A Long Day's Journey Into Los Angeles

It's 10 a.m. in Los Angeles, earlier than I'd normally wake up. But I'm still on Florida time, so it feels like afternoon. Also, my body's craving heavy, syrupy food, as I've grown accustomed to actually sitting down and eating a large breakfast. That's a habit I doubt I'll maintain as the weeks drag on.

The car my parents hired to pick us up from the airport arrived at the Delta terminal 30 minutes late.

"Isn't this their entire job, to pick us up on time?" I queried. "I mean, even the amateur airport picker-uppers manage to get there while you're still waiting for your last duffel at the baggage claim. And this woman is a professional ride home from the airport. She does this for a living."

My criticism, which was being offered constructively, was met with a harsh rebuke from my weary fellow travelers. Apparently, people who have been herded around airports and rental car services and then shot through the stratosphere in an aluminum tube while being blasted in the face with bacteria-laden recycled air don't appreciate constructive criticism. Anyway, this was the end of the trip, and it was a shame to leave the week away in Florida on a sour note. Because, overall, I think we all had a pretty good time.

Oh, sure, there were the occasional petty squabbles and inconveniences. Yesterday morning, my brother and I got into an argument about something having to do with celebrities and the papparazzi. I was saying that it's dumb for people like Lindsay Lohan to bitch and whine about the trappings of fame, because she chose a life in the spotlight and could easily give it up at any time. My brother felt that it's unfair for me to judge celebrities, who are free to complain about crap like anyone else, and that I am a total shithead.

Also, there was the incident involving me stabbing myself in the thumb with a fishhook. And the fact that I had to wake up on more than one occasion before 9:30 a.m., which would be an uncivilized hour even if I were not on vacation.

But these sorts of unpleasantries were few and far between. On the whole, it was a very fun vacation.

As noted in previous, and apparently largely unread, posts, I spent several days with my family visiting my Uncle and his girlfriend Debbie in Ponce Inlet, a narrow strip of land dangling out to sea from Daytona Beach. All in all, the area reminded me a lot of old pictures of Orange County, California, before it grew into the bloated, overpopulated urban monstrosity we all know and love today. Back when there were oranges and other naturally-occuring phenomenon in evidence all around, when the streets wound between and around actual trees and vegetation, and not Golden Spoon frozen yogurt shops and 18-screen cineplexes.

Ponce Inlet and the surrounding areas (including the oddly-titled Wilbur By the Sea) are kind of like that now. It's a really beautiful area with mostly nice weather, and there are basic comforts like big supermarkets and malls and movie theaters, but it's still kind of unsettled and wild. The streets don't have street lights. Half of the bars look like places where anyone without visible bicep muscles and scars will get the shit kicked out of him. There are lots of gorgeous villa-style mansions and yachts, but also a surprising amount of liquor stores, serial killers and Confederate flags.

About those boats...My Uncle has one, and I went out with him and my father into the actual inlet the morning that we left the Daytona area. It was a great ride. Much of his neighborhood remains governmentally-protected wetlands, so there's a surprising amount of wildlife around every turn, when it's not being scared away by some doofus on a Sea-Doo swilling domestic beer and splashing his friends.



That sign, for example, indicates that the area is a Manatee Zone, populated by large, gray, somewhat hippo-like creatures who are slowly going extinct. One Manatee came up right beside our boat while we were heading back to my Uncle's place. Honestly, despite the fact that itwas a lot of fun, and this might affect the value of my Uncle's real estate, I'm not positive they should let all these boats and pleasure craft out on these heavily-populated waters. Fortunately, no manatees were harmed in the making of this vacation, but I could easily see a boat propellor or jet ski moron turning one of these charming creatures into ground round. (What Dave Barry, I believe, has called "the meatloaf of the sea.")

(Trivia: In the background, you can see the Ponce Inlet Lighthouse, one of the few American lighthouses I've ever seen that's still fully functional and operational.)

The next day, after a delicious meal at one of Central Florida's many, many, many, many, many International Houses of Pancakes, we took off for Orlando, Florida. Home of about 100,000 theme parks and some of the most insane, ridiculous heat imaginable. Why, you may ask, would all these companies decide to build family-themed, outdoor attractions in a region that, temperature-wise, rivals the Earth's core?

What kind of maniac would feel not only this heat but this retarded humidity and declare, "Yes, this is where I will encourage people to over-exert themselves over the course of 12 hours, with young children and the elderly in tow! Set the Controls for the Heart of the Sun!"? Is the Walt Disney corporation really just a front for bottled water companies and Skin Cancer concerns? Are they marketing some kind of new heat stroke medication under a different name? After two hours, everyone in the park looks more exhausted and beet-red than W.C. Fields on the Heineken Brewery Tour. It's like Attack of the Killer Tomatoes around every turn. All in all, I'd rather be in Philadelphia. Or the fucking Arctic Circle. Or, hell, Narnia. Eternal winter under the oppressive thumb of a Turkish-delight armed tyrant sounds good when you're pouring buckets of sweat in a 90 minute line.

