn’t apologized for it.
Young-one slowly brought the pitcher to my glass and hesitantly poured from the side, shaking the pitcher slightly in an attempt to get some ice into my glass. She would shake and pour a little bit, and then stop… and breath… and then shake and pour a little bit more. After several start and stop combinations, she finally got my glass about half full. I think she decided that was about all the fuller she could risk getting my glass without spilling, because she stopped at half, set my glass down, and left. I looked at my half-full glass and then at my wife, who was smiling.
“Poor thing,” said the wife. “She seems so nervous. Must be her first night.”
“Yeah, poor thing,” I agreed. “You don’t think she’s our waitress, do you?”
We saw Harried-seating lady pull Young-one aside. Harried-seating lady took Young-one over to an empty table at the far side of the dining room and proceeded to show Young-one how to properly fill a glass by pouring from the side of a pitcher. Young-one nodded and a light seemed to go off somewhere in the recesses of her consciousness. I don’t know if she actually understood what Harried-seating lady was saying or if she was remembering a fond memory from her childhood… from a couple of weeks ago… but she seemed to understand something, and that made me feel good.
Harried-seating lady finally returned to us. “All of our menus are out, so it will be just a couple of minutes before we can show you a menu.”
“That’s fine,” I said, looking around at all of the other diners in our dining room, not one of whom had a menu.
“Can I start you with something to drink?”
So, I order iced tea and the wife ordered a Sprite. Harried-seating lady hurried off in search of our drinks.
When Harried-seating lady left, I asked the wife, “Where do you think all of those menus are?”
“They must be in the other dining room,” she said.
I looked again to the door leading to the mysterious dining area from which diners entered but never returned.
“Yeah… the other dining room,” I said.
From the kitchen, Young-one emerged carrying a glass of iced tea in one hand and a glass of Sprite in the other.
“Watch this,” I said to the wife in anticipation of something funny.
We watched Young-one carefully bring each glass to the table… without spilling a drop. She gently set each glass down, smiled (in relief, I believe), and scampered on her merry way.
“Dang it,” I said, “she didn’t spill them.”
The wife rolled her eyes.
Finally, one of the two harried waitresses brought a couple of menus from the “other” dining room and handed them to us with a smile. I glanced over mine for traces of fresh blood, but found none. We looked over the menu and both decided that steak sounded quite good. After this stupid new “eating healthy” crap that we’d been doing, a little red meat seemed like an excellent choice. Also, I ordered the appetizer combo… ’cause nothing says “cheat day” like a big pile of deep-fat-fried crispiness.
While we were waiting for our cardiac-arrest appetizer tray, our waitress brought over a surprise relish tray. I like surprises… even if they are healthy.
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That's right... the little bowl is filled with pickled herring... and I love pickled herring for two reasons. First, I love the way it tastes. Second, the wife hates pickled herring... so I get it all.
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In anticipation of the big cheat we were taking from our new healthy way of eating with this meal, the wife and I had barely eaten anything all day. We polished off that relish tray in short order. And then came the appetizer.
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There was actually more than this. We both dug into it before I could get the Droid out to take a picture.
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Oh man, was that greasy stuff good. There were fried mushrooms, fried mozzarella sticks, and some of the biggest, best homemade onion rings that I have ever seen or tasted in my life. We almost polished off the appetizer tray before the steaks came, but not quite. We had a little left over to take back for the kiddos.
The steaks arrived. I’m kind of pissed, because I took a picture of my steak dinner in all of it’s glory, but my stupid Droid didn’t save it. Picture if you will a beautiful piece of seared meat, blood slowly spreading beneath it’s rare goodness, surrounded by crispy french fries and a Mexican corn medley. It was good sized, even though I ordered the small ribeye (yeah, I knew with the fat-filled appetizer I wouldn’t need a large… even when splurging, I was being a little health conscience… ’cause I would have never ordered a small before). I could have sliced it with a butter knife. The first bite absolutely melted in my mouth. I don’t know if it was just because it had been over 2 weeks since I had eaten any real red meat, but that was the tastiest steak I have ever tasted. I didn’t even care if it wasn’t beef… if, perhaps, it came from some illicit activity in the “other” dining room… I ate that whole thing in no time flat.
While we’re eating, Young-one noticed that our drink glasses were empty.
“Would you like refills?” she nervously asked.
“Why, yes, thank you,” I replied, and she scampered off with our empty glasses. She sure liked to scamper.
“Poor thing,” mutters the wife.
