Man, I Could Get Lost Down There...

Just got back from a beautiful morning of Kayaking and Snorkeling.

Arose at 5 a.m. stoked and ready to do so.

The last time I was up that early, well, I can't quite remember, but I'm sure it'd be a safe bet that I was still up partying and laughing.

But this morning I got up after a good nights sleep. 

I got up, man that was cool.  I got up with out even "coming to" as we so often joke.

So after a cup of coffee and a small bowl of fruit salad I was on my way and met some new friends around 5:30 at Punta Marias.  The original plan was to go paddle boarding and catch some waves on the outer reefs, but there was a little wind so we opted for the kayaks at the last second.  No complaints here.

Before I knew it we were off into that great blue ocean and paddling towards Maria's Rock.  It's a good 20 minute paddle and we made it with ease.  All of us wasted no time in breaking left and catching good head high waves. 

Yeah sure, we were in Kayaks, but gliding is gliding and man, I had a blast.

Next we paddled down about a half a mile to Blue Hole.

After a quick moment of tying boats together and then to the reef below we threw on some fins and snorkeling gears and were soon swimming just above a beautiful, vibrant glowing reef, with a thirty foot drop off  just to your right- it creates a reef wall with  fish, barracudas, sea turtles, and rays all swimming in and out of nature's maze.        

Man, I could get lost down there.                 

I wish I was a better writer and could describe the beauty, the feeling, and the moment perfectly, but let me just say that it certainly gives you a new perspective on things.

Man, I could get lost down there.

I just ordered a digital water camera, (don't even have to pay for it for 3 months, thank goodness, because times are tight right now), so hopefully I'll be able to send you all my own pics soon.

Or even better, I'll be taking a picture of you right next to me... one day real soon.

Whoah!     

Go Gators! And It's A Free Tab at the El San Juan...

Go Gators. Go Gators. Go Gators.    

Man, I just love em'.  And they never disappoint.

My old man made the dumb mistake of betting me against them.  Of course I gave him a fair spread.

How's 58 points sound, Pop?

58 points?  Are you nuts!  Yeah, I'll take that bet.

Well, what are we talking here?  For 58 points it's got to be something juicy.

He looks at me and thinks for a moment.

How's a free tab at the El San Juan sound.

Oh, you're on, