Saturday, July 29, 2006
I'm back...
It is all too rare that one goes on vacation and more or less gets what he was expecting. Rarer still is the trip that becomes more than you expect. Occasionally, something grand occurs where you not only have a fabulous experience, you manage to learn something about yourself as well. My recent trip to Miami Beach was just such an excursion. As I've probably mentioned, I went to Florida International University in Miami, but spent most of my free time on South Beach. I also worked, lived, loved, went homeless, and got robbed, starved, and laughed on SOBE, so the area has huge emotional value to me. I don't get down nearly as much as I once did, as work and bills and the normal silliness of life prevent me from traveling to most places. I also had an agenda, which enabled me to get past my oh so serious explanation for not going. Technically, I went without knowing if I could fulfill the reason for going: a real estate wealth building seminar at FIU's South Campus. I did RSVP, but the presentation was full. I knew that many people will sign up for such events but not show. As such, I tried several times get on a waiting list, and finally succeeded. It took some cajoling to even put a list together. Evidently, the reaction was positive to the point the alumni association will schedule not only a second seminar, but a follow up to the first one with more in-depth information. This organization was the attractiveness of the program. All of this information is available fairly easily, but the organization and presentation are not. This is the same reason high schools beat down my door asking me to speak about financial aid.
Armed only with a vague promise of attaining valuable knowledge, I worked on Monday and left shortly thereafter. I felt more than a little guilty at the prospect of leaving, but my mom said she would care for psycho kitty (c'est que ce?) and everyone else I knew was in the wind or working extra hours. I also broke down some numbers, and if I can clamp down on my spending, I can still meet my monetary goals. My affairs in order, it was time to go. I actually waited longer than I normally would to allow traffic to dissipate, but missed the mark and got caught on the Tappan Zee. Why the Tappan Zee? Part of my Florida drive is a concerted effort to avoid tolls at nearly all cost. It isn't easy. I drove I-287 to I-78 to I-81 to I-83 to I-695 (Outer Loop) to I-95. This makes the total drive around 1390, but I pay $0.75 in tolls. A straight shot is 1325, but I pay nearly 40 in tolls each way. It's worth the extra time, but I wasn't feeling that way on the way home. This route is actually an improvement from my old method: I-287 to I-80 to I-81 to I-695, etc. That adds an extra 100 miles to SOBE. Either way, I'm saving far more in money than I would in gas. I knew I wouldn't make it far, but leaving on Tuesday was not appealing. I did make it south of DC, and crashed for a few hours sleep. After a 4 hour nap, I drove straight to South Beach. As I drove, I recorded the price of gas and mileage. As a result, my airbag cover in now a record of the trip. I need to snap a picture with the figures before they fade away. I hit the Beach fairly late, and after calling my closest friend down there, I drove to his job. Greg works at a youth hostel, and since he had a guest for the duration of my trip, crashing at his place was out. Well, if I couldn’t crash at his place, why not his job? At $20 a night, the price was certainly right. As far as the amenities, save for free WiFi, they didn’t exist. In fact, I was worried I would end up breaking the bunk bed. (You really want someone 325 lbs sleeping above you in a rusty bunk bed missing a support pole? Nope, me neither.) The bed literally groaned as I fitfully climbed on. Anyway, I was wired from the drive, and I wanted to talk to Greg. I went into the common room, and finally notice all the commotion around me. By commotion I mean hot women, and loads of them. All were planning to obtain some degree of inebriation, and I was both too skittish and tired to assist these lovelies in their quest. I am, after all, sober 14 plus years; also, these females were at least 12 years younger. I did manage to socialize, though. An affable Canadian/Mohawk/African-American dude from Detroit was hanging out, and I struck up a conversation. He was looking some smokes, and although I don’t smoke cigarettes, I had 3 cigars in my car. With that I gave him a stogie and smoked one myself. Usually, leaving cigars in one’s glove compartment is not a good idea, but the flavor had actually improved. Along came two very nice au pairs from Austria, and I managed to impress them with my German. We talked for a bit, and I finally slept.
The next day began with a mission: Key West. Just about every trip to Florida begins with the idea of staying in the Southern Most City, and this was no exception. I have made it down before, but I never really done much once there. 4 Hours in the strip club doesn’t count. The drive down was nice and serene, as it usually is. Still, all the peace and quite reminded me of one thing: the Keys are boring. Only Key West fires my imagination; the rest is just driving. Once in Key West, I made another decision: I would continue to exercise my newfound sociability and actually get out of the car. I did have a few places to visit, with the Garden of Eden on top on the list. For the uninitiated, this place is a nude bar on top of another bar. You occupy a rooftop and have the chance to both drink and let your flag(s) fly. This may not be the smartest combination, mind you. I’ve known of the place for years, but I did not know the clothing optional edict applied to bartenders. It is at these times I really regret not owning prescription sun glasses. If I did, I could stare at the barkeep’s incredible rack all afternoon without getting smacked. As it was, I grabbed my ubiquitous diet soda and prepared to disrobe.
Something stopped me, though. I’m obviously not against public nudity, and others were to some extent naked. Still, I didn’t want to just lay out on the deck chairs. I’d driven too far for that either. OK, I said, time to cruise. With that I was back on Duval. On the way back to my car to feed the meter, the strangest thing occurred for the entire trip. An attractive redhead in a jean miniskirt (with a provocative tattoo peeking out from just below the hemline,) came up to me, smiled, and handed me a card. As a single male traveling alone, I’m used to this on some level. I figured the card was a coupon for a free drink, a psychic, or even an ad for an adult bookstore: “Free lube with purchase!” or some such thing. I was going to toss it, but read the card first. I turns out it was a card for “exotic adult entertainment” with someone named Bailey. This begged two questions: was the aforementioned hottie Bailey? Also, why did she give the card to me? Did I seem that ready to purchase her services? Actually that’s three questions, but bear with me. Anyway, I was, um, intrigued. She was really hot and it had been a while. I called, and lo and behold, the beauty and Bailey were the same. She even remembered who I was. She ran down the specifics: 1 hour of an exotic massage with private dancing. The price was $200. However, she was not available that day, but if I was still in town in could go to my hotel or her place. I was relieved to say I was only in Key West for the day, so I would have to pass. In the interest of pleasing a potential client, she said to give her 20 minutes and she’d call back. Who says customer service is dead. It suddenly occurred to me she was on a cell with caller ID. Whoops. Feeling hungry and a little stressed, I stopped in at Margaritaville’s; yes, this is owned by Jimmy Buffet. The Cheeseburger in Paradise was really good, as was the conch chowder and the key lime pie. A more stereotypical meal cannot be had in Key West, but it was yummy. During the meal, Bailey called again, and suddenly I had an appointment at 6 at her place. She warned me that her security would be present in the next room, but we would be otherwise alone. I understood her trepidation. As this was the strangest exchange I’d have during the trip, I'll relate the following: the most bizarre conversation I had in Miami Beach was a fellow waitress wanting me to be her driver and security guard while she went to her clients. It seemed that she had a cottage industry as a rent-a-wife. She would cook, clean, and then screw your brains out. You would pay her and she would go to the next house. Some of her clients wanted more (like what? Isn’t that an already perfect arrangement? Some people are never satisfied.), and she was getting scared. No one ever asked me to be her pimp before; I was both honored and horrified. It is worth noting she was married with two kids at the time. I was never sure if the husband knew the extent of her services or not. I declined her offer of employment, but only because I really liked her and wanted to be a positive force in her life. I told her I wanted to be part of her solution, not her problem. She later remarked it was the kindest thing anyone had ever said to her as she snuggled up next to me after cleaning my dorm room. Also, my car had exploded.
