Boston 2013

My penultimate vacation of the Summer has just concluded. Last week I went to Boston for a family camping trip, but ended up staying nine days. Here's the good and the bad of it:

• My girlfriend came for four days, which was AWESOME!
• I got mono and had to go to the hospital.
• We traveled to beautiful New Hampshire for the camping!
• It rained so hard we never even unpacked our stuff- just turned around and went home after lunch at a diner.
• We got to spend quality time together as a family!
• The majority of that quality time was spent crammed in a minivan with two crying children and me on my deathbed.
• It was so great to be in Massachusetts at my childhood home!
• I had to sleep on a borrowed blow-up bed in the basement office; a room normally inhabited by spiders and storage.

All in all, things evened out and it was a great trip. It started terribly but then things started looking up. The first three days of the trip I was very sick and in pain. I had a sore throat like no other. My lymph nodes were so swollen they covered the majority of the air canal down my throat and were covered in white puss. They protruded on the outside of my throat, which turned out to be a good thing because then I could massage them easier (which felt moderately good). Every time I swallowed it felt like a white-hot dagger was being dragged down my throat. It hurt so much my body refused to swallow naturally. I could only sleep for an hour at a time because my body just refused to swallow. I woke up in the night 7-8 times, sat up, and manually swallowed before going back to sleep for 45 minutes. I couldn't eat, and was losing a pound a day. After three days of not getting any better I finally decided to intervene. I have never once been to the hospital for an illness, but that streak was about to end. So off to the ER I went. I was told my throat looked 'very angry' and was diagnosed with Strep by the RN. Things got really awkward when I thought she had said "Strip!" when actually she said "Strep!" Under most circumstances I never would have stripped down, but at the doctor's office it didn't seem too unreasonable. I had my shirt off and pants unbuttoned by the time she asked me what on Earth I was doing. Even when the Strep test came back negative, the doctor told me he was pretty sure it was a bad case of Strep, and gave me some Vicadin and penicillin and sent me on my way. On the car ride home the same doctor called me to inform me he ran my blood sample through some tests, and it was determined that I did not in fact have Strep- I had.... Mono! So now I have a wicked sore throat and I'm super tired! I took some Vicadin, and it pretty much acts as chloroform on me. As in I have to take a pill while I'm already in bed because I pass out for many hours immediately, no matter where I am. I didn't know this at first, and took the pill in the mall. At the exact time that I passed out my sister noticed I had some frosting on my lip and bent over to wipe it off with a napkin for me. It looked exactly like she was putting a wet cloth over my mouth as I passed out... Two people called the cops and I guess it took a long time to sort out. I don't really know though, I was fast asleep. For the next two days it was a trade off- lose the pain but be incapacitated by sleep, or have the pain but be awake. I usually chose the sleep.

Walden Pond.

By the fifth day of the vacation my girlfriend showed up and I began feeling better. It also meant no bed for me. I was banished to the basement, a full two floors away from the next closest human in the house. I was on a borrowed blow-up bed in the computer tech room. The first night I slept down there I had to kill a spider on my pillow. My pillow, of course, being a coach pillow from Turkey that was quite small and meant more as a decorative piece than a comfort inducer. The floor in the basement is also uneven, making my feet rise above my noggin. But, it was a small sacrifice in order to make sure everyone else got a bed. I did think it was a little rude of my mother to let our dog Gracie have the spare Queen bed though. It's like, C'mon Mom, at least let me share the bed with Gracie. But no, the basement it was for me.

Mount Auburn Cemetery

With Caity, my brother and his wife, and my sister and her two kids all in town, we did a lot of great activities. Friday we went to the aquarium and Walden Pond, Saturday we drove up to Maine for a seafood lunch and walk along the rocky coastline, Sunday we went to Church, took illustrious naps, and went to a spacious and beautiful cemetery, and on Monday we did the Freedom Trail through Boston. They were all delightful.

There's one last thing I haven't mentioned yet- the camping trip. Sort of the whole point of this trip was for my family to gather home for a camping trip (except my sister in LA couldn't come). We have a favorite campsite on the Appalachian trail that we used to go to every year when we were growing up. On Tuesday we loaded up two cars and headed off. It's no small ordeal camping with eight people, two of whom are actually under the age of 3, and five who act like they're under the age of 3. We folded down the backseats of our van and loaded it up like a Hawai'ian haystack. We had two tents, eight camping chairs, enough food to feed eight for 3 meals, an ax, luggage, pillows, sleeping bags, a pack-and play, kiddie backpacks, and my brother's desktop which he refuses to leave the house without. It's like, C'mon Thomas, bring your laptop! But no, he wants the computer aptly named "Big Blue."

Waiting for our boat to the aquarium.

For the entire ride up to New Hampshire (100 miles to Laconia) it rained. At times it poured and at times it drizzled, but it rained the whole way. We ate lunch at a diner, went for a brief hike under canopy of trees, then had a family pow wow. The conclusion was that a wet camping trip is not fun like a dry camping trip. So we turned around and came home. Four hours and 200 miles of driving per car, and not even a campfire to show for it. Aww, the pain. My mother was so fed up with camping when we got home that she threw all our gear away. But like I said earlier, it was awesome being with the family all week.

On the rocky Maine coastline.