Yes, we went to a Disney Park. The Animal Kingdom, actually, which turned out to be a lot of fun. It's kind of like a zoo combined with a theme park. There are some rides, including a kickass one they just opened called Expedition: Everest, but mainly it's a safari tour around a simulated African environment and a lot of exhibits and walking paths where you can see animals.

Unlike, say, the San Diego Wild Animal Park, a place run by zoologists and conservationists concerned mainly with protecting endangered species, the Disney park is all about giving you your money's worth in animal sightings. Go to a real zoo, and there's a chance you won't get to see your favorite animal, because they're sleeping or hiding in the shade or something. But at the Disney park, they make sure you get to actually glimpse a gorilla and a tiger and an elephant and a giraffe. They don't want angry Solvenian tourists up their ass about paying $63 to stare at dirt and grass.

So, I'm just saying this place might suck if you're a warthog. But for a person, it's pretty damn interesting. There were these two gorillas leaning right up against the glass for people to see, and another one sitting just in front of us, eating fruit off of the ground. The animal, one of four bachelor gorillas living at the Disney park, was amazingly human, more so than a good 20% of the people I help at the video store. How can anyone not see that we're directly descended from these creatures? Obviously, it wasn't even that long ago. The gorilla sits around, eats, scratches himself and picks at this butt. That's everyone I know!

We spent most of our day just checking out the animals. And then at the end, we went on Expedition: Everest, which I must say is the best Disney roller coaster I personally have ever been on (bearing in mind that I've only ever been on the ones at Disneyland, and only the ones that were there a decade ago which is the last time I have been to a theme park). You go down a few twists and drops in the dark, and then come to a stop where it looks like a Yeti has destroyed the track. They actually switch the track on you and send you down, backwards, on another track, in total darkness. You actually kind of feel like you're about to tip over. It's sweet.

Then, there's a Splash Mountain-esque drop at the end. I felt it was about the same size as Splash Mountain, but my brother insisted it was a bit smaller. Either way, a good time was had by all.

We stopped to eat at a theme restaurant called the Rainforest Cafe while at the park. The food's alright and the ambience is kind of spiffy (animatronic animals and imitation foliage everywhere). They have this dessert, the Volcano, a coronary-inducing compilation of chocolate brownie, ice cream, caramel and hot fudge. (I think it comes wiht a side of Lipitor).

This is unfortunate, as the vast majority of the Disney Animal Park visitors were the sort of people who really don't need to add magma-themed desserts to their diet. There were fat people everywhere. When we passed the hippo paddock, I'm sure several guests spotted close family members. There were more fat asses on display than an Atlanta strip club on amateur night.

The worst part was, whenever a server brought out a Volcano for a table, he or she were instructed to yell at top volume "VOL-CAAAAAAAAA-NOOOOOOO!" surely in an attempt to make the dessert "fun" and encourage other tables to indulge. We were seated right next to the kitchen, which meant having "volcano" shouted directly into your ear every thirty seconds. Now I know how the Waponi Woo must have felt. (Did you get that joke? Neeeeeeeeeeeerd!)

And then, yesterday, we took a flight home. But only after having to kill several hours in Orlando. We went to this Baja Fresh-esque Mexican place called Moe's Southwest Grill, where all the entrees are named after random movie and TV references. (I had a quesadilla, called a "Sherman Klump." My brother got a burrito named "Art Vandalay." Odd.) And we wandered around a mall, where far too many people were looking at Da Vinca Code-themed books. Will you people get over this idiot crap already, for the love of Christ's illegitimate children?

And then, da plane...da plane...Mainly, it was a nice flight. This airline, Song, which is an off-shoot of Delta, has nice planes with actual TV's in the back of every seat. And you get to watch Satellite TV for free. Now they don't have A TON of channels, but I was able to check out some MSNBC shows and Woody Allen's 1989 masterpiece Crimes and Misdemeanors on Turner Classic Movies. Can you imagine? An actually good, older movie on an airplane? On the way to Florida, I was subjected to the cruelty of Rob Reiner's abysmal Rumor Has It, which somehow still manages to improve on Alex & Emma. Rob...what happened to you, man? You used to be cool...

And that's where you all came in to the story. So, I guess everyone's all caught up, then? Good. Now back to your regularly scheduled bilious rants and half-assed film reviews.