With the old tapes playing in my head, I knew what I should do. That does not mean I was willing. On that note, I did what all red-blooded Gen-X males would do in my situation: I called my sponsor and ratted myself out pronto. After the laughing fit subsided, he remarked I knew what was required and he also knew I would do it. If I wasn’t willing, he reasoned, I’d have called him after the fact. He was right, and during the key lime pie, I called Bailey and canceled my appointment. She sounded genuinely sad. On that note, I paid the bill and commenced to go souvenir shopping.
Normally, I don’t buy cheap mementos, but this whole trip was about a different me. With that I bought two t-shirts and a ball cap for my brother. I also entered to Mel Fisher museum store and bought some replica coins. I could have bought the real thing for a minimum of $2000, but didn’t have the cash. I ended my shopping with a superior hand rolled cigar. I knew the owner of the shop was legit when he punched my stogie and lit it with a butane torch only after prepping the burn by running the flame over the end. (Butane torches or wooden matches should be the only methods used to light a cigar. Anything else taints the taste.) I was ready to leave, but felt the call of tradition. To the strip club the voice demanded, and after my near horizontal collision with a redheaded hooker newly liberated from her pimp, I was unable to resist. It didn’t help that the naked chicks at the Garden of Eden were pushing 60.
The strip club was easy to find, as Key West is tiny. What was not easy to find was a stripper. True, it was the middle of July on a weekday, but I expected someone to help me spend my money, however gnarly. (I consider mid-afternoon during the week the equivalent of the stripper minor leagues, because she’s not pretty enough, or “friendly” enough, or young enough to make the club the most money possible during peak hours. As they say in sports, there’s always someone better, younger, or cheaper just waiting to take your place.) A 3 dollar diet soda later, a dancer finally took the stage. She wasn’t the freshest produce on the stand, but she was cute and friendly. Very friendly, in fact, as I was the only customer in the place. This is both good and bad. The good is her undivided attention, and the bad is that attention is focused on your wallet, not you. The fine line of not spending all your cash but still having fun is actually a little trickier. Also, these ladies can be pushy and turn resentful when turned down. A particularly annoyed dance in Miami threw peanuts at my bald spot from behind when I spurned her advances on my bankroll. Luckily, I brought my FIU hat. It should be noted Greg and I were, again, the only ones there. Anyway, my last trip to this club, I ended up talking to a dancer who was 6’8” (plus shoes) and a slight paunch caused by childbirth, complete with stretch marks. It turned out these ladies knew each other quite well, which helped break the ice. She may have been a bit older than the average dancer, but she was nice and firm in all the right places. One lap dance turned into three, and I knew it was time to head back.
The drive back to Miami was a little more eventful, as a nasty storm blew through. Crossing the 7-mile bridge during a windstorm is not my idea of a good time. I’d did make it without incidence, but my nerves were thoroughly rattled. I made it back and picked up Greg, and we eventually made it back to the hostel. Little else happened, save a nice conversation with the Austrian Au pairs. They were nice enough to let practice my German and I commiserated with them on the life of domestic servitude in Union, NJ. I won’t say that the Irish, German, French, Austrian, etc., girls are lazy, but the notion of only having two weeks vacation is completely foreign to them. At this point in my life, it’s completely unknown to me as well.
Thursday morning found me on the horns of a dilemma. I was planning to leave on Friday, but I was having so much fun and I wasn’t ready to go home. South Beach had crept back in to my blood, and I was not prepared for that. I felt the magic of this strange border town, and all the sights and people sent my mind and heart swimming. All the pain and difficulties of the past seemed so small this time, and I felt connected to this place once more. I even entertained thoughts of living there again, but that’s unreasonable. Banishing the negativity, I paid for another night and went to grab Greg.
After picking up my friend, we talked about hitting a meeting. One of our friends was speaking at the noon meeting, and we wanted to support him in his 12th step work. This is a good time to note that AA meetings on SOBE are not quite the sedate affairs one would see on an after school special or a movie on Lifetime. The homeless people love to hang out, and you stand a good chance of one of them biting you. You can also expect people who had literally gotten drunk or high right before the meeting, and as a special low light, we had an illegal immigrant from India coming off of heroin and thinking the money in the basket was for him. We never saw him after setting him straight. Anyway, our friend spoke, and I even ran into my old friend Jeff, an Italian-Jewish Born-Again Christian dude who retired to the beach after many years in Brooklyn. Actually, I owed him an apology from 9 years ago, and I was happy to make amends. You see, I had chastised Jeff for planning to move to Guatemala to make his pension stretch farther. I called him irresponsible, and now I’m planning much the same thing. He graciously accepted my amends while sitting at one of the Lincoln Road Starbucks. We spent most of the afternoon just lounging around, but did snap some pics of girls in bikinis.
The hour was getting late, and I needed to leave for FIU. The seminar didn’t start until 6 pm, but traffic going west from Miami is brutal past 4pm. It was already 3:45. Also, I didn’t have a seat confirmed, so earlier was better and I liked bumming around campus. I went through so much during that period, and the distance is great enough to allow me to smile and shake my head. I’m sure I’d be doing much the same 9 years from now. The traffic was bad, as expected, but I made it to the building with an hour to spare. I signed in, and found a seat. I did mention the status of my registration, but in all honesty it would have taken the Campus State Police to keep me away. I’m not even sure why I was so hell bent on attending, as my most recent ex is in real estate, one of my closest friends made his fortune in real estate, and my best friend is a mini real estate mogul. I can only say I am far more satisfied when I am learning these things on my own and not tapping friends and family for information. I want to cultivate my own contacts and resources, and let my friends and family remain as such. Besides, what is more appropriate for me than a quest for knowledge?
I’m happy to report the seminar was most worthwhile. I learned plenty about buying property, and improving my credit. I also learned about sup-prime loans, and picking the right company for my loan. Most importantly, I learned that investment property has easier terms than a primary residence. (YAY!!) I couldn’t have spent 2 hours in a more fruitful fashion, and networked with the alumni association. FIU is truly a local commuter school, with 35,000 students. Less than 10% live on campus, and almost all are from Miami-Dade County. Consequently, most are Hispanic, and all the organizers of the event were Hispanic women. The uninitiated would find this surprising, but as an alumnus, I knew better. This concentration on the local area means that branches of the alumni association are small to non-existent, and New York is no exception. I promised to become more involved. Also, this was event organized by the Honors College, these ladies were all honor graduates or students, and represented serious brain power. With chicas like these, Miami’s future is in good hands. They were certainly correct about the turn out; the hall was packed. Ten minutes before kickoff, the place was standing room only. I’m really glad I didn’t hit the nude beach between Starbucks and the presentation; I probably wouldn’t have made it.