During the course of our meal, I had a blast watching Young-one take increasingly larger and larger piles of dirty dishes from the empty tables to the kitchen. I could see her self-confidence growing as her piles of dirty dishes grew larger. She seemed, to me, to be growing reckless… and I was loving it.
“Ooh…ooh,” I whispered to the wife, “watch this. I think she’s gonna lose it.”
“She is not,” the wife said. “Don’t be mean. Poor thing.”
Needless to say, she never lost the dishes. Needless to say, I was disappointed. I mean, it was neat to see that young girl smile with pride as she navigated the large piles of dirty dishes flawlessly to the kitchen, but it would have been neater to see the dishes crash to the floor and her fleeing the dining room in tears. Just sayin’…
Anyway, Young-one returned with our filled drinks and easily set the wife’s Sprite down in front of her. As she was sliding my iced tea into position, her wrist lightly brushed against the lemon placed on the rim of my cup, and the lemon tumbled down into the basket of butter on the table. Young-one bit her lower lip, and I swear her eyes suddenly grew moist. She set my glass down, started to reach for the lemon wedge, and drew her hand back. Her hand flew forward again in an attempt to grasp the lemon, only to return to her side as her eyes grew increasingly wet. I just smiled, watching in amazement. The wife nudged me, but I ignored her. Finally, Young-one reached forward one last time and gently placed her index finger and thumb on the outer rind of my lemon wedge. She was careful to only touch the outer rind. She held the lemon wedge up in front of her chest, looked at it, and then held it out to me like it was something she wished dearly to get rid of.
“I didn’t want to touch it,” she whispered to me as she blinked back tears.
I took the lemon from her and dropped it in my glass of tea to show her that I wasn’t afraid of her cooties.
“That’s okay,” I said. “No big deal.”
Her trembling lip turned up in a slight, forced smile as she turned and walked quickly out of the room. I started to snigger.
“Poor thing,” the wife said, but she sounded like she was ready to burst out laughing as well.
We were in such a good mood that, even though we were stuffed, we ordered a piece of pecan cheesecake to share… and it was awesome.
We had a really good time at the Little Moon Lake Supper Club. The service was exceptional (especially considering the fact that I think they may have been a little short on staff). We didn’t wait an unacceptable amount of time for any of the courses. All of the food was exceptional… not a thing sucked. Young-one’s entertainment was superb. I really hope she doesn’t get discouraged and quit, ’cause she’s fun 🙂 Even the price was very reasonable. With tip (and we tip pretty well), we got out of there for around $60. Of course, we didn’t drink the alcohol, which I’m sure would add heavily to a tab, but we were both stuffed on good food and we even had some to take home.
If I were to give out stars or thumbs or anything like that, I’d give the Little Moon Lake Supper Club in Henry, NE some stars, and my thumbs would all be up. Good value, great food, pleasant staff, and the funny new girl. Poor thing…
A friend of mine runs a state preschool in North Platte, NE. The preschool is funded with grant funds, which are in short supply this year. The friend has made a video for a contest that could help get her preschool $300 in winnings to help pay for supplies. If you happen to stumble across this and would like to help some preschoolers out, please visit the following link, register (you don’t have to buy votes, you get 20 free just for registering), and cast your 20 votes for the Lincoln Preschool video. They are getting really close to winning some much needed funds! The voting ends tonight (10/5/2011) at midnight (central time).
Thank you in advance for helping a preschooler out 🙂
Thanks, once again, to Stacy for coming up with a little sumpin’ sumpin’ to make my blog a little less bland. I love holiday headers!
Are you homeschooling your kids? Ever thought about homeschooling your kids? Want to have a friend home-school your kids so you don’t have to look at the little rugrats? Well, I recommend checking out Nancy’s blog. On this particular post, she is having a little contest… and you can WIN stuff… for free… that may be of interest to you if homeschooling is up your alley… and help keep you organized to boot! Check it out! 🙂
I’m a happily married dude. I am about to embark on, most-likely, a once in a lifetime adventure with my family: a cruise to the Bahamas. However, when I discovered that almost a third of the guests on Royal Caribbean’s Majesty of the Sea were attendees of some sort of fraternity leadership conference that Royal Caribbean was happily ($$$) hosting, the wind in my sails diminished just a little. Even though I’m happily married, I am not dead. I had some preconceived notions of what the view around the pool on that cruise ship was going to look like.
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This is not what frat boys look like.
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My “notions” were quickly replaced by reality.
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This... I'm afraid... is what frat boys look like.
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Yeah. Disappointing, to say the least. Anywho, now I can try to focus on actually enjoying the family time, right?
