The Cruise Day 1: Getting There IS Half The Fun

Soooo...It was my wifes 50th birthday coming up. She told me that she had originally scheduled the cruise before her 49th. She is a very thoughtful woman and thought a family cruise or some family vacation would be a good idea. Jon is 23, Pat 20 and Laura 17 and sooner or later they would all be going their separate ways and even if not leaving us and St. Louis would have other obligations with jobs, spouses families. Not only celebrating her birthday but the idea in my mind was a last hurrah for Beckerdom.... this little thing of ours. Perhaps as the late Hunter Thompson said, go out with a bang instead of a whimper. We had last cruised on our ten year anniversary over 17 years ago and my memory of the cruise were hazy and not altogether pleasant as it was not a particularly good time in my life for reasons which I cannot even name. Neither of us had been in a hurry to go back but where were you going to go with your family? An all inclusive really offered little other then togetherness, swimming and drinking and with two arguably under age children seemed like a poor call so, a cruise it was.

We left on a Saturday evening out of the Lou and flew into Miami bringing back some conflicted memories of a few jobs ago when I was a frequent visitor to the town. We got in around 9 and took a cab to the downtown Courtyard Mariott. It was very downtown and although not "sketchy" it did very little to encourage walking around. We took Jon's girlfriend, the lovely Lydia along with us and we decided it was not too late and we took a cab over to Southbeach. South Beach on a Saturday night around midnight is a crowded carnival of humanity and vice. Immediately a good parent wonders "what the hell am I doing here with my children?" Left without a good answer you hop out of the cab and see what is what. We walked to the ocean and Pat ad I walked in. I love the ocean. I love the smell of it and the taste of the salt but other then Pat the rest of the group was not similarly afflicted.

So we headed back to the strip and it is a STRIP. Ocean Blvd. runs along the ocean surprisingly enough and is literally lined with restaurants and clubs and all manner of humanity. Everyone is dressed to party and gays, straights, transgender, anglo, black, latino and everyone within 50 miles who can get there is wandering this strip, eating, drinking and debauching. It is loud and hosts and hostesses at each place are hawking to get you to look at their menu and have a seat. So we waked from the south end to the point where the action petered out and then walked back and found a large booth on the street at the Clevelander. There, we took it all in and there was much to take in. there was a suped up old Impala with a car alarm randomly blaring, there was a parade of people tricked out for the night, classy, slutty, sketchy, beautiful and horrid. Oh the humanity. The food at the Cleavelander was surprisingly good and we had a few beers as we watched a young man on the front porch of the hotel and his...girlfriend?...make out (and I mean make out in the most graphic, private dance, inappropriate way possible) but mainly we just watched people... and marveled at our sheltered (for me blessedly sheltered at this point) little lives.

We were also approached by a nice young African-American gentlemen who complimented on me on my family and struck up the patter of a true hustler. he was a rapper pushing his product with poorly wrapped CD's and although a little intrusive, he explained that he was doing "inspirational rap" and that he was different. I smiled as he told me his girlfriend was writing songs for Taylor Swift and he smiled when I told him that being from St. Louis we were Nelly Loyalists (and obvious lie and overplaying of my hand). I ended the standoff with him by paying him 10 bucks for his CD and he asked me to email him my comments. His name was heat Rock. I would like to say I could recommend him. They also had a cigar roller on the street and I went back and bought some cigars for the trip. They were average with a sweet wrapper but... they gave me something to smoke while on the boat and waiting to get somewhere that I could buy a Cuban (cigar, not an actual person).

I was wrong by the way about this being "how the other half lives". , this is not the other half but the other .0001 percent but God bless them all, they make out world a richer place and while exposing your children to it might not seem smart... it did seem very Becker. We were out till about 2:30 A.M. Too late for a Becker.

Vacation VIII: A Very Tiemann Thanksgiving

Soooo... Thanksgiving is a very special Holiday for me. I have loved it for years for so many reasons. The things I love that immediately come to mind are as follows:

1. 4 Day Weekend
2. Great Food (I love turkey and stuffing)
3. Friends and family get together without gifts
4. Fall is in the air and you can light fires
5. I can still go into work (if I want to) and catch up on stuff
6. I can sleep late or get up and go to breakfast with friends
7. Great food
8. Awesome smells
9. I like hosting it at my house which means I can have anything I want, the way i want it.
10. Beer, wine or both are normally involved.

Seriously, it is my favorite holiday and it is really nice getting together with family without any pressure for gifts and the bull shit that seems to surround Christmas. So it was with some trepidation that I allowed myself to be lured out to California (Godless place) to spend Thanksgiving with the Tiemann family.

There is always a problem with spending holidays with other people. They do not know your own traditions (they do things wrong), they do not know exactly how to prepare the food (they screw it up) and they do not let you edit the guest-list (their friends and family are jerks). These were just a few of my concerns. Additionally since it was California and since the Tiemann’s are faux healthy people I was threatened with the specter of Tofu Turkey which might or might not make me kill myself. The idea of tofu shaped as a drumstick is particularly troubling for me but i will leave that for me and my long suffering analyst. I had steeled myself to just going with the flow but my friends are after all my friends and they went out of their way to cater to all my whims and lubricated me with several bottles of wine along the way.

Tim Tiemann and I have a complex relationship going back to freshman year when my room mate was a gay guy and his was kindly named by our floor (The Pube). We did not bond all that well at the time but after college he dated and married a nice St. Louis girl and since then have served a father/confessor roll for one another as we amble through life. the best thing about Tim in this setting is that he is his mother’s son and he is a pleaser and that means he wants everyone to be at home, comfortable and have a good time and with his wife and families help he can really get it done. A role model as a host.