The presenters were also pleased with the turn out, and as mentioned, the promised not only a repeat of this seminar, but a follow-up with more specific information as well. This will be in October, and as a returning attendee, I’m already guaranteed a seat. Again, it will take nothing short of an Act of Congress to keep me away. With that, it was time to hit the Beach once more and make my decision.
I wasn’t ready to choose, so I procrastinated by taking SW 8th street and Flagler instead of the highway. This takes you directly though Little Havana, and this area presents the change to Miami most clearly, most of the worst and most blighted areas were in the midst of a re-birth since I left, and I was shocked to see how much things had changed. The biggest change was the new Central and South American presence while the Cubans were finally assimilating and their influence diminishing. Rich Brazilians and Venezuelans ha invested millions in the city, and they have very different agendas versus the Fidel-obsessed Cubans. Far less insular, these newcomers are actually easier to deal with as an Anglo than the Cubans ever were. Intra-Hispanic relations aside, I was enjoying the ride successfully keeping my mind off my impending choice. When one avoids making a decision long enough, it is made for you, and this was no exception.
Hanging out in the common room, I watched the two young women from Ireland preparing for a night of drinking. I engaged them for a few minutes and found out they were from Northern Ireland. I almost tried to invite myself along, but thought the better of it. With a flash they were gone. Hours had past and suddenly they were back with the Canadian dude trailing. They weren’t happy. It seemed one of the guys staying at the hostel went to the bar with the ladies then disappeared. The lasses took this as an affront and proceeded to go on an extended rant about how no one was friendly or wanted to do anything, etc. I wasn’t in a position to disagree, so I started busting their chops. Normally I'm seen as the kind, and understanding guy friend, but point blank I wasn't in the mood. I guess this knocked them off their game a bit, but they responded warmly and we talked for nearly an hour. They then went off to hang out on the beach. I didn’t feel like intruding and wasn’t specifically invited, so I stayed. Like clockwork the other squatters in my room walked in. It turned out one of my roomies was the guy who stood up the Irish girls. Furthering my good luck, I found out the girls were done with the beach and went to the bar around the corner. I extolled my bunkmates to head over in an attempt to make amends. This was pure pretext; I just wanted to spend more time with two pretty Irish chicks.
Needless to say, the girls were surprised when we entered the bar, and we began to talk. As soon as they realized they had found a few friendly guys, they visibly relaxed. We ended up talking for hours, and they went back to the beach more than a little buzzed. Men better at hooking up than I would have seen this as a golden opportunity to score, but I demurred. I only gave them the same warning I give anyone hitting the sand late at night: be very careful. The homeless like to sleep on the beach, and sometimes rob or attack tourists. Obviously, they didn’t believe me. I should have been gallant and volunteered to accompany them, but for reasons to be discussed later, I didn’t. Besides, I knew they’d be back sooner or later. They were, but so was an interloper.
The make up of the common room was as follows: Greg behind the desk, the two Irish girls, another hostel resident, his friend, and yours truly. Two girls and three guys meant a pissing contest was about to ensue, and for once, I was ready for battle. The interloper was the first to fire. He and his friend had squirreled away a bottle of Bacardi, and offered the girls some booze. One accepted, so score one for dickhead. His buddy/wingman was not as enthusiastic, and actually looked worried. His appalling (though in retrospect, completely appropriate) lack of support allowed me to return fire. I didn’t have any booze, but I did have my laptop. As mentioned, the hostel has free wi-fi, but charges $1.20 a minute to use their computers. The ladies were paying the fee, so I busted out my laptop and handed it over. This helped both girls, so score two for me. Score another two as I was able to get the girls talking about themselves and their families in Belfast, which is a great way to ingratiate yourself with chicks. Again, advantage the fat dude. Team Numbnuts had the ball, and tried a few big plays. The more drunk one claimed he was some kind of promoter, and proceeded to name drop like mad. We’ll call this a three and out, as no one was impressed. His buddy remained on the sidelines, aghast as ever. It was plain his asshole associate was more doing more than just alcohol, and his friend could not keep him steady. We went back and forth, and eventually he got loud to the point Greg tossed him. It was at that point I realized he wasn’t even staying at the hostel and could have had him bounced very early in the game. Furthermore, I was interested in one of the Irish girls and the more rational guy was lusting after the other. A run down the sidelines to an easy touchdown called back because of an ineligible receiver downfield. I hate it when that happens. All of this male behavior tired the ladies out to the point they went to bed, and Rational Guy and I were left forlorn and alone. Both proud of myself for not backing down and pissed because it was so late, I glanced at the clock finding out it was nearly 6 am! This answered my question, I thought. I can’t leave today, because I would have woken up nearly an hour ago and on the road by now. As Friday was also a blast, I declare the winner of this dick-measuring party to be yours truly. Had I simply acquiesced, I would have missed out on another great day on SOBE.
My plans on Friday were as follows: wake up before noon, eat breakfast with the Irish girls, drive them to Miami International Airport, and hang out with Greg. A simple itinerary and I wasn’t capable of more anyway. The late night took a little out of my sails. I meet up with the girls, and we went to a locals place near the hostel. The weather sucked: gray, rainy, and hot. As such, we could not sit outside. This made the restaurant packed, and we had to wait for a table. During the wait and the meal, we talked about the night. They were as unimpressed with Name Boy as I thought I cracked a quick joke about someone hitting on them and they remarked that they would have loved it. I tried; I told them, but was completely stymied by the coked-up jackass. They giggled and blushed, and I was grinning the entire day. I actually remember humming out loud as I drove them to the airport. We hugged and I gave them my email. I didn’t expect them to actually contact me, but I was fine with that. They were nice enough to offer me gas money, but I only took $2.00 to pay the toll back to the beach. I drove expressly to save them money, and I was adamant about not taking more than needed.
Back on the beach, I stopped by Greg’s with the plan to see a movie. Clerks II was opening, and there was no way I’d miss the first weekend. The movie was a good as advertised, and spoke to my generation as few have before or will again. It sounded the clarion call for Gen-X to grow up but not old, and to stick with the people that truly love and understand you. It also had a guy sucking off and sodomizing a donkey, so the film was perfect. I’m even re-growing my goatee in honor of the flick. After the film Greg and I hit another Starbucks, and we began one of our endless conversations about life, money, etc. One of the truest facets of all of Kevin Smith’s work is the way guys my age talk to each other. Women don’t believe men talk; we do talk, just not in front of females. Essentially, chicks will never really know how guys really behave or talk because we subconsciously change our behavior when women are present. As an example, Rational Guy and I had a very pleasant conversation in the common room about the night before, and he apologized for his friend’s behavior. We were cool. Then the Irish chicks popped out, and the tone of the conversation changed instantly. All I could do was chuckle. Of course, I was the one taking these two away, so I could afford to laugh.
Friday evening was sedate. The lasses were on their way to San Diego, and the Austian au pairs were leaving the next morning. A group of us went out eat, and I promised the Austrians I would drive them to the airport before leaving for NY. I hung out with Greg for a little while and we continued the conversation we’ve been having since 1994. It was nice to just chill out for a few minutes and express my gratitude for all his help during my time down there; he likewise expressed the same. It was nearly midnight and time to sleep.
Up at dawn, I grabbed the au pairs and we hit the road. I said goodbye to Greg and went to the airport. This time my passengers did not offer any gas money, and although I would have declined much as I did the day before, the act of offering would have been appreciated. The girls were on their way, and so was I. I consider the drive home to begin after I left the airport. This was around 7:30am on Saturday. At this point I made a promise: to drive home straight through using my toll-free route. I’ve often tried this, but never succeeded. As most of this trip was all about change, so was the drive home. I did what I had never been able to do: make it home in one shot. I did take a 20 minute nap in South Carolina, but since I spent more time in a Steak and Shake than I did sleeping, I don’t consider that a break. Nearly 24 hours to the minute I stumbled into my apartment. I was exhausted, kinda broke, and not looking forward to returning to work. I slept like a stone until 3pm. I woke up, met up with friends, and then crashed out at 11pm.
Epilogue
The one question I ask myself was why didn’t I make a move? Well, a strange thing happened. As I was flirting with the Austrians, the Irish, and the cute Russian so desperate for money that eventually got kicked out because she couldn’t afford $20 a night, I kept thinking of the woman I really want. The thought of her, and the possibility I could build a life with her made the thought of a meaningless encounter undoable. I felt I’d be losing my focus for courting her by having a one night stand with the others. This includes the lovely Bailey, who I can only hope is safe down in Key West. Was the trip worth it? By all means, I had an amazing time.
Armed only with a vague promise of attaining valuable knowledge, I worked on Monday and left shortly thereafter. I felt more than a little guilty at the prospect of leaving, but my mom said she would care for psycho kitty (c'est que ce?) and everyone else I knew was in the wind or working extra hours. I also broke down some numbers, and if I can clamp down on my spending, I can still meet my monetary goals. My affairs in order, it was time to go. I actually waited longer than I normally would to allow traffic to dissipate, but missed the mark and got caught on the Tappan Zee. Why the Tappan Zee? Part of my Florida drive is a concerted effort to avoid tolls at nearly all cost. It isn't easy. I drove I-287 to I-78 to I-81 to I-83 to I-695 (Outer Loop) to I-95. This makes the total drive around 1390, but I pay $0.75 in tolls. A straight shot is 1325, but I pay nearly 40 in tolls each way. It's worth the extra time, but I wasn't feeling that way on the way home. This route is actually an improvement from my old method: I-287 to I-80 to I-81 to I-695, etc. That adds an extra 100 miles to SOBE. Either way, I'm saving far more in money than I would in gas. I knew I wouldn't make it far, but leaving on Tuesday was not appealing. I did make it south of DC, and crashed for a few hours sleep. After a 4 hour nap, I drove straight to South Beach. As I drove, I recorded the price of gas and mileage. As a result, my airbag cover in now a record of the trip. I need to snap a picture with the figures before they fade away. I hit the Beach fairly late, and after calling my closest friend down there, I drove to his job. Greg works at a youth hostel, and since he had a guest for the duration of my trip, crashing at his place was out. Well, if I couldn’t crash at his place, why not his job? At $20 a night, the price was certainly right. As far as the amenities, save for free WiFi, they didn’t exist. In fact, I was worried I would end up breaking the bunk bed. (You really want someone 325 lbs sleeping above you in a rusty bunk bed missing a support pole? Nope, me neither.) The bed literally groaned as I fitfully climbed on. Anyway, I was wired from the drive, and I wanted to talk to Greg. I went into the common room, and finally notice all the commotion around me. By commotion I mean hot women, and loads of them. All were planning to obtain some degree of inebriation, and I was both too skittish and tired to assist these lovelies in their quest. I am, after all, sober 14 plus years; also, these females were at least 12 years younger. I did manage to socialize, though. An affable Canadian/Mohawk/African-American dude from Detroit was hanging out, and I struck up a conversation. He was looking some smokes, and although I don’t smoke cigarettes, I had 3 cigars in my car. With that I gave him a stogie and smoked one myself. Usually, leaving cigars in one’s glove compartment is not a good idea, but the flavor had actually improved. Along came two very nice au pairs from Austria, and I managed to impress them with my German. We talked for a bit, and I finally slept.
The next day began with a mission: Key West. Just about every trip to Florida begins with the idea of staying in the Southern Most City, and this was no exception. I have made it down before, but I never really done much once there. 4 Hours in the strip club doesn’t count. The drive down was nice and serene, as it usually is. Still, all the peace and quite reminded me of one thing: the Keys are boring. Only Key West fires my imagination; the rest is just driving. Once in Key West, I made another decision: I would continue to exercise my newfound sociability and actually get out of the car. I did have a few places to visit, with the Garden of Eden on top on the list. For the uninitiated, this place is a nude bar on top of another bar. You occupy a rooftop and have the chance to both drink and let your flag(s) fly. This may not be the smartest combination, mind you. I’ve known of the place for years, but I did not know the clothing optional edict applied to bartenders. It is at these times I really regret not owning prescription sun glasses. If I did, I could stare at the barkeep’s incredible rack all afternoon without getting smacked. As it was, I grabbed my ubiquitous diet soda and prepared to disrobe.
Something stopped me, though. I’m obviously not against public nudity, and others were to some extent naked. Still, I didn’t want to just lay out on the deck chairs. I’d driven too far for that either. OK, I said, time to cruise. With that I was back on Duval. On the way back to my car to feed the meter, the strangest thing occurred for the entire trip. An attractive redhead in a jean miniskirt (with a provocative tattoo peeking out from just below the hemline,) came up to me, smiled, and handed me a card. As a single male traveling alone, I’m used to this on some level. I figured the card was a coupon for a free drink, a psychic, or even an ad for an adult bookstore: “Free lube with purchase!” or some such thing. I was going to toss it, but read the card first. I turns out it was a card for “exotic adult entertainment” with someone named Bailey. This begged two questions: was the aforementioned hottie Bailey? Also, why did she give the card to me? Did I seem that ready to purchase her services? Actually that’s three questions, but bear with me. Anyway, I was, um, intrigued. She was really hot and it had been a while. I called, and lo and behold, the beauty and Bailey were the same. She even remembered who I was. She ran down the specifics: 1 hour of an exotic massage with private dancing. The price was $200. However, she was not available that day, but if I was still in town in could go to my hotel or her place. I was relieved to say I was only in Key West for the day, so I would have to pass. In the interest of pleasing a potential client, she said to give her 20 minutes and she’d call back. Who says customer service is dead. It suddenly occurred to me she was on a cell with caller ID. Whoops. Feeling hungry and a little stressed, I stopped in at Margaritaville’s; yes, this is owned by Jimmy Buffet. The Cheeseburger in Paradise was really good, as was the conch chowder and the key lime pie. A more stereotypical meal cannot be had in Key West, but it was yummy. During the meal, Bailey called again, and suddenly I had an appointment at 6 at her place. She warned me that her security would be present in the next room, but we would be otherwise alone. I understood her trepidation. As this was the strangest exchange I’d have during the trip, I'll relate the following: the most bizarre conversation I had in Miami Beach was a fellow waitress wanting me to be her driver and security guard while she went to her clients. It seemed that she had a cottage industry as a rent-a-wife. She would cook, clean, and then screw your brains out. You would pay her and she would go to the next house. Some of her clients wanted more (like what? Isn’t that an already perfect arrangement? Some people are never satisfied.), and she was getting scared. No one ever asked me to be her pimp before; I was both honored and horrified. It is worth noting she was married with two kids at the time. I was never sure if the husband knew the extent of her services or not. I declined her offer of employment, but only because I really liked her and wanted to be a positive force in her life. I told her I wanted to be part of her solution, not her problem. She later remarked it was the kindest thing anyone had ever said to her as she snuggled up next to me after cleaning my dorm room. Also, my car had exploded.