The ship is amazing. It’s like 14-stories tall, and it travels across the ocean; this in and of itself is utterly amazing to me. There are two formal dining halls, a buffet, a pizza place, a deli, and a burger joint. Everything except the burger joint is included in the cost of the cruise (you have to pay an entrance fee of like $5 to get into Johnny Rockets). There was a full-fledged casino, two or three lounges, an awesome weight room with a spectacular view of the ocean (which I promised myself I would use… but never did), a teen hang-out area, a little kid hang-out area, two small swimming pools (constantly full of frat boys), two hot tubs (constantly full of frat boys), a basketball court, a climbing wall, a ping-pong table, and the Chorus Line theater which had nightly live entertainment. The center of the ship was kind of like a mall, with various stores selling various expensive items: a Caribou Coffee, a jewelry store, a liquor store, a gift shop and the like. Each day, in the area between the stores, they were selling different garbage that looked expensive and was ridiculously inexpensive. The wife and youngest son each got a watch for like $10 each, and they looked like they were worth much more. We’ll see how long they actually last 🙂 Needless to say, the ship itself was pretty cool. Our room, on the other hand, not so much.
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Standard rooms on a cruise ship are extremely small. I cannot stress enough how small these stinking rooms are. It’s a good thing you pretty much just sleep in the rooms, because, in a family of four, someone would end up dead if you had to spend too much time together in those stinking rooms.
So, we check in on the ship and go through a “muster drill”.
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A muster drill is where they make everyone get outside by the lifeboats and tell you what to do to avoid dying if the ship starts to sink. Great! Now that we are all now terrified, let the fun begin.
We spent the first night at sea and just enjoyed the boat and tried to avoid the drunk, potty-mouthed frat boys. Man, when the frats were sober, they were bearable, but once they got liquored-up, we pretty much had to walk with our hands over our sons’ ears to block the f-bombs. Thanks, Royal Caribbean! Thanks for not warning us our cruise was going to be a floating college party full of frat boys with no chicas for them to concentrate their alcohol-fueled, testosterone-driven horn-doggedness on. I actually overheard a frat boy talking to a girl who appeared to be about 16-years-old, and he was trying to talk her into going to one of the lounges with him. She kept shaking her head, looking around for someone to rescue her, and I heard him say, “I keep forgetting you’re under age.” Man, that girl’s parents (as well as almost every parent with a daughter on that cruise) had to be loving Royal Caribbean for that week.
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The next day, we ported in the Nassau. Pretty cool, if you could look past the poverty that was prevalent everywhere. We got off the ship and were immediately accosted by numerous people trying to get us to take a taxi or go on a tour or buy stupid toy turtles. One old guy even asked me if I needed something to smoke, and when I told him I didn’t, he got pissed and stormed off. We walked around the streets of Nassau. Me loving people the way I do quickly grew tired of the people constantly in our faces, and we returned to the ship after a short time.
Later that afternoon, we went on a snorkeling tour. We got on a boat and left the port area to an area where we could check out the corral. We boated past a lot of really nice houses and the tour guide dropped a few names while cruising past these mansions. Oprah Winfrey and Michael Jordan had houses there, along with a bunch of other people whose names I don’t remember. Can’t imagine owning a mansion of such incredible grandeur surrounded by such intense poverty. Nothing like rubbing it in the face of the locals, huh?
The snorkeling was kind of lame. On the way, they warned us that people had seen lion fish in the area we were going to, and lion fish are apparently quite poisonous. Coolest thing about snorkeling was that I actually found a lion fish.
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This isn't the actual fish we saw, but it looked almost exactly like this.
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I got both of my boys and the wife to see it before one of the tour divers discovered it and scared it away. Bastard!
That was pretty much the day in Nassau. The next day, we relaxed on the beaches of Royal Caribbean’s private island, Coco Cay. This was, by far, the most relaxing day of our adventure.
Swimming in the ocean…
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… playing with the conch…
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These ugly suckers are surprisingly good eating
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…tearing it up at the water park
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… avoiding the killer seagulls…
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These suckers will attack a hot dog like their lives depend on it
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… or hanging out in the hammocks…
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…oops, I forgot… stinking frat boys…
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Overall, a very good day. Then, back to the boat for a relaxing evening and lots of eating.