Their family and our family, although our kids are older, seem to get along pretty well and we added another family with two girls and a girl from Pepperdine (who is just too nice). The turkey was incredible. Tim humored me with the proper Pepperidge Farm stuffing. Tim had Jon make a spinach and pomegranate salad that was to die for (showing Jon how to separate the seeds from the mush in a bowl of water since they float), there were mashed potatoes and green bean casseroles and 4 pies... and more wine. It was a feast.

And the great thing about a Cali Thanksgiving is that you can walk a block to the neighborhood pool and hot tub with the kids and sit there for an hour and then come back and light a fire in the fire pit and sit there for an hour. the kids then made s’mores (very camp like) and we all sat around and chatted. Since all the adults (accept for the nice girl from Pepperdine) were drunk, everyone spent the night and it ended up being a friends and family Thanksgiving that at worst rivaled what we were missing with my extended family at home (although my nephew did bring out his girlfriend and her parents and I missed it).

It was a great time and a great time to be thankful for all God’s gifts to me and knowing once again, and having it emphasized that my family friends are ALWAYS one of the greatest.

Vacation VII: Oceanside California

Oceanside









So it is Sunday night before Thanksgiving and we have fought for three hours to travel 130 miles from Valencia. Part of it at 80 miles per hour, part of it stopped dead and all of it in the dark and fairly frustrating for the sad midwesterner (me). My wife had made us reservations at a condo on the beach in Oceanside, literally on the beach in a little development called Northgate or some such. We get off the highway following internet directions at the coast highway. It is dark so you really cannot see your way around that well but the over all impressing at 8:00 at night is.... “sketchy”.

I want to drive around the town a little and we of course need pizza and beer and few groceries. As we coast around the few blocks that make up “downtown” Oceanside we see the same somewhat surreal scene on each street. Every block has a barber shop, and bar and people are lined up outside each on a 65 degree Sunday night. The barber shops are lit up like Disneyland, four chairs going, all male barbers and patrons. Looking at the people hanging outside the bars... all men as well and then the light goes off in my little brain.


Pendleton Marine Base is just north of Oceanside and when I say just north I mean that they abut. So it makes sense but as I said is a little surreal as we see all these men getting haircuts. There are at least 7 barber shops within a three block area. That has to be one of the highest per capita ratios in the country. While the family waits for the pizza I walk to a convenience store and buy beer, munchies and cereal and see three cop cars on the parking lot in the process of checking the I.D.s of some people as they arrest the others. All together I am not at all sure of our decision but... we are here. The town has a similar feeling to Daytona Beach, 3000 miles away.

The next morning I wake up on cloudy breezy southern California November to see about 30 surfers outside our glass doors bobbing on some gentle waves in their wet suits waiting for their waves and... everything is OK. Sandy and I walk up and down the beach for about a mile. Oceanside is the home of the longest wooden pier on the west coast and we of course walk out to the end of it and look back at our unit which is on the far north end of the beach before a little inlet and the Marine base. I am hoping the haze is going to burn off but it seems like it might be real clouds which kind of sucks.

I take the family out to breakfast and after eyeballing a few diners we find Mary’s Restaurant and immediately know we are home. I will review Mary’s later b seriously, it is one of the best breakfast places EVER and coming from me that is saying quite a bit. Looking around the time in the daylight it seemed less sketchy. it is not really a “charming” town but it is a highly functioning little resort town and very functional and as you got to the outskirts you could see it is really quite the little suburb of San Diego and Orange County. It has the “Surf Museum” for gosh sakes. There were diners, barbers, convenience stores, 4, pizza places, beach stores, a cigar store, a 10 screen cinema and few head shops. They even had the “Oceans 11” Casino. Everything a girl could need.
But the beach is the thing. they act like their beach, which they call “the strand” is internationally famous but it is not listed on Wikipedia (I checked). It is a really nice beach though and heavily populated all day long with surfers which is also fun. it is gorgeous in a way that only the Pacific can be. Endless, cold and churning. We were able to have place that was 50 feet from the ocean with just a small tide wall between us and the sand and that was cool and it was not that expensive. The beach area is a hodgepodge of multi million dollar homes, and thoroughly beaten up apartments and houses which will likely be torn down as the property values continue to go up. the weather was not so hot when we were there with highs in the high 60’s and a lot of clouds but that is weird for the area. We were able to swim in the Pacific in November in half wet suits and it is a nice slamming surf with 6 foot breakers, at least while we were there.
There is really nothing sketchy about the town. We came in on a night when everyone must be getting back on the base. The town was pretty quiet other then that and though i would not hit the bars with my wife there was nothing dangerous about them. My family and I found plenty to do and it was a convenient location from Disney to Sea World, to mexico if you wanted to hit it in a day and come home. All in all I would say it is an excellent and still affordable destination for a get away and the Diner review heartily recommends it as an economical option for a beach vacation.

Vacation VI: Amoeba Records

Amoeba Records is the largest independent music store in the country. It boast 250,000 titles. that is not 250,000 CD’s my 20 year old pointed out to me “but separate titles dad.” they probably have close to a million CD’s on site. It started in Berkley and then a second one in San Francisco before migrating south. My son and I have never been blessed enough to attend the northern California stores but no trip to southern California is acceptable without a pilgrimage to Amoeba.

As I have bemoaned in this space before, the internet and big chains have killed the independent record store. In St. Louis we only have two of any consequence (Vintage Vinyl and Euclid Records) and even our local chain of Streetside has fallen by the wayside. So an independent music store like an independent book store is to be treasured and admired and when it claims to be the biggest one in the world... pay attention.