With the old tapes playing in my head, I knew what I should do. That does not mean I was willing. On that note, I did what all red-blooded Gen-X males would do in my situation: I called my sponsor and ratted myself out pronto. After the laughing fit subsided, he remarked I knew what was required and he also knew I would do it. If I wasn’t willing, he reasoned, I’d have called him after the fact. He was right, and during the key lime pie, I called Bailey and canceled my appointment. She sounded genuinely sad. On that note, I paid the bill and commenced to go souvenir shopping.
Normally, I don’t buy cheap mementos, but this whole trip was about a different me. With that I bought two t-shirts and a ball cap for my brother. I also entered to Mel Fisher museum store and bought some replica coins. I could have bought the real thing for a minimum of $2000, but didn’t have the cash. I ended my shopping with a superior hand rolled cigar. I knew the owner of the shop was legit when he punched my stogie and lit it with a butane torch only after prepping the burn by running the flame over the end. (Butane torches or wooden matches should be the only methods used to light a cigar. Anything else taints the taste.) I was ready to leave, but felt the call of tradition. To the strip club the voice demanded, and after my near horizontal collision with a redheaded hooker newly liberated from her pimp, I was unable to resist. It didn’t help that the naked chicks at the Garden of Eden were pushing 60.
The strip club was easy to find, as Key West is tiny. What was not easy to find was a stripper. True, it was the middle of July on a weekday, but I expected someone to help me spend my money, however gnarly. (I consider mid-afternoon during the week the equivalent of the stripper minor leagues, because she’s not pretty enough, or “friendly” enough, or young enough to make the club the most money possible during peak hours. As they say in sports, there’s always someone better, younger, or cheaper just waiting to take your place.) A 3 dollar diet soda later, a dancer finally took the stage. She wasn’t the freshest produce on the stand, but she was cute and friendly. Very friendly, in fact, as I was the only customer in the place. This is both good and bad. The good is her undivided attention, and the bad is that attention is focused on your wallet, not you. The fine line of not spending all your cash but still having fun is actually a little trickier. Also, these ladies can be pushy and turn resentful when turned down. A particularly annoyed dance in Miami threw peanuts at my bald spot from behind when I spurned her advances on my bankroll. Luckily, I brought my FIU hat. It should be noted Greg and I were, again, the only ones there. Anyway, my last trip to this club, I ended up talking to a dancer who was 6’8” (plus shoes) and a slight paunch caused by childbirth, complete with stretch marks. It turned out these ladies knew each other quite well, which helped break the ice. She may have been a bit older than the average dancer, but she was nice and firm in all the right places. One lap dance turned into three, and I knew it was time to head back.
The drive back to Miami was a little more eventful, as a nasty storm blew through. Crossing the 7-mile bridge during a windstorm is not my idea of a good time. I’d did make it without incidence, but my nerves were thoroughly rattled. I made it back and picked up Greg, and we eventually made it back to the hostel. Little else happened, save a nice conversation with the Austrian Au pairs. They were nice enough to let practice my German and I commiserated with them on the life of domestic servitude in Union, NJ. I won’t say that the Irish, German, French, Austrian, etc., girls are lazy, but the notion of only having two weeks vacation is completely foreign to them. At this point in my life, it’s completely unknown to me as well.
Thursday morning found me on the horns of a dilemma. I was planning to leave on Friday, but I was having so much fun and I wasn’t ready to go home. South Beach had crept back in to my blood, and I was not prepared for that. I felt the magic of this strange border town, and all the sights and people sent my mind and heart swimming. All the pain and difficulties of the past seemed so small this time, and I felt connected to this place once more. I even entertained thoughts of living there again, but that’s unreasonable. Banishing the negativity, I paid for another night and went to grab Greg.
After picking up my friend, we talked about hitting a meeting. One of our friends was speaking at the noon meeting, and we wanted to support him in his 12th step work. This is a good time to note that AA meetings on SOBE are not quite the sedate affairs one would see on an after school special or a movie on Lifetime. The homeless people love to hang out, and you stand a good chance of one of them biting you. You can also expect people who had literally gotten drunk or high right before the meeting, and as a special low light, we had an illegal immigrant from India coming off of heroin and thinking the money in the basket was for him. We never saw him after setting him straight. Anyway, our friend spoke, and I even ran into my old friend Jeff, an Italian-Jewish Born-Again Christian dude who retired to the beach after many years in Brooklyn. Actually, I owed him an apology from 9 years ago, and I was happy to make amends. You see, I had chastised Jeff for planning to move to Guatemala to make his pension stretch farther. I called him irresponsible, and now I’m planning much the same thing. He graciously accepted my amends while sitting at one of the Lincoln Road Starbucks. We spent most of the afternoon just lounging around, but did snap some pics of girls in bikinis.
The hour was getting late, and I needed to leave for FIU. The seminar didn’t start until 6 pm, but traffic going west from Miami is brutal past 4pm. It was already 3:45. Also, I didn’t have a seat confirmed, so earlier was better and I liked bumming around campus. I went through so much during that period, and the distance is great enough to allow me to smile and shake my head. I’m sure I’d be doing much the same 9 years from now. The traffic was bad, as expected, but I made it to the building with an hour to spare. I signed in, and found a seat. I did mention the status of my registration, but in all honesty it would have taken the Campus State Police to keep me away. I’m not even sure why I was so hell bent on attending, as my most recent ex is in real estate, one of my closest friends made his fortune in real estate, and my best friend is a mini real estate mogul. I can only say I am far more satisfied when I am learning these things on my own and not tapping friends and family for information. I want to cultivate my own contacts and resources, and let my friends and family remain as such. Besides, what is more appropriate for me than a quest for knowledge?
I’m happy to report the seminar was most worthwhile. I learned plenty about buying property, and improving my credit. I also learned about sup-prime loans, and picking the right company for my loan. Most importantly, I learned that investment property has easier terms than a primary residence. (YAY!!) I couldn’t have spent 2 hours in a more fruitful fashion, and networked with the alumni association. FIU is truly a local commuter school, with 35,000 students. Less than 10% live on campus, and almost all are from Miami-Dade County. Consequently, most are Hispanic, and all the organizers of the event were Hispanic women. The uninitiated would find this surprising, but as an alumnus, I knew better. This concentration on the local area means that branches of the alumni association are small to non-existent, and New York is no exception. I promised to become more involved. Also, this was event organized by the Honors College, these ladies were all honor graduates or students, and represented serious brain power. With chicas like these, Miami’s future is in good hands. They were certainly correct about the turn out; the hall was packed. Ten minutes before kickoff, the place was standing room only. I’m really glad I didn’t hit the nude beach between Starbucks and the presentation; I probably wouldn’t have made it.
The presenters were also pleased with the turn out, and as mentioned, the promised not only a repeat of this seminar, but a follow-up with more specific information as well. This will be in October, and as a returning attendee, I’m already guaranteed a seat. Again, it will take nothing short of an Act of Congress to keep me away. With that, it was time to hit the Beach once more and make my decision.
I wasn’t ready to choose, so I procrastinated by taking SW 8th street and Flagler instead of the highway. This takes you directly though Little Havana, and this area presents the change to Miami most clearly, most of the worst and most blighted areas were in the midst of a re-birth since I left, and I was shocked to see how much things had changed. The biggest change was the new Central and South American presence while the Cubans were finally assimilating and their influence diminishing. Rich Brazilians and Venezuelans ha invested millions in the city, and they have very different agendas versus the Fidel-obsessed Cubans. Far less insular, these newcomers are actually easier to deal with as an Anglo than the Cubans ever were. Intra-Hispanic relations aside, I was enjoying the ride successfully keeping my mind off my impending choice. When one avoids making a decision long enough, it is made for you, and this was no exception.
Hanging out in the common room, I watched the two young women from Ireland preparing for a night of drinking. I engaged them for a few minutes and found out they were from Northern Ireland. I almost tried to invite myself along, but thought the better of it. With a flash they were gone. Hours had past and suddenly they were back with the Canadian dude trailing. They weren’t happy. It seemed one of the guys staying at the hostel went to the bar with the ladies then disappeared. The lasses took this as an affront and proceeded to go on an extended rant about how no one was friendly or wanted to do anything, etc. I wasn’t in a position to disagree, so I started busting their chops. Normally I'm seen as the kind, and understanding guy friend, but point blank I wasn't in the mood. I guess this knocked them off their game a bit, but they responded warmly and we talked for nearly an hour. They then went off to hang out on the beach. I didn’t feel like intruding and wasn’t specifically invited, so I stayed. Like clockwork the other squatters in my room walked in. It turned out one of my roomies was the guy who stood up the Irish girls. Furthering my good luck, I found out the girls were done with the beach and went to the bar around the corner. I extolled my bunkmates to head over in an attempt to make amends. This was pure pretext; I just wanted to spend more time with two pretty Irish chicks.
Needless to say, the girls were surprised when we entered the bar, and we began to talk. As soon as they realized they had found a few friendly guys, they visibly relaxed. We ended up talking for hours, and they went back to the beach more than a little buzzed. Men better at hooking up than I would have seen this as a golden opportunity to score, but I demurred. I only gave them the same warning I give anyone hitting the sand late at night: be very careful. The homeless like to sleep on the beach, and sometimes rob or attack tourists. Obviously, they didn’t believe me. I should have been gallant and volunteered to accompany them, but for reasons to be discussed later, I didn’t. Besides, I knew they’d be back sooner or later. They were, but so was an interloper.
The make up of the common room was as follows: Greg behind the desk, the two Irish girls, another hostel resident, his friend, and yours truly. Two girls and three guys meant a pissing contest was about to ensue, and for once, I was ready for battle. The interloper was the first to fire. He and his friend had squirreled away a bottle of Bacardi, and offered the girls some booze. One accepted, so score one for dickhead. His buddy/wingman was not as enthusiastic, and actually looked worried. His appalling (though in retrospect, completely appropriate) lack of support allowed me to return fire. I didn’t have any booze, but I did have my laptop. As mentioned, the hostel has free wi-fi, but charges $1.20 a minute to use their computers. The ladies were paying the fee, so I busted out my laptop and handed it over. This helped both girls, so score two for me. Score another two as I was able to get the girls talking about themselves and their families in Belfast, which is a great way to ingratiate yourself with chicks. Again, advantage the fat dude. Team Numbnuts had the ball, and tried a few big plays. The more drunk one claimed he was some kind of promoter, and proceeded to name drop like mad. We’ll call this a three and out, as no one was impressed. His buddy remained on the sidelines, aghast as ever. It was plain his asshole associate was more doing more than just alcohol, and his friend could not keep him steady. We went back and forth, and eventually he got loud to the point Greg tossed him. It was at that point I realized he wasn’t even staying at the hostel and could have had him bounced very early in the game. Furthermore, I was interested in one of the Irish girls and the more rational guy was lusting after the other. A run down the sidelines to an easy touchdown called back because of an ineligible receiver downfield. I hate it when that happens. All of this male behavior tired the ladies out to the point they went to bed, and Rational Guy and I were left forlorn and alone. Both proud of myself for not backing down and pissed because it was so late, I glanced at the clock finding out it was nearly 6 am! This answered my question, I thought. I can’t leave today, because I would have woken up nearly an hour ago and on the road by now. As Friday was also a blast, I declare the winner of this dick-measuring party to be yours truly. Had I simply acquiesced, I would have missed out on another great day on SOBE.
My plans on Friday were as follows: wake up before noon, eat breakfast with the Irish girls, drive them to Miami International Airport, and hang out with Greg. A simple itinerary and I wasn’t capable of more anyway. The late night took a little out of my sails. I meet up with the girls, and we went to a locals place near the hostel. The weather sucked: gray, rainy, and hot. As such, we could not sit outside. This made the restaurant packed, and we had to wait for a table. During the wait and the meal, we talked about the night. They were as unimpressed with Name Boy as I thought I cracked a quick joke about someone hitting on them and they remarked that they would have loved it. I tried; I told them, but was completely stymied by the coked-up jackass. They giggled and blushed, and I was grinning the entire day. I actually remember humming out loud as I drove them to the airport. We hugged and I gave them my email. I didn’t expect them to actually contact me, but I was fine with that. They were nice enough to offer me gas money, but I only took $2.00 to pay the toll back to the beach. I drove expressly to save them money, and I was adamant about not taking more than needed.
Back on the beach, I stopped by Greg’s with the plan to see a movie. Clerks II was opening, and there was no way I’d miss the first weekend. The movie was a good as advertised, and spoke to my generation as few have before or will again. It sounded the clarion call for Gen-X to grow up but not old, and to stick with the people that truly love and understand you. It also had a guy sucking off and sodomizing a donkey, so the film was perfect. I’m even re-growing my goatee in honor of the flick. After the film Greg and I hit another Starbucks, and we began one of our endless conversations about life, money, etc. One of the truest facets of all of Kevin Smith’s work is the way guys my age talk to each other. Women don’t believe men talk; we do talk, just not in front of females. Essentially, chicks will never really know how guys really behave or talk because we subconsciously change our behavior when women are present. As an example, Rational Guy and I had a very pleasant conversation in the common room about the night before, and he apologized for his friend’s behavior. We were cool. Then the Irish chicks popped out, and the tone of the conversation changed instantly. All I could do was chuckle. Of course, I was the one taking these two away, so I could afford to laugh.