The next day, we ported in Key West, FL. Can you say “tourist trap?” Of course you can. I really felt for all of the foreign (non-US) guests on the Majesty of the Sea when we ported in Key West. Every single one of them had to take part of their day to go through US Immigration, whether they were getting off the boat in Key West or not. The immigration officers apparently set-up shop in the theater and the lines were horrendous of families waiting for immigration’s approval. I imagine those vacationers wasted hours of the last day of the cruise waiting for US Immigration to check them out. Honest to God, it’s no wonder why so much of the rest of the world hates the United States. Sometimes, our laws are just retarded. I really thought it was cool how there were different people from all over the world on this cruise and, except for the frat boys, we all got along just splendidly… up until “Homeland Security” kicked in and the US made sure there wasn’t someone vacationing from Japan or France setting off a dirty bomb in Key West (or someone who has just spent thousands of dollars on a vacation trying to sneak into the country… if they can make that kind of money, they have brains and a good work ethic… let ’em in!) by making every man, woman and child go through an immigration checkpoint. I didn’t feel safe, I felt embarrassed for our country. Why not allow these people to enjoy the last day of their vacation and check them out after the cruise in Miami? I didn’t have to go through immigration in the Bahamas… and I could of been planning to buy some crack from that dude who wanted to know if I needed a “smoke”… or something!!!
Anyway, back to the non-crappy part of the Key West visit. We did a little sight seeing
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Nothing says "art" like naked chicks... and NO, that's not me lying on my back looking up. He's part of the "art"... and my wife wouldn't let me lie beside him...
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… did a little shopping…
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… ate some conch fritters…
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… enjoyed frozen chocolate-covered Key Lime pie on a stick…
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and overall had a touristerrific, sunshiny day!
Then, back on the ship for the last time. We had a wonderful evening of eating lots of food and swimming with the frat boys… and then eating some more. I crap you not, I gained 10# on that stinking cruise!
When we woke up the next morning, we were in Miami. Up and at ’em and off the ship. We spent an entire day at Miami International Airport (’cause we had to watch our luggage… we could have “checked” it at this storage place, but they want to rape you and kill your first born as payment for that, so we said “screw it, airports are fun”). We discovered that Miami isn’t too exciting when experienced from the airport, so airports aren’t really that fun. Didn’t even get to see Tubbs, let alone Crockett 🙁
Finally, a turbulent flight back to Denver, a late-night hotel stop on the way home, and finally back to the Craphandle. And then, back to work with another year until the next real vacation.
Crap man… I just realized how much I miss my ΣAE buddies…
Have you ever dreamed of the perfect vacation? Have you thought about it for years and years, and then made the decision that you were going to make it happen? Well, the wife and I did just that: we planned for, saved for, and made happen our dream vacation. We went on a cruise to the Bahamas.
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Yippee-ki-yeah!
First off, I have to give a big shout-out to the wife. She is the one who squirreled away money (tax refunds, Christmas bonuses, a little extra cash-flow every month, etc) to make our dream become a reality. I want it to be known that the time I had with my wife and two sons was much more enjoyable than I am about to make it appear. In fact, given the opportunity, I would remain with my wife and sons on that stinking cruise ship with the stupid frat boys until the day I die (if given the choice), and I would be one of the happiest dudes alive… until I died on the cruise ship, and then I would be one of the happiest dudes… uh… dead, I guess.
The wife and I planned on going on a cruise for our 15th anniversary. It was going to be a really special treat, and we had been looking forward to it for years. The problems that led to us not being able to make that happen were like the perfect storm of CRAP that transpired in the few years leading up to the 15th year of our ultimate declaration of love. We had started a little business together, built it up to a level of creating a decent profit, and had recently sold that business to a clueless chick who ended up declaring bankruptcy and screwing us out of a lot of money. At that point, we should have declared bankruptcy ourselves, but decided to take the higher road and repay all of the debt we owed. Some “sage” at some point in time made me believe that repaying your debts will benefit you in the long run. Yeah… I’m still waiting to reap the benefits of that stupid little piece of advice. Shortly after being screwed in the candy business, the economy took a major tank; and shortly after that, reductions in pay (as opposed to raises) were the trend of the day. Some of the employers had the balls to call it what it was (a reduction in pay), while others called it a “pay restructuring” or a “new compensation plan” and made you read Who Moved My Cheese.
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Needless to say, the 15th anniversary cruise was suddenly a pipe-dream.
Shortly before the 15th anniversary, we had started to save for the dream. When we realized that it wasn’t going to happen at the 15-year mark, we decided to prolong it a couple of years and make it a full-family-free-for-all. In other words, we were going to take our sons. Much less romantic, absolutely NO hanky-panky, more full of farts and body odor, and multitudes of inappropriate comments at the absolutely most inappropriate times.
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Mommy, is that big lady in the bathing suit pregnant, or is she just fat?