The place sits on Sunset in Hollywood and although we fought 2 1/2 hours of mid day traffic through Orange County and L.A. to get there it is an inspiring place. It is huge and imposing. They have an acre of pop/rock CD’s but the real beauty of the place is stated on little placards where they admonish you to check their used CD section because they are cheaper and indeed they are. The place is a music snobs wet dream. When you find the slot for an obscure band like Okkervil River the place card also directs you to look in the sections for Will Sheff and Shearwater.

My mind tends to go blank when I walk in and my carefully disciplined shopping plans get flung to the four winds. I look at the many names over the CD’s (ignoring the new releases section as you can find those at Best Buy if you need them) and start wandering around and thinking of slots I need to fill... T-Bone Burnette’s back catalogue... oh look a life recording of a set by J. Mascis (of Dinosaur Jr.) playing solo at CBGB’s., two out of print Okkervil River EPs. A Magnolia Electric EP where they cover “Werewolves of London.” All good stuff that you simply cannot find anywhere else...even on iTunes (gasp!)

We were on a surgical strike having to return to the rest of the family by five and I was deathly afraid of the traffic returning home so I only looked wistfully at all the great poster art and concert art they had on display knowing I could lose an hour there is I started to look and i had neither the time nor the budget. I scanned their “folk” and “country” sections impressed by the mass of quantity and quality (They had over 30 different Johnny Cash CDs for instance) and then looked at the comprehensive vinyl section which was larger then any St. Louis record store all by itself.

Equally joyful is watching my son shop. I tell him I will buy him four CD’s and I feel pretty good about that until I see him separating out the 4 most expensive for daddy’s charge card. he is getting some rare Decembrist’s, Modest Mouse, Mountain Goats and some bands so pretentious I do not even know their names. I beam with pride as we check out and ring up 130 dollars in purchases. They have like 20 check out stations and the last time we were there on a Saturday night it took a half hour just to check out. Bottom line is that the place is amazing and that whenever in L.A. or Berkley or San Francisco... hit Amoeba and be AMAZED!

Vacation V: Mission San Luis Rey

San Luis Del Rey Mission: There are a lot of people who plan (a lot) for family trips. My wife used to be one of them and then we stated going to family camp up in Michigan and with me having a job there just was not much time for anything else. Now we have a son in college and Sandy has come to the belated realization that the best chance we have for spending any time with our children is on vacation. So we skipped the traditional Thanksgiving at home and traveled to southern California to see friends and play in the ocean a little. That was far as planning went. Other then Thanksgiving at the Tiemann’s and Pat swimming with the dolphins (not the Miami Dolphins 0-12 at this sitting) we had-nothing planned.

Playing in the ocean was to be a big part of the trip and we new the Pacific was cold and we brought wet suits to facilitate our cavorting. No one on the other hand told me that it would be cloudy and windy and generally not conducive to beach frolicking. So we had some time to kill and with no plans and no proper I.D. to get back into the country (thank you homeland security) from Mexico I cam up with a plan. A mere four miles from oceanside California where we were currently residing was a Mission called San luis Rey. Firing up the laptop I learned that there were something like 21 such Missions up and down the coast and that they had a long history. As I have noted before following the laws of physics, Beckers at rest will tend to remain at rest. The troubling part is that beckers in motion will tend to find a way to remain again at rest as soon as possible...preferably with a television on... with cable...and some Cheetos.

But... my wife was sick of this behavior having spent the previous day with two of my progeny as the eldest and I went on a five hour CD buying excursion at Amoeba records in L.A. So... thinking quickly and knowing my kids would not tolerate the 34 minute drive to the Mission at Capistrano I prevailed upon them to humor me and go to the one just four miles away. I sweetened the offer with a run by Starbucks and Mc Donalds and it was a done deal.

It really was a short drive and just on the eastern outskirts of Oceanside a large white Cathedral sits on a hill flanked by a cemetery and a retreat center. The place was large white stucco and looked fairly impressive. We walked in and got the family fare of 20 bucks getting a discount off the hefty 6 dollar regular admission and quickly were standing in dim rooms looking at religious artifacts, innumerable statues of St. Francis of Assisi (my favorite Catholic Saint) and various old pottery. It was underwhelming and moved quickly to a corridor with scenes from the old mission behind glass in a troubling life size diorama. The next room had several pieces of statuary (St Francis again) and two carpeted wooden benches to sit in front of a TV and watch a bad videotape of the Missions History. Let me summarize... started in late 1700’s changed hands a lot of time...no one cared...fell into disrepair and looted by locals...deeded back to local indians...rebuilt in late 40’s under a grant from Hearst foundation. That is what I got out of it but for a great history check out:

http://www.sandiegohistory.org/collections/missions/sanluisrey.htmhttp://www.sandiegohistory.org/collections/missions/sanluisrey.htm

After watching the video we exited into a Courtyard, to the left and shut off from us the retreat center grounds. We walked through a little courtyard with a fountain and a statue of St. Francis into a very dark room with 4 or 5 pieces of art... all of which were big, bloody, religious and reproduced. From there we got to go to the cathedral or Church or whatever and it was pretty cool. All stucco and wood, big with big wooden benches. Still used for worship. Lots of candles, not too much stained glass (none) it was interesting to wonder around. there were a number of paintings (Fresco’s?) on the wall and although we could identify Jesus, Mary and Joseph there were several people including one female that we could not positively I.D. There was also a nice rendering of St. Francis of Assisi.