Colonial Williamsburg 2013

My most recent vacation was to Colonial Williamsburg, Virginia this past weekend. I went with my lovely girlfriend, Caity. Read on and you shall hear more about what it was like living in Jamestown in 1607. If, however, you are an easily offended historian with a particular interest in colonial American history, it's best you stop here.
The only thing I can tell  you about Jamestown in 1607 was that it was swampy.
When Caity and I arrived in Jamestown, VA in 2013 we went to the collection of Visitors' Centers provided by the state and the nation. We looked at the different pictures of what was beyond the visitors' centers, and decided we didn't right much care to see where old houses used to sit. Seeing fields and reading plaques about the wood that used to be in the fields sounded fun and all, but we thought a ferry ride would be more intriguing. So we boarded a ferry across the James River and landed in the South. The river is as much of a divider as the Mason-Dixon line. While in Surry County, VA we looked at some peanut farms, then took the ferry back. I still feel very confident we made the right choice in skipping the 400 year old ruins to opt for a smelly ferry and a trip to the South. But, to make sure we appeased our Historian friends, we did go see a movie that night. No wait, what I meant was that we did do a driving tour around Jamestown island where we saw a fox.

Day two of our magical weekend included Colonial Williamsburg. For all my Boston readers, CW is kind of like Sturbridge Village. It's a large settlement meant to look like it did originally in the 1700s and early 1800s. There's a lot of people wearing period clothes doing period things like making shoes, riding horses, churning butter, getting stomach cramps, and whatever else happens on your period. I'm really not an expert on the subject. After three hours of walking the cobblestone streets in the sun, Caity and I turned to each other and almost in unity said to the other one, "This was kind of a strange vacation for us to go on since neither of us are really all that interested in colonial American history."
WHAT? We figure this out now? So we did what we like doing- bought some authentic root beer and drank them under a tree on a lovely bench while discussing why birds don't have arms and why the squirrels weren't in colonial costumes. It made for a delightful afternoon.
Day three of our magnificent vacation was at Busch Gardens. Busch Gardens is an amusement park just outside of Williamsburg. The last amusement park I went to was Knottsberry Farms in CA three years ago, and before that it was probably ten years. I pretty much forgot what an amusement park was. I'm often amused by a lot of different things, but primarily it's puns. I was expecting the park to be filled with clever puns, and was a little disappointed that I didn't see more. On the train ride I made up the majority of the puns because, well, monorails make the best one-liners.

Anyway, Mondays are the best days for amusement parks because most people have to go to work. The same applies for Tuesday-Friday. The longest wait we had in line was 30 minutes and that was so that we could be in the front line of a daring roller coaster: Poppy's Puppies. It was terrifying! The sign out front said you had to be accompanied by an an adult to ride it, so I knew it was going to be mind bending-ly scary. Caity and I were both too scared to be the 'adult', so we recruited another patron to go with us. He was reluctant at first, but when we sweetened the deal with the offer of 100 free business cards he was more inclined to accept. He held my hand and Caity jumped on his back for the entire Poppy's Puppies.
The other highlight of the day at Busch Gardens was the nap we took on a park bench after the Rhine River Cruise. We both enjoy a postprandial sleep, and after a big lunch we both decided that our afternoon would be greatly improved with a nap before the roller coasters. So we sat on a  wood bench by the river and slept. Hundreds of people passed us, many of them sat on us unknowingly, and a few even joined us. Unfortunately those few decided to join us at the same time, and the bench was just not big enough for 8 humans and three dogs all lying down. I didn't sleep much during that interval. But anyway, after the nap Caity and I both felt much better and headed off for more fun. When the park is open 12 consecutive hours you can afford to take nap or two.
It was a really great weekend. I'd highly recommend the historic Jamestown for the foxes, Colonial Williamsburg for the root beer and collector's spoons, and Busch Gardens for the superior wooden sleeping benches.

Johnson Family Reunion 2013

For the Fourth of July weekend my Mom's side of the family all gathered in Fish Haven, Idaho for a family reunion. We do this sort of thing in different locations every three years. It was a sight to behold. All of my late grandparents' posterity were there- 4 children (and 4 spouses), 18 grandchildren (and 10 spouses plus one fiancee), and 18 great-grand children. With 54 related people in attendance, how may houses would you expect us to fill? Just for reference, those 54 people live at 20 different addresses in their normal life. But renting 20 different houses is expensive, even in Fish Haven. I'm not even sure there are 20 houses total in Fish Haven. And it doesn't encourage family togetherness. Even half that number- 10- houses is expensive in Fish Haven. Have you made your guess about how many houses we rented for the weekend yet? I'll give you a hint: It's the lowest number in common between the subsets of the Natural Numbers and the Whole Numbers. Since I know you passed 7th grade math, you know that that answer is one.
Fifty four people ranging in age from 0ish to 60ish all sleeping on beds soft surfaces for three nights. This house was cavernous. Along with the rental key came 24 flashing beacons and walkie talkies for in home use only. There were strings tied tautly from the farthest bedrooms to the kitchen so that cousins could stave off starvation in their isolation and find the food. (Divers exploring watery caves use this same technique to find their boats after their expeditions.) I thought one of my cousins' daughters wasn't at the reunion because I didn't see her the first two days; it was only on the third day that I learned she had been there the whole time, in a different wing of the mansion. The description, "She's my cousin once removed" will never mean the same thing to me again.
The sleeping arrangements in this house were anything but typical. As an unmarried male grandchild, I was pretty far down on the bed assignment totem pole. At the top were the married families with young kids. Some, though not all, of my family members fitting that description got bedrooms with private bathrooms.
The next level of bedroom glory went to the direct children of my grandparents. They organized the reunion, so they got nice rooms- though none of them got a bathroom attached. Farther down the totem pole is the young, married grandchildren. In one room with two beds and a futon, there slept the three newest couples of the family. All of them married, and all three of them sharing a room. At this point we're just about at the bottom of the totem pole. This brings us to the leftover married grandchildren after all the bedrooms were taken. If you thought three married couples sleeping in the same room was low, now imagine a married couple sleeping on a futon in a common area. Ouch. Sorry, Thomas and Mckell. And finally, at a point so low on the familial totem pole that not even a midget would notice we were there, fell the unmarried-but-should-be male cousins. Me and Clayton. Sharing a futon. In the common room. The ten people who had to share the bathroom with us stepped all over our clothes on their way to the shower. It was never intentional, but when you sleep in the common room on a futon there's no place to put your suitcase but on the only available floor space, which coincided nicely with the pathway between two bedrooms and the bathroom.
Let me just say I really got to know my family well over these three days (at least the family in my wing of the house).