Friday evening was sedate. The lasses were on their way to San Diego, and the Austian au pairs were leaving the next morning. A group of us went out eat, and I promised the Austrians I would drive them to the airport before leaving for NY. I hung out with Greg for a little while and we continued the conversation we’ve been having since 1994. It was nice to just chill out for a few minutes and express my gratitude for all his help during my time down there; he likewise expressed the same. It was nearly midnight and time to sleep.
Up at dawn, I grabbed the au pairs and we hit the road. I said goodbye to Greg and went to the airport. This time my passengers did not offer any gas money, and although I would have declined much as I did the day before, the act of offering would have been appreciated. The girls were on their way, and so was I. I consider the drive home to begin after I left the airport. This was around 7:30am on Saturday. At this point I made a promise: to drive home straight through using my toll-free route. I’ve often tried this, but never succeeded. As most of this trip was all about change, so was the drive home. I did what I had never been able to do: make it home in one shot. I did take a 20 minute nap in South Carolina, but since I spent more time in a Steak and Shake than I did sleeping, I don’t consider that a break. Nearly 24 hours to the minute I stumbled into my apartment. I was exhausted, kinda broke, and not looking forward to returning to work. I slept like a stone until 3pm. I woke up, met up with friends, and then crashed out at 11pm.
Epilogue
The one question I ask myself was why didn’t I make a move? Well, a strange thing happened. As I was flirting with the Austrians, the Irish, and the cute Russian so desperate for money that eventually got kicked out because she couldn’t afford $20 a night, I kept thinking of the woman I really want. The thought of her, and the possibility I could build a life with her made the thought of a meaningless encounter undoable. I felt I’d be losing my focus for courting her by having a one night stand with the others. This includes the lovely Bailey, who I can only hope is safe down in Key West. Was the trip worth it? By all means, I had an amazing time.
Saturday, July 15, 2006
Well, now that I consider it....
Please ignore the previous post. Well…. Not quite. It turns out I’m off next week as well, so I still have the chance to get away before all Hell breaks loose. I volunteered to come in on Monday, and I’ll be catching up on folders and emails and telephone messages and corrections and… you get the idea. As much as I love the time off, being away from work for too long has serious consequences for me and my students. Moreover, I’m wondering why I’m even off. Paranoia is only unhealthy when it has no basis. I’ve said it once here, and I will say it again: I CANNOT WAIT UNTIL SEPTEMBER 1ST!!!!!! Ah tenure, that joy of academia, come lie with me and waste away the hours, day, weeks, months, and years until a fat retirement. Well, stay a few years at least. Anyway, I have another breather until things go nuts, and I’m planning yet another road trip.
This may be the time to do it, actually. Timing aside, I’m expecting gas to go way up, and the cost of such a drive to eclipse 300 within a few months. As it is, I readjusted my figures in the pervious post, and the cost of gas should be 120 each way. What is the price of a ticket to Miami? 199. That does not count the $40 to and fro from LaGuardia, or the 30 to and fro from MIA. Also not included would be the cost of a rental car, and that would easily be an additional 100 plus gas. I would need a car, even if I stayed in Miami. I could not resist a trip to Haulover if I tried. (That is the nude beach, BTW.) Much of the reasoning for this trip is an email I received from FIU’s alumni association. Covering the house buying process, it seems like time well spent. It may also be a nonstop advertisement for GMAC financial services, but entreaties such as these slide of me like I’m Teflon cookware. I RSVP’d, but the presentation was full. I’ll call on Monday. The forum is on Thursday, so I can work out a few side trips. Opportunity aside, all of the above answers the who (me), the where, the what, the when, and how; it does not answer the why.
I do have a response. As I was telling a friend, the reasoning for my working Faire, taking a road trip, etc. is an exploration of possibility and probability. I’m looking for something to happen to me that goes beyond my norm. I’m looking to be moved, to meet new people (fine, women,) and to experience something outside my little world here in Westchester. I’m certainly not dating, and my while my prospects have increased a bit, nothing seems to be panning out. Spending 4 hours here at Starbucks isn’t helping. It’s hurting actually, as I just spotted a cameltoe on a woman in her 50’s wearing bike shorts. **SHUDDER** I swear there needs to be a fucking law. I’ll know more after the weekend, and I’ll post more then.
This may be the time to do it, actually. Timing aside, I’m expecting gas to go way up, and the cost of such a drive to eclipse 300 within a few months. As it is, I readjusted my figures in the pervious post, and the cost of gas should be 120 each way. What is the price of a ticket to Miami? 199. That does not count the $40 to and fro from LaGuardia, or the 30 to and fro from MIA. Also not included would be the cost of a rental car, and that would easily be an additional 100 plus gas. I would need a car, even if I stayed in Miami. I could not resist a trip to Haulover if I tried. (That is the nude beach, BTW.) Much of the reasoning for this trip is an email I received from FIU’s alumni association. Covering the house buying process, it seems like time well spent. It may also be a nonstop advertisement for GMAC financial services, but entreaties such as these slide of me like I’m Teflon cookware. I RSVP’d, but the presentation was full. I’ll call on Monday. The forum is on Thursday, so I can work out a few side trips. Opportunity aside, all of the above answers the who (me), the where, the what, the when, and how; it does not answer the why.
I do have a response. As I was telling a friend, the reasoning for my working Faire, taking a road trip, etc. is an exploration of possibility and probability. I’m looking for something to happen to me that goes beyond my norm. I’m looking to be moved, to meet new people (fine, women,) and to experience something outside my little world here in Westchester. I’m certainly not dating, and my while my prospects have increased a bit, nothing seems to be panning out. Spending 4 hours here at Starbucks isn’t helping. It’s hurting actually, as I just spotted a cameltoe on a woman in her 50’s wearing bike shorts. **SHUDDER** I swear there needs to be a fucking law. I’ll know more after the weekend, and I’ll post more then.
Tuesday, July 11, 2006
Well here I am again
Well, here I am again. As someone who has essentially a cyclical life, I find myself preparing for the end of my summer by planning a trip. Time is of the essence, as I go back on Monday the 15th. At that point all Hell will begin breaking loose, and I’m grounded until October. None of this means I should travel, just that I’m about to get cut off. I call it a natural reaction to a deadline, and I’m hoping online to find bargain airfares and packages. Ostensibly, I could drive to most places, as I’m presently in possession of a car able to handle the trip. The 2001 Corolla begs to be driven, but with time running out, I’m really not in the mood to drive all the way to Florida, only to turn around and start driving back. There was a time when I would have, but I seem to be getting slightly saner lately. (Please cue me starting the car and hitting I-95 South). Anyway, all this internal debate has had my brain hurting somewhat. Why shouldn’t I go? Well, money is a sizable issue. However, I cannot say I wouldn’t drive at least half the distance to Miami by next Monday. Also, I will probably spend nearly the same amount just hanging out and meeting up with friends. Let’s check the math, shall we? The cost of gas from Mamaroneck to Key West is as follows: 1484 miles using the most direct route. As I’ll average 38 miles per gallon, I’ll purchase 39 gallons of gas at about 2.75 per gallon on average. That’s $107 each way. Also needing inclusion: I’ll pay tolls equaling $50 each way. Keep in mind I can drive 100 miles out of my way to avoid nearly all the tolls, so let’s do that. We’ll assume 220 in gas and 7 in tolls. Now for food: The drive back and forth really is no more than 40 in total. Once in Key West the price jumps. Assume 50 bucks a day for Thursday and Friday. Now we’re at 100. Entertainment: well, Key West has some fine strip clubs, but I’ll dispense this time. Assume another c-note. The housing for the trip is likewise relatively cheap: 50 plus tax for the 2 nights. Keep in mind I’m assuming I’ll sleep in my car on the drive back and forth. If not, I can add another 80, give or take. Thus, the total cost of the trip is 532 or 612. I could deduct 50 for entertainment and another 50 for food. As a busman’s holiday, the price could be 432 to 512.
All of the above computing is all well and good, but misses the point. The real question is as follows: how much would I spend here at home? Here we go. Figure that I’ll drive back and forth to Yorktown 4 times, with an extended trip to Orange County as one of the drives. We’ll assume 1 tank of gas by Sunday. This is a safe assumption and normal for me. That is 36 dollars. Tolls for my trips are negligible at either $2 or $10. Now add all the times I eat out as an additional 35 per day, totaling $140. This is extreme, I know, but the point of the exercise is an honest appraisal, not an effort to limit my spending. Entertainment is much more variable here at home than in Key West. I could spend $80 just hanging out with Scott in Starbucks and Borders. Then again, I could spend $20 just hanging here in Mamaroneck Starbucks by myself. Split the difference and you have $50. This is safe figure if I don’t go nuts in a bookstore. The total for staying home is $236, although I have much greater control than if I hit the road. The difference is $196 based on the cheapest Key West calculation and $276 for the most expensive. Ergo, the trip is around 200 or so. Thus, money really isn’t the issue.
OK, so money really isn’t the biggest reason to stay home, but that doesn’t mean I should go. There’s part of me that just wants to chill out and stay local to the point I’m dismissing a drive to the Poconos, which would be 15 dollars in gas and 50 bucks for hotel room. The food and entertainment costs are high, and there’s really nothing available in Stroudsburg that isn’t available at home. The draw is that it is not home and I am therefore doing something with my dwindling vacation time. Another reason to ignore PA is the knowledge I could go next weekend with little planning. If I had someone to go with me, things might be a little different. There in lies the rub, I suppose. Karl cannot go with me, as he’s back out on the job, and I’m not dating anyone. My trip 2 years ago to Las Vegas, with the attendant drama and subtext, was essentially a solo affair while I struggled with what I felt was impending termination. I was ready to freefall into moving to Vegas, and convinced myself I needed to explore the area. This turned out to be correct, but not for the reasons I expected. As such, I’m very glad I went.
The correct answer to the question is to say that there is no reason for me to go. I could afford the trip, I suppose, but I could also then afford a very expensive night in NYC, or even another trip to Vegas. Both could be loads of fun under the right circumstances, so why aren’t I going? The question is then not “Why shouldn’t I go?” but “Why should I?” There is no good answer to the latter question. True, that may mean I wouldn’t do lots of things, such as see a movie, ask a chick out on a date, or buy a book. Any of these can be done for the wrong reasons, and if I’m playing the big shot, then I shouldn’t do it. Going to Key West is playing the big shot; a chance to show off in front of my desk-bound friends and coworkers. With that revelation, it’s time to publish and close my laptop. I’ve been typing for nearly an hour. I will close by saying my trip to Vegas did result in a decent short story. With no other avenue for showing to the world, I believe I’ll post it here, as well as a synopsis of my July 4th weekend. As always, more later.
All of the above computing is all well and good, but misses the point. The real question is as follows: how much would I spend here at home? Here we go. Figure that I’ll drive back and forth to Yorktown 4 times, with an extended trip to Orange County as one of the drives. We’ll assume 1 tank of gas by Sunday. This is a safe assumption and normal for me. That is 36 dollars. Tolls for my trips are negligible at either $2 or $10. Now add all the times I eat out as an additional 35 per day, totaling $140. This is extreme, I know, but the point of the exercise is an honest appraisal, not an effort to limit my spending. Entertainment is much more variable here at home than in Key West. I could spend $80 just hanging out with Scott in Starbucks and Borders. Then again, I could spend $20 just hanging here in Mamaroneck Starbucks by myself. Split the difference and you have $50. This is safe figure if I don’t go nuts in a bookstore. The total for staying home is $236, although I have much greater control than if I hit the road. The difference is $196 based on the cheapest Key West calculation and $276 for the most expensive. Ergo, the trip is around 200 or so. Thus, money really isn’t the issue.
OK, so money really isn’t the biggest reason to stay home, but that doesn’t mean I should go. There’s part of me that just wants to chill out and stay local to the point I’m dismissing a drive to the Poconos, which would be 15 dollars in gas and 50 bucks for hotel room. The food and entertainment costs are high, and there’s really nothing available in Stroudsburg that isn’t available at home. The draw is that it is not home and I am therefore doing something with my dwindling vacation time. Another reason to ignore PA is the knowledge I could go next weekend with little planning. If I had someone to go with me, things might be a little different. There in lies the rub, I suppose. Karl cannot go with me, as he’s back out on the job, and I’m not dating anyone. My trip 2 years ago to Las Vegas, with the attendant drama and subtext, was essentially a solo affair while I struggled with what I felt was impending termination. I was ready to freefall into moving to Vegas, and convinced myself I needed to explore the area. This turned out to be correct, but not for the reasons I expected. As such, I’m very glad I went.
The correct answer to the question is to say that there is no reason for me to go. I could afford the trip, I suppose, but I could also then afford a very expensive night in NYC, or even another trip to Vegas. Both could be loads of fun under the right circumstances, so why aren’t I going? The question is then not “Why shouldn’t I go?” but “Why should I?” There is no good answer to the latter question. True, that may mean I wouldn’t do lots of things, such as see a movie, ask a chick out on a date, or buy a book. Any of these can be done for the wrong reasons, and if I’m playing the big shot, then I shouldn’t do it. Going to Key West is playing the big shot; a chance to show off in front of my desk-bound friends and coworkers. With that revelation, it’s time to publish and close my laptop. I’ve been typing for nearly an hour. I will close by saying my trip to Vegas did result in a decent short story. With no other avenue for showing to the world, I believe I’ll post it here, as well as a synopsis of my July 4th weekend. As always, more later.