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Sounded like a relatively fair trade to me. Don’t get me wrong… I likes me that there hanky-panky… but I likes me thems there farts too…
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… theys makes me giggle… and giggling is good for the soul 🙂
So, we have it all planned to go on a cruise to the Bahamas. We decide on Royal Caribbean, and we were ready to set sail on the Majesty of the Sea.
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Sounds pretty cool, right? Sure does. Of course, we have to get on the ship in Miami, and we live hundreds and hundreds of miles from Miami. So, we have to fly.
I hate flying!
I hate the fear of having no control of anything while soaring at 30,000 feet above the earth (or, as I like to think of it, about a 40 second nightmarish fall to a certain, messy, instant death). My palms get clammy and my stomach doesn’t feel too swell just thinking about it. I also hate getting to the point of being able to get on the stinking plane, You know, the whole TSA nightmare.
“But they are just keeping us safe!” says the nincompoop who likes the TSA.
“Flying is a privilege, not a right,” says the government advocate.
I’m gonna call BS on both of those statements. They are not keeping us safe by patting down small children and old ladies. They are not keeping us safe by subjecting us to radiation. They are not keeping us safe by making me put all of the liquids I need in 3 oz bottles and limiting them to a 1 quart bag. This is all retarded. This is all “shock and awe” in an attempt to make us think that they are really keeping us safe… and, in the meantime, they are stepping all over our civil liberties. But it’s all in the name of “stopping terrorism,” so the vast majority of us just let it slide. And when there are armed National Guard in front of Walmart making sure we aren’t trying to bomb super centers, that will be all right too. And when they start reading our mail and listening in on our phone conversations in the name of national security, we’ll be fine with that as well. And when the civil unrest finally starts, those involved in the unrest will be hauled off to “camps” to protect the rest of the population from the “extremists.”
Rant much? Why yes, thank you, I do. Anywho, I hate the TSA. They are just people doing a job, right? Yeah, so are the buttmunchs who send you unsolicited spam, and the jerkwads who call you at 7:30 on a Saturday morning trying to get you to buy their auto insurance. Personally, I’d rather flip burgers at McDonald’s than help implement the military state and invade citizens’ civil liberties… but hey, that’s just me.
So, we get to the airport in Denver, check our bags, take off half of our clothes, get radiated, and make it through security. We get on the plane, and we fly to Miami. Well, we fly to over Miami, and then we circle over Miami for like an hour because of some storms. Then we fly to Ft. Lauderdale because we’re low on fuel. Then we sit in the plane on the tarmac for like an hour getting refueled and waiting for the okay to fly back to Miami. Then we fly back to Miami and land. My least favorite parts of flying, other than the turbulence and the extreme heights and the small seats in “business class” and the fat-assed flight attendants who bump my shoulder every time they walk down the narrow aisle (I thought flight attendants had to be petite… now they’re all fat or dudes and most definitely like banging into passengers) and the narrow aisles and the small restrooms and the long lines to the small restrooms and trying to pee in turbulence… the parts I hate the most are taking off and landing. Taking off and landing are where most accidents occur. Well, on the trip to Miami, what was supposed to be a 4-hour non-stop flight from DIA to MIA turned into an almost 7-hour ordeal with two take-offs and two landings. We really got some bang for our buck on that stupid flight. So, instead of having an afternoon to check out Miami, we went straight to the hotel, grabbed some supper, and got ready for bed.
The next morning, after feasting on the hotel’s all you can eat breakfast buffet (just the beginning of us gorging ourselves), we take a cab out to the port. Going through the boarding process is quite a bit less intimidating than the airport security, but still kind of sucks. Finally, we get on the boat and are ready to really start enjoying our vacation… when I notice them.
Dudes… young dudes… rich-looking young dudes… everywhere. Preppy guys looking like their ready to get their drink on. What the…?!? And they all have Greek letters on their shirts. Frat boys… seriously… everywhere! Most of them appear to be ΣAE (Sigma Alpha Epsilon), although there are some something-with-a-Deltas there, and a something-Kappa-something or two as well. EVERYWHERE!!! It’s nothing personal against young gentlemen in fraternities, God love ’em. I just have a very strong aversion to guys who are almost guaranteed success because they have rich daddies and like looking down on those not in their group. I had to deal with frat boys when I went to college, and I didn’t much care for them then… and now, almost 20 years later, my dream vacation is in jeopardy of being tainted by an extremely large ship FULL of them…
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… and not a sorority girl in sight 🙁 It was shaping up to be a long week.