One of the tractors that put
boats in the water.

There were some really great activities on this reunion. We made and shot off rockets, tried to put water in a pourous PVC pipe for fun, made newspaper wedding dresses, and rented boats and jet skis on Bear Lake. My favorite of the activities was the boating. The fun thing about Bear Lake is, well, the bears. They are everywhere! On the beach, in the lake, eating your food, and getting into your car. When I got on the boat for the first time I opened up the inadequately named glove compartment looking for a place to put my towel, and therein was a black bear cub. We helped him out of the chamber and got him back to shore near his momma, who was eating my lunch in my beach chair. It's like they think they own the place or something.
One truthfully unique thing about Bear Lake is that there are virtually no docks. When you want to put your boat in the water you attach the trailer to a tractor and drive the tractor directly into the lake until it's deep enough that you can push the buoyant boat off. It was bizarre.
This grossly inaccurate misrepresentation of my glorious family reunion needs to come to a close now. I have not written 1/100 of the proceedings of those wonderful three days, but I think you at least get a sense of what it was like as far as the sleeping arrangements went.

Two more tractors that put boats in the water.

Our rocket launching pad. My rocket exploded on this very site.

Belizean Fishing

The other highlighted day of my Belize trip was the fishing trip we took in San Pedro. Fishing! It was an expedition that none of us had done before (except for Bekah, but we'd have to sneak into North Korea or something to outdo her) and never thought we'd do. But, then there we were in the tour office as the guide knocked off the price because he wouldn't have to imbibe us, and we couldn't pass it up. The five of us had the boat to ourselves, along with the native tour guide who spoke as much English as you'd expect a Belizean fisherman to speak. We couldn't even understand him when he told us his name, and we wouldn't have been able to understand his directions had he offered any. We rode offshore, sipping Cokes and Fantas, then anchored and cast our lines. I was impressed at how much I enjoyed myself out there. Maybe it was the allure of a motorboat and four ladies on a beautiful, sunny, Belizean morning, or maybe it was the live sardines being chopped before my eyes, but whatever it was I was having a ball. To catch the sardine bait our instructor cast a large net into a school of them and then hauled them into a small water tank in the rear of the boat.  All very Biblical and thrilling. I was the first to catch a fish, but it was endangered or something and we had to throw it back. Unhooking a fishing lure from a live fish squirming for life in your hand was not my favorite aspect of the trip, but a necessary one if you don't want to destroy the oceanic wildlife. The second fish I caught was also a throwback; I think because it was too small. Bekah caught the first keeper, a grouper. After that she and I went nutso, catching a few fish apiece. No one else got anything until we started trolling. I always thought trolling would involve small, naked dolls with lots of fluorescent hair, but apparently it's when you hook bait to your line and then drive in the boat. Basically it's fishing on the run. While we were trolling we caught a large 3 foot barracuda off one side of the boat and a 2 foot tuna off the other side. We caught them both at the same time, which resulted in an extremely frantic 4 minutes. Our captain was barking orders spanning the width of the boat, none of which anyone could understand. I was in charge of the tuna, and got it in the boat despite it's wild and ferocious thrashing. Did you know tuna's have teeth? Sharp ones. Captain No-name started yelling at me to stab the fish to put it out of its misery and to end the thrashing; this something I wasn't really prepared to do. I have never killed anything larger than a spider. But, knowing that my life as well as the lives of my shipmates was likely in danger, I grabbed the largest knife I could see, raised it up and struck it right through the fish. A little shocked at the horror I had just witnessed, never mind committed, I fell back stunned at my own violence. Apparently I stabbed it through flubber because it didn't even seem to notice. Only problem was now it was flopping about the boat with a giant knife coming out of it. Turns out the captain was telling to me club the fish, not stab it. That would have been equally disturbing I feel. As all this trauma was going on he was on the other side of the boat helping Karin wrestle a very large barracuda. He was not happy with Karin, something that made us all uncomfortable, and eventually the barracuda broke the line and got away.

For lunch we cooked the groupers and ate them, along with the conchs we found while snorkling. We put them in very chewy tacos. Talk about fresh fish, huh?

In the afternoon we just snorkled with sharks and rays. No biggie compared to wrestling tunas.