From there we wondered into the cemetery with a lot of graves of people who had been dead for a long time and several from people recently passed away. There also was a cellar where it appeared all the priests who had served there had been buried. it was nicely landscaped and peaceful and I concluded that I could rest comfortably there if need be but that being a Lutheran the dead Catholics might be offended. You know how those people are. We left the cemetery and went at my daughters insistence to the gift shop where we had a remarkably good time buying:

1. A T-Shirt for Jon (very tasteful outline of Mission on red background)
2. A tortoise and silver cross for me
3. A St. Michael (my favorite Archangel) trading card that when you held it in different directions shows him standing on a rock or crushing a demon with his foot.
4. A shot glass
5. Some crap for Laura’s friends

All in all it was amusing although my wife said we were disrespectful. When I finished paying Jon took me excitedly by the hand and pointed me towards California first and oldest pepper tree. This was not nearly as exciting as it sounds. the family gratefully got back into the mini-van the cultural and historical portion of the family vacation having taken almost an hour and a half (including Starbucks) and now blessedly behind us.

Vacation IV: L.A. Traffic

I have come to really love Southern California. between business and pleasure trips i seem to get out there almost every year and have come to be somewhat awe filled by the fact that you can go from ocean, to mountain, desert to snow in so short of a physical distance. Everywhere you go it is amazing how beautiful the terrain is, and humbling too. I am sure you take it for granted (just as we in St. Louis take for granted the natural beauty of our River Des Peres) when you see it every day but wow... what a cool place.

Until you actually have to get somewhere. The you have to get in your car and get on the road and it is a nightmare. To misquote that great southern philosopher Forest Gump L.A. Highways are like a box of chocolates... you never know what your going to get. Generally what I get is one of those crappy dark chocolate things filled with an unidentifiable nut. That is what I get when I get on the freeway in L.A. If you need to go two blocks...no problem. two miles... no problem. But if you need to go 25 miles... pack a lunch. You might make it in twenty five minutes... it might take three hours. In my time out here this week I was caught in traffic jams at 7:00 Sunday night.... 1:00 Wednesday.... 4:30 PM Wednesday and finally (gratefully) at 10:00 Thanksgiving morning.

There is rarely a rhyme or a reason for this traffic. Just 4 million people in L.A. trying to get around and as far as I can see failing miserably every day. We in St. Louis are lucky to live in a dying, non-vibrant, somewhat backwards midwestern city which we claim “is a great place to raise kids.” If it takes us 45 minutes to get across town at rush hour we feel sorely oppressed. Californians crap bigger traffic delays then that every day of there miserable, car obsessed, polluting lives. Not that I am bitter regarding the huge amounts of Escalades, Explorers, Denalis and other modes of transportation slightly larger then my first house. I would say in the time on the highways I set forth above traffic came to a complete stop over 100 times. It made me feel powerless and angry. Feeling so angry made me question whether I really had ANY mental strength at all but seriously... what a nightmare. I believe it is the randomness of the traffic nightmares I found so infuriating. We know in our town that between 7-8:30 in the morning and between 4:30 and 6:00 at night that there are a lot of people moving too and from work and school. While you know the same thing in L.A. you might also run into an inexplicable jam, with no accident and no highway construction at 11:00 at night. Things like that make daddy nuts.

I do not care how pretty it is. People cannot live this way for an extended period of time. The only theory I can come up with is that these people know that sooner or later they and/or their homes and possessions will be:

1. Swallowed by fire,
2. Swept into the ocean; or
3. Swallowed into the ground by an earthquake

Based on these assumptions they toil on the highways for several hours each day figuring they only have a limited amount of time to suffer here before they have to move back to the midwest. It seems slightly sketchy as a life plan but clearly no one in their right mind could plan to spend the remainder of their life in a beautiful place trapped on a five lane highway with no chance at redemption or of ever getting anywhere in a reasonable amount of time. It may be beautiful but that and 7 bucks will get me a beer at a ball-game. I like to be on time and have control.... or at least the illusion of control over my schedule. You Californians take your beautiful place.... I will take the River Des Peres.

Vacation III Vasquez Rocks

Vasquez County Park is an amazing natural wonder. It is a little outside of Valencia off the 14 and is nothing so much a bunch of huge rock formations. I think that there are about three major ones but each one has a football field foot print and then go sloping or swooping up several hundred feet. out tour guide Tim Tiemann forced us out there (because Beckers have a depression related tendency to stay indoors, away from natural light and any form of exercise, preferably with a television on. Tiemann, who has come to enjoy an energy filled, physically fit life style always believe he can “help” our family but we resist... mightily. Still he is persistent and eventually he wins out because he wears us out.

We drove out to the park which took about 30 minutes. We saw some of the California fire damage but it is hard to tell in many of the areas because they are so naturally dry. Almost like a desert... oh... it is a desert. it is always hard for me to remember that without all the irrigation nothing would be green hear other then the pines and the cactus and the occasional palm tree on the coast. It really is a wonder that 4 million people populate this desert. It is also a wonder that is sucks ALL of the moisture out of your skin in about 2 minutes leaving you dry as a bone.

Vasquez has been the sight of numerous movies because the topography is so surreal and prehistoric. According to Wikipedia the following films had had scenes there:

• Joe Dirt (2001)
• Jay and Silent Bob Strike Back (2001)
• Planet of the Apes (2001)
• Bubble Boy (2001)
• Very Bad Things (1998)
• Free Enterprise (1998)
• Austin Powers: International Man of Mystery (1997)
• Guns of El Chupacabra (1997)
• Jingle All the Way (1996)
• Mighty Morphin Power Rangers: The Movie (1995)
• The Flintstones (1994)
• In the Army Now (1994)
• Army of Darkness (1993)
• Bill & Ted's Bogus Journey (1991)
• The Rapture (1991)
• Star Trek V: The Final Frontier (1989)
• My Stepmother Is an Alien (1988)
• Hell Comes to Frogtown (1987)
• Short Circuit (1986)
• Metalstorm: The Destruction of Jared-Syn (1983)
• Parasite (1982)
• Hearts of the West (1975)
• Blazing Saddles (1974)
• Apache (1954)
• Werewolf Of London (1935)
• Dracula (1931)

Quite a list. It really is awe inspiring. Wikipedia goes on to say “Vasquez Rocks Natural Area Park is a 905 acre (3 km²) northern Los Angeles County, California USA park acquired by LA County government in the 1970s. It is in the Agua Dulce vicinity between the Antelope Valley and the Santa Clarita Valley just north of Los Angeles and seen easily by motorists driving the Antelope Valley Freeway. Vasquez Rocks have been used innumerable times in motion pictures, various television series and in moving and still photography advertisements, and continues to be used in them today.” Nice summary.

The only other place I have been to that is anything similar is Enchanted Rock in the foothills outside of Austin and to a lesser extent “Elephant Rocks” in the eastern Ozarks. the raw rock power here tends to inspire and the last time we were here Jon was about 17 and I had a few anxious moments with him not knowing how to get down from a spot about 30 feet up in the air. I always thought “free climbing” was cool... until I saw my son do it. We tromped around the park, up and down for an hour or so with Jon climbing one nice crevasse and the group of us sitting at the top of a nice high crag. Pat and Laura made it to the top without mishap and we walked down on paths as Jon found more creative ways to descend. I strongly recommend this place for any trip to southern California. From wherever you go there it is definitely worth the trip and beats Sea World and Six Flags all to hell.

Vacation II Sea World

We hit Sea World on Monday. There were not many people there. I am not a big fan of any amusement parks. They provide a combination of crowds, children, thrill rides, bad food, expensive food and walking which I do not really appreciate in ANY way. Still, as a father accommodations have to be made... even as a bad father and I am above all things a bad father. So when we sojourned to southern California to the little town of Oceanside a pilgrimage to Sea World was requested and in the spirit of being a guilt ridden, lousy father I acquiesced. It was of course several months ahead of the trip where it was easy to be magnanimous.

Being from St. Louis where Anhueser Busch rules it was relatively easy to make some requests from AB employees and score some free passes. I cannot imagine spending the 55 or 58 bucks and going without the passes but it felt like getting something for free. We drove the 30 or so miles from our condo to Sea World which is located a few miles north of San Diego and near the Old Town of San Diego. No matter what anywhere you drive in southern California without traffic is a beautiful drive and it was relaxing to head down there. It was the Monday before Thanksgiving and the parking lot indicated that we would be blessed with not too much in thew way of crowds. They did jack us for 10 dollars to park on their massive lot but it was a small price to pay. It was a hazy and cool day with patches of blue sky and temperatures in the low seventies which did not feel bad for November.

Entering the park was relatively easy and lines were blessedly short. We chose a path and veered off checking for the times for various shows and saw that The Dolphin show was about to begin. Like all shows it was in a steep seated auditorium sloping down to a large pool. A Jimmy Buffet knock off was warming up the crowd with acoustic guitar sing alongs and we were admonished that the first 4 rows would definitely get wet. Blessedly we were late and went way up high on one end.

There is something off putting and cruel about any trained animal show but at the introduction when they begin to make themselves out as great friends of the dolphins by working closely with them and “communicating” with them it makes me a little queasy. Still, despite what Douglas Adams might have told us they are just fish..or mammals..or whatever the hell they are. They pick a good looking blond family of three with a cute little daughter to be special guest hosts and after introducing them they introduce the three dolphins which are the ostensible “stars” of the show. each has a thin, pony tailed girl as its “trainer.” After all the introductions they swim the dolphins around and they use their tales to splash people in the front rows and an uproarious time is had by all. I watch with my somewhat bored family a little bemused. The actual “show lasts about 15 minutes with the dolphins (or at least one of them) jumping high over a rope and then jumping high to snag a flag. All in all it was nothing.

Shamu was out on this day so there was not as much to do. Pat (my 17 year old) had always wanted to swim with the dolphins so that was scheduled for early afternoon and while he waited with his mom for instructions Laura, Jon and I rode up the revolving space needle as things were described to us which we could not see through the fog. Evidently the Sea World Space Needle has an excellent view of San Diego as well as the ocean. We could see neither but it was delightful anyway as I like looking down on other people.

We came back to the “dolphin center” which as a series of pools and there were four groups of people each with their own “trainer” and dolphin. Over all it looked pretty fun. They got to pet the dolphin, dance with the dolphin, make the dolphin roll over, make the dolphin jump and generally be in close proximity to flipper. Pat seemed to enjoy it tricked out in his wet suit with three girls standing in the cold chest high water. the dolphin also seemed to enjoy it as we all took pictures. When it ended, on top of the 150 bucks paid for the 1/2 hour we got to buck up for some more pics of Pat taken by the professional photographer. it was pricey but once again... he got to play with flipper, and we got to watch.

We had a crappy lunch at one of the two open (sit down) eating establishments which purported to be a bar-b-q-place. it begged the question... again... about why amusement park food must taste like bland, warmed over crap? They are serving a captive audience. They know they will prepare 1000’s of meals in a day. They are owned by Anhueser Busch where quality is everything and brand name protection a high concern. They had baby back ribs which looked tasty. They were stringy and flavorless. My boys had cheeseburgers (dry and overcooked), Laura had a chicken fingers (bland and dry) and Sandy had a club sandwich (big, dry and flavorless, somewhat salvaged by mayo). How hard is it to make a decent hamburger? I can do it and so can 20 fast food chains. Even though the prices are absurd what I would not give for the chance to pay more for some chain fast food. it made me want to quit my job and set up a Weber Kettle and cook brats and burgers and hot dogs all priced at 12 bucks each with a bag of chips and fountain soda. I could give them half my profit and make a fortune. August the IV... if you are reading this... let me help.

We closed out the trip by walking quickly through some aquariums and exhibits of sharks and penguins and some fish and stuff that compared poorly to the Shedd aquarium in Chicago. In the shark tank you got to walk under it on a conveyor belt in a tube and THAT was kind of cool. The sharks look rather big and vicious and sadly enough did look vaguely like lawyers circling a fee. We petted some star fish. Laura and Pat were of course hungry after not eating their crappy food and bought cotton candy which they proceeded not to eat, calling it “lousy”. How do you screw up cotton candy? We sent the kids to the one “thrill ride ”that was open which appeared to be a roller coaster log flume thing and we settled down in the Anhueser Busch tasting and hospitality room. Clearly this was the high point of the day for me and though they had a variety of exotic brews.... I got two Busch beers. We went and paid for the Dolphin pictures and high tailed it out of there.

Once again, I felt lucky that the place was so empty but was distraught at the over all average to bad quality of the whole experience. it would seem that with a captive audience and very little price resistance that you could create something that was engaging, educational and entertaining (that is what we bloggers call alliteration) and do something really good and charge a lot for it. My son Pat had a good time with the dolphins. He said they felt like uncooked hot dog. My wife was happy because of that. Laura, Jon and I were bored or worse... annoyed. Over all it is 3 Slingers on the 10 scale.

VACATION I

Family Vacations








With my son Jon now in his second year of college and him working all summer in Michigan my wife realized that we had indeed lost him. Once that became apparent she announced that as long as he would go with us we would now be going on family vacations. Our family vacations for the past 10 years had been up at a family camp in northern Michigan which has been an awesome place for our family. Still, other then a few trips to Florida to stay in the in-laws condo and go to Disney World (I believe all theme parks to be stationed in the 6th ring of hell) we do not “travel” as a family. Jon and I have taken trips to see concerts out of town and Sandy has taken Pat to NYC to see plays but no family stuff or at least not much.
Originally we were going to go to Mexico because that is where I wanted to go. My parents used to take me there on a an annual basis and I thought a little shift in culture would be a good parenting thing to do but as the planning progressed and the motives were thunk out a little more it became clear that my only agenda was going to the ocean and that Mexico would just be a hassle for my closeted midwestern kids. That having been said my wife rented us a condo in Oceanside north of San Diego. We are doing this during Jon’s Thanksgiving break and I am going to be out of town for the first Thanksgiving of my adult life.

I love Thanksgiving. It is friends and family and food, the three f’s (there is a fourth but it is inappropriate.) I really like being in my town. Sitting in the house Wednesday night and knowing tomorrow will be a day of a little leaf raking and a lot of food. Two turkey dinners with all the trimmings is always the goal and I like to have either my wife or mother cook at least one of them because... that is the way I like it. I have become somewhat of a nazi regarding these rituals and can tell from the looks of my siblings, their spouses, my parents and others that I have stepped over the line from eccentric to extremely annoying. Sorry I guess but I really am not. I like Thanksgiving and I like the ritual.

We plan on having dinner at our friends the Tiemann’s. Since they were nice enough to let us invite ourselves I have taken the liberty of inviting everyone else I know on the west coast. That only amount to 5 or 6 people but two of them are showing up. They are friends from Michigan and it will be sweet to see them. Out host Tim has promised me a tofu turkey and has said he will shape at least a piece of it into a drumstick. It sounds hideous. I hope he does it, not so I can eat it but just so I have something to feed my fevered nightmares regarding what NOT to do at Thanksgiving.

On the night prior to our leaving my son arrived home from college at about 8 and we had pizza. despite just seeing him a few weeks ago my heart stops momentarily as I see him and even as I cooly say hello in a nonchalant manor and take one of his traveling companions home my heart aches for the boy and I am so happy to have him close at hand that even I cannot believe it. We scarf the pizza down and are briefly, if loudly and stupidly a family again. Then we scatter about the house to pack and organize, my wife beginning a controlled nervous breakdown timed to get the myriad of things involved with us leaving town all miraculously. mysteriously and unappreciated by her family completed at the exact moment we will walk out the door in the morning. I lay some clothes out, respond to some emails on Facebook, shower, read and go to bed.

My children amaze me. three teenagers they all get up at 5:30 and are all showered, fed something and ready to go by 6 and we trundle out the door, throw the bags in the mini-van and head for the airport. We hit the Southwest terminal and get through security, get some Starbucks and wait. I always insist on arriving at least an hour early. I have never missed a flight but I wait a lot. But soon they board us. Southwest, the Greyhound of the air has a new boarding policy and because my wife remembered to check us in the night before we are all in the first 35 people and have our pick of the sits. I head for the exit row where I know I have more leg room explaining to the stewardess that we have 5 people and it will be perfect. She admonishes me that if any are under 15 we cannot sit there and when she asks my daughter if she is fifteen I nod making eye contact for her to lie and heartbreakingly she tells the truth. As they move and I start to sit down she tells me that if i am a parent of anyone under 15 on the flight I cannot sit there either. I grudgingly move this manifest injustice ruining my entire life.

Flying is no fun anymore for me. It all seems stressful. The kids are jovial though and that makes it better. Our flight to Burbank goes the Albuquerque and Las Vegas so we have two annoying stops to sit on the plane. My daughter explains that we need to “upgrade” our seats which means moving to the front. Once again grudgingly I follow. It seems to take a long time to unload and load and Sandy points out that we will be on this plane for 6 hours and suddenly it becomes hard for me to breathe. No one cares.

We hit Burbank and got the bags. That was the first start for L.A. traffic. Seriously... how do people live here. We need to go about 30 miles to Valencia and it takes 45 minutes. Over the course of our time in California I would drive about 600 miles. Normally that would take me about 10 hours since it was all on Interstate Highways but not in California and especially L.A. where at 7:00 on a Sunday you can spend an hour to go 10 miles for no reason anyone can see. It is sixth ring of hell type stuff.

Rituals One

This weekend the St. louis Diner Review traveled to Hot Springs Arkansas for some golf, drinking and handicapping. Although all those activities went well I found myself on Saturday morning sitting in a big old ceramic tub at the Buckstaff (pictured above). The water coming from the 47 protected hot springs located along the lower slopes of Hot Springs Mountain maintains an average 143° at their source at an average flow rate of 850,000 gallons per day. sitting there I began to consider...rituals. This Diner likes his rituals...in an almost pathological and certainly mentally unhealthy way...and bathing at “The Spa” is a ritual among rituals. I am certain it seems like I am always defining things but good rituals...define themselves. The Spas at Hot Springs are all run by the Park Service who describes them...thusly:

“The Buckstaff Bath House still offers a traditional style treatment with its staff of highly trained and dedicated personnel. Offering you the privacy of individual tubs, with an all men's department on the first floor and the 2nd floor being dedicated to the ladies. To bathe at the Buckstaff, you need only present yourself during the admission times (no reservations or appointments accepted). All supplies and linen are provided to cover your self Roman style between your bathing stations (bathing suits optional). Each department has locking lockers and small valuables may be deposited at the front desk in private lock boxes. Some age and health restrictions may apply, your inquiry welcome.

Operating under regulations of the U.S. Department of Interior, National Park Service, the Buckstaff offers traditional Thermal Mineral Baths and Swedish style massages. Our services include a 20 minute tub bath at a maximum temperature of 100°, Hot Packs for a maximum of 20 minutes, Sitz Bath for 10 minutes, Vapor Cabinet (steam cabinet) for a maximum of 2 minutes with the heads in cabinet or 5 minutes in the heads out cabinet, finishing it off with a 2 minute maximum rinse in the needle shower. Each tub is equipped with its own whirlpool and may be used while in the tub bath. You may then top the whole experience off with a full body Swedish style massage making your visit to the Buckstaff the most enjoyable and refreshing part of your stay in Hot Springs National Park Arkansas. Please allow approximately 1½ hours for the entire process and longer during peak periods.”

This description does not do the ritual justice. You walk into that beautiful building above after parking somewhere in downtown Hot Springs (boyhood home of Bill Clinton) which is a truly charming place even on a rainy January day. There has been very little development downtown and it sits in a narrow (often flooded) ravine of the Quachita (waw-shee-taw) mountains and many of the buildings back up to bluffs blown out of the mountain. It is a dying downtown but charming and a little eclectic and is dominated by the two large hotel spas, The Arlington and The Majestic which have been there since... forever and certainly since there was still legal gambling in Hot Springs. I arrived with three gambling compatriots deciding to take a mental health break and refusing to golf in the rain with the rest of the tribe. You enter a small lobby and there is a que for the reception desk where they ask you what services you want. The “classic” along with a loofa rub clocks in at about $51.00. At the desk they take all your valuables and put them in a safe deposit box and give you a key on a band you can wrap around your wrist or ankle. They also hand you a grocery store plastic shopping bag with a loofa mitt in it. Once you pay if you are a man they usher you to one side or the other depending on the crowd. Both sides are a mirror image to one another. The woman ride in an old fashion steel grated elevator to pleasures above that I can only guess at.

Once you enter a greeter (in this case a Willie Nelson look alike...circa “Red Headed Stranger”) acknowledges you and marches you to a small screened in stall with a several lockers and picks one for you and slips another key over your wrist. He also hands you a cheap (but very clean) bed sheet telling you to strip, including your glasses, put everything in the locker, lock it and then let him know. After following orders you come out (in your own poor effort to wear the sheet toga style (ala Blutarsky) and he leads you to a large tiled room with much hissing and spitting of pipes. You sit on a wooden chair and he puts your name on a hook. You absently hold your gorcery bag with loofa mitt wondering whether anyone will come along and thinking how absurd you look sitting in this large room, naked but for a sheet (which you are still trying to arrange to look cool) waiting....

From here, eventually an attendant, in my case James, comes and greets you and tells you to follow him. He does not look behind to see if you are complying having no question of his authority. You walk past a long line of chaise lounges to a large stall about the size of a handicapped commode, but instead of a toilet there is a six foot ceramic tub...very deep. You stand there for a moment as James fiddles with the hot and cold water which all come out of a huge spigot. In the tub there is a large steel thermometer and what looks to be a small outboard engine. That is the whirlpool unit. James keeps the water running as he adjusts the temperature and takes a dixie specimen cup filling it with the mineral water (very hot) and saying...drink it all. And when you drink the warm water he refills it, hands it to you and says...again. You comply.
He then peels off your sheet, briefly examines your sad middle aged body (James by the way is a black man of indeterminate age between 40 and 68) and then he directs you to a stool to stop up into the tub and offers a supporting arm guiding you into the tub. You sink and the water feels hot but not too hot. I notice that the thermometer says 105. James hands me another cup of water which I obligingly down and then he makes sure to tell me how to settle into the tub and stretch out. James apparently is used to dealing with idiots like me. He takes the loofa and allows me to use it as a head rest and grunts approvingly at his handiwork and my ability to follow simple instructions.

You sit in the tub with your back to the entrance of the stall and so have no distractions but a clock about 15 feet up on the wall and the sound of other customers behind you. My ADD does not start to kick in till about 10 minutes when I start to rearrange myself out of pure boredom stretching...wondering whether the whirlpool thing will malfunction and electrocute me...pressing my feet against the jet out of the whirlpool and getting a free foot massage. And then I start to really sweat. Even though 105 is not hot....sitting there...hot water cooking inside you...you start to remove various parts of your body from the soup. You sit up straighter....you hang your arms over the top. You experiment with draping your legs over the edge...you sweat like a pig. Almost all good rituals have some quality suffering involved. (my opinion).

A few words about “the waters”. The water pours out of the mountain very hot. it has a huge mineral content and throughout the bath house everywhere the water has run for years results in calcification and it reminds me of Meramec Caverns or Onendaga Cave’s limestone formations. Anyway, the waters are thought to have healing and restorative powers both internally and externally. FDR swore by the place and throughout his life would come to the spas in hot Springs for relief from the polio he was afflicted with. It taste good and is bottled and sold by at least one company nation wide as Mountain Valley Water. It does not feel different on my skin but once again just knowing other people think it’s special...helps make it magical for me.

Eventually James comes back and he is ready for business. He asks if I hurt anywhere and I say, “No, I actually feel pretty goo”, but before I can finish he is nodding knowingly and saying my lower back seems really stiff and so he bends me forward a little bit stretching me out. Then he begins using the loofa mitt and begins a methodical scrubbing of my body making sure he misses you private parts but firmly scrubbing most of your flesh. I cannot lie, having this man rub my flesh feels good. Which brings us to another point. There is nothing sexual about this experience but it is not for the homophobic. There are a lot of naked men (most of us in various disrepair with a large range of obesity and sagging flesh) walking around and there are at least two instances where men are...rubbing on you.

Anyway...you forget about the sweating. James then helps you out of the deep tub and takes you over to a shower stall with water coming out at knee level into a basin with what appear to be 2X4 as a seat. James scrubs it in front of me with comet as I imagine awkwardly standing there and James works on my feet I guess. He then grabs me, turns me around and tells me “sit down just like you were getting onto your car.” I comply and sit on the bench as James explains that the sitzbath really works on that lower back pain and hemorrhoids (how does he know about those?) and he explains it helps “everything below the waist.” I shift there with hot water coursing off my lower back and ass crack. I can only imagine how ludicrous I look to the other man passing by trying not to stare. Once again I gotta tell you...it feels good.

James give the mineral water a long time to let it do his work and then gets me and helps me up and walks me to a steam closet. This steam closet is slightly larger then my close closet at home and it does not seal tight. For steam it has steaming hot minderal water pouring onto the floor under the bench you sit on which then....steams up. It has been doing it for years and there is a lot of calcification. At some of the old baths they used to have the classic steam closet which you sat in with your head out of the box and they closed it around you. So retro. James assures me that he will be back in two minutes....and then he leaves...and leaves me there for 5 minutes. It is not that hot but...once again you sweat and you keep sweating...It feels slightly dirty in there and looks dirty but when you rub your hands you realize it is not dirt...just more calcificiation from all the minerals. Thankfully before I go into a panic attack he comes back.

He then walks me over to a sink and takes another specimen cup, this time filling it with cold water which I guzzle confidently and then hands me another one...and then another one saying “again.” he then leads me to a chaise lounge where I lay on my coveted sheet. He walks over with two HOT towels and has me lean up and then he pack them under my back and leans me back down slowly...very hot. He then wraps me in my sheet and proceeds to drape a cool towel around my head like a hood. The hot/cold like good asian food is enticing and I laid there for quite a while. Sweating...a lot...back with this hot towel as a lumbar support staring at the same clock...sweating and wrapped like a mummy but not wanting to stick an arm or a leg out of my sweat casing because then James and everyone else who might look would see what a pussy I am...sweating.

James comes back and I assume he is enjoying the suffering he is imposing and knowing that he is taking care of me. He gets me up, removes the towels and takes me to another stall. This stall is filled with a contraption known as “the needle shower” which hits you with 360 degree pinpoint jest of water in about 5 rings circling your body while a gallon a second dumps on your head. The CIA would call it water boarding but it feels like a nice controlled drowning. Somewhere outside the stall James is manipulating water temperature in what I assume is a trained and therapeutic way. First warm...then hot...then cool. I spin making sure it hits me everywhere and then after two minutes I am done. James towels me off mainly concerned with drying my face. James tells me what a pleasure it was to be able to help me and makes sure I know his name so I can tell them at the desk what his tip is and he says he would look forward to seeing me again. I have the feeling that he means it and that there is a reasonable chance he would remember my name.

He leads me to the cool down room, kind of a waiting room with chaise lounges and I lay...wrapped in my sheet and wait. There is a gentlemen laying there with me in his sheet with the Mark McGuire fu manchu. We say nothing. Very little is spoken between the patrons here. Once again my ADD kicks in...huge...very tired of being here. Bath and everything with it is great but I remember that I don’t really even like massages and that I should have just gotten the bath and moved on. They take the guy waiting and two of my compatriots are brought in to wait also and it becomes apparent that there is only one masseuse and we wait and break the silence and chat a little. These guys are 23 and 24 years old and they are in awe of the process and it does feel great and relaxing and it is cool and I like it more thinking about the experience through their eyes.

Finally Taylor calls “BECKER”, and I am up for the swedish massage. Taylor is pleasantly gay in that southern gay way that is so inoffensive to me. He asks where I am from and what I do and we have an excellent conversation about St. Charles and Soulard and practicing law. he works on my back, comments on the dryness of my skin and at my request (because we are running late) hurries me through the process so he can get to the other boys. Massages generally are great but for me they are rarely life changing. This one is no different. It is a quiet finishing ritual that seals the deal.

I go back to my changing space, my body slightly greasy. I get dressed and head out to the waiting area...get my belongings and make my tips and are on my way. This ritual like them all takes you through a process and this process is one aimed at cleansing and renewal. All good rituals have a lot of details, a lot of subdelties and take you from point A to point B. I do not kid myself about the healing power of the water or the massage or anything else but I do feel better. And I like it.