Memorial Day 2010. More accurately, it is the day after Memorial Day and this quarter-filled office reeks of a long weekend of no air circulation at all. I may be breathing 100% methane for all I know. Radon is allegedly invisible and deadly, or so we've been warned. The kids have begun their annual month-long migrations to their other parents' homes in the far off lands of Seattle and San Antonio. After next Wednesday, no one under 32 will be in the house except Brownie, the fierce and foul cocker spaniel of doom.
We have chosen Miami as our kid-free destination this year. Had I been able to get a passport quicker, we may have opted for a European, or at least Caribbean locale. South Florida is about as far away as we can get from Reno, NV while still staying in the United States, so that's where we'll land next Wednesday night. Should we not make it back alive, Yelp cannot be blamed. "They were warned," will surely be a part of our eulogies. We have read that freaks will surround our rental car at every stoplight and may even attempt to mount us as we walk the streets of South Beach. I certainly hope not, but the reviews are not encouraging. "Tourists will encounter public nudity and sudden violence, even in the grocery stores," reads one reviewers' thoughts on an unnamed travel advice site. The Ritz-Carlton on Key Biscayne has already been identified as our safehouse should we be mauled or bitten by a nude local.
And here's the thing, we have walked down Market Street in San Francisco many times, dodging various sidewalk dwellers who often lay muttering to themselves in pools of urine. Gross, yes, but I am hearing that Miami may be upwards of a thousand times more intense than the Market Street scene. But we're going to roll the dice and see if South Florida tries to kill us.
Tuesday 1 June 2010
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