ATM Caves in Belize

As many of you may know, I spent a few days in Belize during the week sandwiched between July and August. While there were many great moments during our eight day trip, one of the highlights would have to be spelunking in the Actun Tunichil Muknal (ATM) cave. The mouth of this incredible hole was believed to be a the entrance to the Underworld by the Mayans. Just to get to the mouth we had to drive 30 minutes on paved roads, then 45 minutes on a very bumpy, dirty road, which included driving through a creek that my Honda Civic- strong though she be- would have quivered at the sight of. Luckily we were in a Dodge Stratus so we made it just fine (Joke. A Stratus would not have even made it on the paved portion). Once at the 'parking lot', which was just a clearing with a latrine, we went on a Belizean hike for 45 minutes, fording a river three times and avoiding ant highways, and then finally stopped at base camp. We got our headlights there, and left our rice and bean lunches for the howler monkeys to nibble on.
With our headlights on, our feet shod, and clothing on our backs (we were told it to wear respectful clothing. I brought a bowtie but ditched it soon after the descent) we entered the batty cave. The water coming out of the cave was too deep to walk through so we had to swim the first part. Soon thereafter the water thinned and we were able to stand in it.
The ATM cave is over 3 miles long with 7 sunlit openings, and dark as a chalkboard in an abandoned storage unit otherwise. During one river climb we turned off our headlights and followed each other, hand on shoulder. In such circumstances children would weep, adults would tremble, and I would face grope and pick people's noses. Mwuahaha. My goal this trip was to see how many times I could get my travel companions to say "Why invited him anyway?"
At some points in the cave the boulders we were climbing over and through were so tight they made Anne Hathaway's Catwoman costume look like sweats. We had to contort our necks in order to fit our bodies through the crevices. One time we were ascending a boulder pass that went about 15 feet up. Once on the top shelf we were welcomed by a cavernous room filled with stalactites and stalagmites as big as newspaper rolls and as intimately close to one another that Michelangelo may have modeled his Creation of Adam after them. In the midst of the stone pillars were Mayan ruins spotting the ground. The Belizeans don't seem to have a very urgent desire to protect the collectibles (or they are just so plentiful that it would be quite difficult to guard them all) so they just put flourscent pink electrical tape around the larger pots and skeletons so that no one steps on them. The cave stays a pleasant 70F at all times so artifacts are well preserved. We saw three skeletons of sacrificed Mayans, and one skeleton of a sacrificed tourist who dropped his camera on a pot and broke it. His tour guide destroyed him on the spot.
The culminating event in the ATM caves was not a money tree like I was expecting, but rather a fully intact skeleton of a sacrificed human. You could even see individual grooves carved into the poor soul's teeth. The whole cave experience was pretty spectacular and the most interesting expedition we went on the whole week. If you're ever in Belize I would highly recommend it. Unfortunately they did not allow any cameras into the cave after the one tourist dropped his/hers, so I don't have any pictures. If you want visual confirmation of what I'm talking about then you can Google ATM Caves Belize.

Lake Winnipesaukee- Part I

Last week I spent all of my time with two very different families at one of my favorite destinations: Lake Winnipesaukee in New Hampshire. For Nor'Easterners, you should already know what this magical lake is. For Westerners, it's sort of like Lake Powell but with pine trees, only not at all. The only think they might have in common is the enjoyment factor. Anyway, this was the second of my four vacations this Summer. I spent the first two days with my best friend Brian Starck and his family, including his fiancee. I have been friends with Brian and his family since middle school when we first put our lips together, on separate trumpets, and began our illustrious musical careers together. His career lives on in New Hampshire, and mine, I'm afraid, mostly went extinct when I went on my mission.
But back to the vacation. Brian has a house up at the Lake and I tend to go up and visit him there every few years. Because the only times I ever to go New Hampshire are to vacation, I naturally only have fond feelings toward the Granite State.
With Brian's family we piddled around the lake on a pontoon boat, ate like kings, laid out and swam in the lake, and spent an entire day kayaking. We kayaked to an island uninhabited and ate lunch with the loon residents. We went to Mass, ate delicious ice cream, survived a loss of electricity, and lived free. There was no dying, luckily.
One of the highlights of the stay for me was getting to know Brian's fiance a little better. They have been dating since shortly into undergraduate and I'm really excited for them to get married. As I feel practically a part of Brian's family, it's almost like I'm gaining a cousin with the addition of Amanda.
Next July they are getting married on Lake Winnipesaukee. Brian rented a wetsuit with a bowtie painted on, and Amanda's dress is water resistant. Their plan is to take the pontoon boat out to Alton Bay, perform the ceremony and offer their vows, then throw the rings in the lake and dive in after them. Kind of a weird spin off to a traditional wedding I'd have to say, but there you have it; I'm not the one getting married. I will be present at the wedding though, so I'll guess I'll need to bring my Speedo.
PS- They really are getting married, but in a nice Church up on the shores of the Lake.

Duck Beach

Last week I had an amazing time on the Outer Banks of North Carolina. You see, it was Duck Beach Week. If you haven't heard that's sort of the equivalent of a Mormon Spring Break. Girls gone mild, if you will. Lots of Mormon Singles strutting their stuff on the beach without the umbra of alcohol, sex, or drugs. To me it had the feeling of a great reunion. I had friends from Utah, West Virginia, and Kansas fly in just for the event and it was great to see them all. There was food galore, volleyball all day everyday, and parties, games, and hot tub-ing in the evenings. There was Zumba, hammock flirting, crab catching (one pinched me and drew blood), midnight stargazing, sand castle building, Church, and beach cruising. My house housed twenty people and had a billiards room, theater room with a 72" television and stadium style leather couches, a pool and hot tub, two stories of wrap around decks, and a full size sand volleyball court in the back. There's just too much to write about.

The Lobster Shanty

Now that I am done with college it's time to start working. Oh wait, I'm sorry, did I say work?  I meant PARTYING! My next job doesn't start until late June so I have two months to live it up. I went home to Boston for two weeks and had a really delightful time (for all you Boston peeps, I'm sorry I didn't call you to hang out. I was pre-occupied). I went to the Chihuly exhibit at the MFA, did lots of shopping and basketball, watched the Boston Marathon, and even had some visitors. Both my sisters and their husbands came up, as well as my friends Michelle and Melissa. The next weekend my friend Diana came up too.  I think the most fun thing I did was eat a twin lobster dinner with Diana in Salem. I mean seriously, look at these pictures. Can't you see how much I've matured since I've graduated college?

I ended up just eating the whole lobster, including the legs.

Oh my gosh, Diana is being suffocated! My nose has enlarged! (That's a joke regarding Pinocchio).

I have been sufficiently warned against writing about my students in an open forum, such as a blog, so I think I'm going to tone my school experiences down a little. It's too bad because they are pretty humorous, but rather than go private I'll just write about something else for awhile. Like for one post.
Every month since coming to DC I have gone on a day trip to a new city. January was Philadelphia, February was New York, and on Saturday I went to Baltimore (for my March adventure). My good friend Michelle is a dental hygienist and located a museum in Baltimore that she really wanted to go to. Do you know what museum it was?  Of course you don't, unless your name is Brook. It was the National Museum of Dentistry! We planned a whole day trip to Baltimore around one museum dedicated to instruments of torture and clean teeth! While I didn't enjoy the evolution of dental picks I did enjoy the evolution of teeth among varying animals. Did you know shark teeth work in a conveyor belt style where once one row gets too worn down they fall off and another row of teeth slides into their place from farther back in their mouth? Teeth define our smiles, and I was able to recognize seven of ten celebrities by merely their smiles. I was only able to name 6 of 10 sharks by their smiles. I learned about the role of teeth in identifying exhumed bodies, the amazing responsibilities of saliva (mostly I was just wondering if there were any medical advantages to swapping spit. Hehe.), and the hazards of early X-rays. I learned the Inuit legend of how the narwhal got its large front tooth, aka horn, and how ancient Mayans used to put gems in the facades of their teeth. I learned proper brushing techniques and the dangers of plaque. All in all I was really pleased that I went and very satisfied that I got to do with someone who knew so much about dentistry- and was excited about it!

After the museum we drove by Camden Yards (Orioles Baseball park) and the football stadium.  We then ate at the world famous Broadway Diner where you are guaranteed at least three different servers- even if you only order water. Anyone who is anyone goes to the Broadway Diner when they're in town. We held our breath under the harbor and then drove home. It was a delightful first trip to Baltimore. Next time we're going in the evening to catch an Orioles game, a sunset, and some dinner. We'll, we probably won't catch the dinner; we'll just go back to the Broadway Diner.

The Bio Bay of Puerto Rico

I never really wrote much about my Christmas adventures to Puerto Rico, but they were a hugely significant part of my life the week I was there. How could I just pass over something so warm and sticky?
One highlight of the trip was our midnight sea kayaking excursion. Puerto Rico is home to a bio-luminescent bay, which is a scientific word for "We have no idea why the heck this body of water glows at night bay." The picture above doesn't really do it justice, but the basic idea is that there are protozoa in the water that light up when agitated (I'm semi-sorry if you're offended by the woman's choice of bathing suit. I think it's a bad pink, too). It makes for a reeeeealy cool effect in person. But the even more reeeeeealy cool thing was getting to the bio bay. Here's how it all went down.

Home for the Holidays

I am home for the Holidays. What exactly does this two week sabbatical entail, asked my furry little friend? I told him to shave, and then responded with the following monologue:

At my house we have what's been appropriately titled the "Wall of Food." The Wall of Food sits plumply and prominently on the armoire of our dining room, and is composed of magic markers stuck together, end to end. Just kidding, it's made of junk food. (I think I said magic markers because my sister is giving me a Mike Tyson-esque tattoo over my eye in black marker right now, and I'm beginning to have second thoughts.) Every time you pass the Wall of Food, which inevitably happens every 25 seconds since I sleep on the dining room table, it is a family rule that you must consume at least enough chocolate that would be necessary to sustain an Amish colony for two months. It was piquant for the first three days but now I just feel like I need to be detoxed. It doesn't help that my only exercise has been in my fingers, namely typing. My sinewy digits are firm and tenacious while the rest of my body is more of a jolly rice pudding consistency. I suspect my internal chocolate has morphed into some sort of viscous blood stream, perhaps shifting me from B+ to C+, 'B' for blood and 'C' for chocolate. Sort of like a reverse Michael Jackson look. Being home is splendid. Tonight I am going to my five year reunion. The reunion -of course- of my lifeguard certification group. We were a tight circle of friends! When you're saving lives together, you really get to know one's true colors.

Puerto Rico I

I am in Puerto Rico, The Land of the Free and the Home of the Brave.
They have one star on their flag, much like the United States Flag but with forty-nine fewer stars.
Today I drank coconut milk and Bacardi. I did not know it was so. The milk was so innocent and so purely white. One drink was all I took before I spat it in the lobbyist's face (he was a man in the lobby serving welcome drinks to people- doesn't that perfectly describe a lobbyist?). If you don't know who I am, know this: I do not drink alcohol in any form except sometimes hand sanitizer, and even then it's only because I sanitized my hands then ate pizza and licked my fingers afterward.
Puerto Rico is Spanish for "Suntan Lotion Everywhere," and indeed there is suntan lotion everywhere. It's on my shorts, in my hair, served on a stick for lunch, and slathered all over my book. I could move my bed into the sun and be just fine since it's been covered in 70 spf ever since I took a midday siesta after sloshing on one and a half bottles of the stuff.  I think the sun and the skin colluded, then performed some insider trading to make sure Puerto Rico was named the sunblock empire of the United States!

How to do Las Vegas

How to do Las Vegas, according to David's Holla Atchya! Blog:
Go with a high roller. Do whatever you can to find one, then stick to him as if he was your last chance for a leg transplant. If he is Japanese, all the better. If you replace the preceeding "He" with "She," you are really doing Las Vegas right. If she's into couture you can just skip all the rest of my suggestions.

Stay at the Penthouse on the thirtieth floor of the Mirage. That's really the only way to stay. While there, put on the Mirage robe for no reason, make the TV come out of the chiffonier repeatedly, and get an aerial view of the Mirage Volcano.

Just say 'NO' to the Lady of the Night who asks you for your name. She approached me with, "Sweet! You have a BYU shirt on. I go there to! What's your name?" I just told her "NO!" and ran off to the safety of my penthouse.

Only stay one night at the Penthouse. Any more and you will watch your morals go down the drain like acid on a piece of soggy, white bread. It'll eat right through you.

The Whole Jackson

Jackson Hole was the latter portion of our final, family vacation. [Note the important comma immediately following final, signifying that this is not meant to be my final family, but rather a vacation that could be described as both final, and family-orientated.] After Yellowstone we drove another few hours South (I was very careful to put the right address in so that we didn’t end up in Mexico or Haiti or something) to Wyoming, the only state in America where you can name a city after an orifice, and people will flock to it like bees to honey. There’s not much else to do in Wyoming but look for new, exciting, minatory holes. So that's just what they do. If you want people to come to your town, just name it something exciting like Jackson Hole or Herbert's Wall. However, rather than dig, we chose to raft, hike, eat a Chuckwagon dinner, and attend a rodeo. One person drowned on the Snake river rafting trip. I offered to jump in and save him, but the guide restrained me. Afterwards he explained that the rafting company had a goal this Summer of only three drownings, and the thus far there had been just two. Since it was August and the season was nearly over, he saw this as an opportunity to meet his goal. It didn’t seem ethical to me, but then again neither does living in Wyoming. The rodeo was Western, and we saw a cowboy get knocked out cold on a bucking bronco. When he came to he was talking about beaches in Hawai’i. It kind of makes me want to get knocked out. The chuckwagon dinner was delicious and entertaining, and the hiking was appropriately strenuous. If this blog didn’t make you laugh, you should definitely check out this link to America’s Funniest Home videos. It may be the funniest 30 seconds of my life: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CfdlSdoVmpc&feature=PlayList&p=14317CF0E571B719&playnext=1&playnext_from=PL&index=16

Yellowstone

Well, my Summer of vacations has ended. I went to nine different states and five different countries between the ides of April and the depths of August. Most recently, I traversed across the United States on a classic, Chevy Chase style vacation with my family. We drove from Salt Lake (the city, not the lake. We actually didn't spend any time in the lake- too salty) to West Yellowstone, Montana. I accidently put MO into our GPS to get us to Montana, but as you geographers know, MO is the abbreviation for Missouri. We didn't figure it out until somewhere near Austin, Texas. You'd think that when we saw the sign saying "Welcome to Texas" after three days of driving we would have gotten a clue, but alas, it took us all the way to Austin before we turned around. That was pretty much our entire vacation.
'No, seriously, David. Tell me about Yellowstone! I want to know what a hot pot is and if Old Faithful still looks like a whale spout! Did you make al dente pasta in Old Faithful? It's very economical; the water is already boiling and there is no need to add a pinch of salt!'
Well, alright, since you asked. Old Faithful is still spouting religiously, and hot pots are pools of naturally boiling water that often take on pastel colors, such as ashen gray or a dark robin's egg blue. In Yellowstone we saw Bison/Buffalo (not sure what the difference is- I believe we saw bison), elk, deer, geese, Siberian snow leapards (both of them in existence), bald eagles, osprey, gorillas, and chipmonks, which we named McChipnuggets when we got really hungry.
I loved the vacation for many reasons, namely the Asian tourists who seem to have taken over our National Parks in an effort to manufacture their own Grand Canyons and geisures. China can provide the manpower, but I just don't think they have the 1,000,000 years required to carefully -cautiously- craft caverns capably. My other favorite thing about Yellowstone was the uninhabited aspect of its beauty. As far as the eye can see, and as long as the finger can point, there is natural, organic beauty. Not the type of beauty that comes with curling irons, earrings, nailpolish and other particularly pungent products, but real, raw, respectful beauty. Beauty that Americans can call our own. This is the Land of Liberty, and the spanning forests and soaring Eagles confirm it.
I had a punctuating observation about Yellowstone, which has slipped my mind at present.

Wait, there it is: The Earth is alive. Yellowstone is a hotbed of geological activity that never cools and never sleeps. She never gets sore throats because she's constantly gurgling salt water, and her heaving motions are astoundingly heavy. The Earth moves like a tortoise- slow but with meaning. Although She has no abecedarian concepts, Mother Earth can talk, and I heard her. She told me to turn off the lights when I leave a room, recycle my plastic bags, walk don't drive, conserve paper, and- this one is still baffling me- "Man who cook carrots and peas in same pot is unsanitary." I don't know where that one came from, but that's what She said! Mother Earth, you're the greatest! Being with my family in America's fantastic National Park was an American adventure that everyone should enjoy. Perhaps not with my family (only because there isn't enough time), but with their own families. The Chinese are sure fulfilling that charge.
Note: I hope you got the pun in the proverb, from Mother Earth.

Newburyport, Kittery, Ogunquit

Ogunquit- the home of Quitting Oguns.

ME, quitting Ogun, in Ogunquit, ME. (Do you get the pseudo palindrome?)

Oh How I Love New England.

Saturdays are really great days- especially when you get to spend them with your family on the beach. I mean, you know, they are fun to spend with other families, but spending time with your own blood is spectacular. In Wyoming, you can drive for hours and still see the amazing... rocks and barren wasteland that constitues a 'landscape.' In New England, you can drive for a mere 1.5 hours and travel through 3 states. Such was the case last week. Massachusetts, New Hampshire, and Maine were the three M N M's we visited on our beach/shopping/seafood tour. Newburyport is on the North Shore of Massachusetts- a quaint town next to Salisbury, a town better known for its steaks than its cornbread.

Relaxing on the beach makes me think of... nothing. And that's just how I like it.

Shopping in Kittery makes me think of... sisters. They like to shop more than brothers.

Eating seafood in Ogunquit makes me think of... the Planet Earth segment when the Great White Shark devours a seal straight out of the ocean.

I had the "All You Can Eat Clams" which was more like the "All You Can Handle Cholesterol Before Your Arteries Coagulate With Fear And Dimish As The Moon In The Morning Sun." Those Maine-iacs are very artsy. The clams were preceeded by mussels (a bivalve mollusk), which could be appropriately called "Nasty Looking, Seawater Tasting Boogers, That Once Dipped In Fatty Garlic Butter Become Indecipherable From McDonald's Fries, But Are Still Twice The Price And Double The Artery-Clogging Power." Yum! Seafood is so great.

To perorate this doctrinally rich post, allow me to exclaim with extreme boldness: New England is the greatest region of the Great United States. Now discuss amongst yourselves.

An American Classic

Ashley looking glam on the Cobalt. That boat in the background was the Marine Patrol coming to cuff her for looking too good on the front of the boat. It's permitted on the back, but not up front. Kind of like a mullet.

Me slalom skiing. The 'water' coming off my ski is actually smoke from a fire. I was bending over to try and put it out, but unfortunately I left my extinguisher in my other swim trunks.

Taking a bite out of waterskiing. The handle tasted a bit like lobster with mustard sauce. I know, not at all what I expected.

Is there anything more classic Americana than waterskiing on Lake Winnipesaukee in the late, Wolfborough Summer? The only thing that comes to mind is eating watermelon while boating under some fireworks, on Lake Winnipesaukee in the late, Wolfborough Summer. I guess I was most of the way there, but not entirely. Maybe that's why I'm not President. I bet Obama's waterskiied with watermelon under fireworks on Lake Winnipesaukee in the late, Wolfborough Summer.

I am blessed to vacation.
I have two friends who conveniently invited me to crash their family reunions this week, both occuring in New Hampshire on Lake Winnipesaukee (hereafter 'Lake Winnipesaukee' will be simply referred to as 'The Lake'). Since there's two sides to every story, allow me to explain how the invitation went:

ME: Hey Man, I going for a drive in my Mom's minivan on Monday. Want to come?

FRIEND: Oh yea? Where are you going? Oh wait, I just remembered, I can't go. I have a family reunion on Monday!

ME: No way? I had no idea... Well, I was going to drive to 'The Lake.' Where's your reunion?

FRIEND: That's ironic, my reunion is on 'The Lake' too. I'd invite you, but it's going to be all family and I don't think we have room.

ME: Oh that's not a problem, I'll just sleep in my car! I'll be there by lunch on Monday! Gosh, thanks for inviting me! You know I just love your family! Your Mom, your Dad, your brother, your sister...

FRIEND: Ahhhh, I'm an only child, remember?

ME: Huh, I actually don't recall that. What, are you Matt? No? Ooooh, well that's embarassing. I guess I mistook you for another friend. Well, no matter! I'll see you at the reunion on Monday!

And thus I crashed two reunions.

On Monday it was Alton Bay for some pontoon boat action and beaching, followed by a midweek excursion to Tuftonborough for some waterskiing and wave running. The highlight of my two family jaunt was the togetherness by families other than my own. At the Starcks, my first destination, there were ten other people staying at their house- and me. At the Hafens, my second excursion, there were fifteen other people staying at their compound- and me. Some people party hop, some people bar hop, and I family-reunion hop! I regret nothing. 'The Lake' is a great place to get to know other families and relaxing on the beach or lake deck make for a cynosure of the Summer. There's much more to write about 'The Lake' but frankly I am feeling tremendous pressure from my editor to post this, so it will have to end there.

Washington, District of Columbia

My Madre, sister, and brother-in-law at the Nationals baseball game. Awesome game, but a bad score as the Cubs won 3-1. Go Nationals!

Senator Bennett in his office (he's the tallest one in the picture). Those other people were just extras I hired to make the office scene look busy.

R-U-F-U-S! He is under 90 days old and more enjoyable than a milkshake and a bath at the same time. I would know because I have seen Rufus and I have eaten a milkshake in the bathtub at the same time.

My sister wed last month, and immediately incurred a beagle puppy named Rufus. She and her hubby moved to D.C. at about the same time that Airtran started some killer $39 fares from Boston to Baltimore (happenstance, or the persuasion of yours truly? Remember I have connections with people in the airline industry, like Mitt Romney). Knowing the puppy was there, and having nothing to do but weed (pulling, not smoking), I set out to visit dear Rufus before he grew into his ears, which are glabrous and elephantine sized.
Lucky for me, my great-uncle is a Senator with a townhouse in Rosslyn, a region of Virginia. In my three day voyage I went to Virginia, Maryland, and D.C. The locals call that area DMV, which I usually associate with the Department of Motor Vehicles, a far more abhorrent acronym that should only be used in times of winter- when ear muffs are readily available.

Thursday night we figured since we were in America's capital, it would make the most sense to go out to an Afghan restaurant, which we did. We give them freedom, they give us strange eggplant and pumpkin dishes with meat sauce. Friday morning I went with The Parental Unit to the Mall, by way of sweat and human locomotion. Witnessed we did, Lincoln's memorial and two of his speeches inscribed by his side like Moses with the tablets. I discussed my favorite Lincoln Memorial moment, which by a landslide was Martin Luther King, Jr.'s "I Have a Dream Speech." I mostly discussed this with myself because everyone else was too busy reading the inscribed words. While there was some debate over which was better, MLK's speech or the scene at the reflection pool from "Get Smart," my better half came off conquerer and MLK won out. (The turning point in the argument came with the fact that he was a real person.) That afternoon I ate with my dear friend and saw her office, after which it was Rufus time. Rufus deserves his own post, but hopefully the pictures can help you understand what type of beast we are dealing with. After Rufus time we drove through town as the crow flies to the D.C. United stadium, in order to take a shuttle to the Nationals baseball stadium. We attended a game, and I am now a Nationals fan. I have always been a national, but now I am a National.

The last day in D.C. included a personal tour of the US Capitol by Senator Bennett (R-UT). He took us to the front of the line everywhere we went (all except the drinking fountain- for some reason the seven year old I asked to step aside just wouldn't, even after we showed him Uncle Bob's ID. He acted like he didn't even know who we were! The nerve!). We went to the caverns of the Capitol, including the hideaway offices and the private subway connecting the Senate office buildings to Starbucks. Then, we went home.

My Christmas Break

Well, my two week Christmas break was wonderful. I had time to post on my blog, have quality family time, sleep (I averaged nine hours a night), shop, celebrate some fantastic holidays, eat, read, and catch up on some Boston sports. I also watched a boat-load of movies. Below I have listed the movies I remember watching, one sentence about them, and a rating out of five Stars.

• Into the Blue "Great underwater camera shots and a twisting plot make the movie quite
  enjoyable- and it has Jessica Alba" Star Star Star Star
• License to Wed "It had its moments, but generally was a cake short of a complete wedding" Star Star
• Pirates of the Caribbean II: Dead Man's Chest "It's called Dean Man's Chest because you wish you were a dead man in a chest when you watch it; Master and Commander meets Star Strek" St
• The Good Year "A fantastic movie with gorgeous scenery, although I didn't understand half of what was said regarding the sommeliers" Star Star Star Star
• The Rookie "A movie as dry as the Texas barrenland, saved by an oasis of baseball scenes and an affecionate ending sure to bring tears to anyone." Star Star St
• Mammia Mia! "The Grecian Setting and Abba music saved this movie from a collapse." Star Star
• Eagle-Eye "Do not watch this movie if you have a weak heart or respond poorly to stimuli; once it gets going, it doesn't stop." Star Star Star
• Ghost Town "Very British humour, and Tea Leoni was a gem; I laughed continuously." Star Star Star St
• Traitor "A dissapointment of a flick due to its excessive violence; it was pretty much a 'How to be a Terrorist' instructional movie." Star
• The Interpreter "Astonishingly good movie with smashing acting, an appropriate score, and an intricate, current events plot that was ablaze with action and excitment." Star Star Star Star Star
• Red-Eye "A fairly typical thriller, although there was some good action; it was an all around entertaining experience-and it has Rachel McAdams" Star Star Star
• Batman II: The Dark Knight "Of course it's good, even the third time around." Star Star Star Star
• The Big Bounce "You'd think a movie set in Hawaii, with Morgan Freeman, Owen Wilson, and Charlie Sheen would be breathtaking, but, although it was good, there was room for improvement" Star Star
• Win a Date With Tad Hamilton "Um, yea, a total chick flick to the utmost degree, but I still found it to be very funny, and (I didn't cry, I swear) very sweet." Star Star Star St
• The Holiday "Another chick-flick, but one with Jack Black and one with a unique plot that made it worthwhile." Star Star Star

I did do many productive things this break, such as read F. Scott Fitzgerald, attend a Harvard women's hockey game, play my trumpet, get well rested, spend family time, and write emails. Vacations, in my book, are Star Star Star Star Star!

I Do Not Have a Television and I am Grateful!

These past two weeks I have been home, the home that I love dearly. Time is precious, and time at home is the rarest of all. Allow me to expound on my two week ineffable relaxation in Beantown. Last week, I worked three days (which I enjoyed), attended my best friend's wedding, went to the beach on the North Shore (as in Salisbury, MA; the waves were flat as a pancake), and went camping/hiking in the Presidential Range in the White Mountains of New Hampshire. All healthy,wonderful activities. The stars in New Hampshire were lavish and the hike provided a view unadulterated by Man. Lest I forget, on Sunday I went to Church, probably the second most important part of my week (behind the Sealing). If that all sounds menail to you, just wait to see what I did this week! Monday, I ran and hung out with my uncle and his family, which mostly consisted of Olympic highlights. Tuesday I went on an incredible eight mile run along the Charles River. Can I give a Holla to Boston? Running bare chested along the river towards the Boston skyline, with the sun warmly caressing my skin and my favorite Boston radio stations in my ears is an euphoric feeling. Boston is a city unlike any other. I also watched the Sox wallop on the Yankees on Tuesday (and Wednesday). On Wednesday I prepared mentally for an intense bikeride slash swim. I biked to Walden Pond, swam across, and biked home. Walden Pond is the essence of New England; deliberately thoughtful and reverently mellow. Equidistant from the far sides, in the center of the lake, the only noises are those of the sparce canoes and the sound of the sun brazing your skin. The water is cool, clean, crisp, and roborant. Oh how I love Walden Pond! On Thursday I went to the Museum of Science to relive my childhood and see the special Baseball as America exhibit and the live Meerkats. We also ate hot dogs and apple pie to round off the day of Americana. On Friday I packed up, went for a delighful run around Fresh Pond (don't even get me started *again* on my love for water and trees in Massachusetts). Can a better state exist than Massachusetts? I think not.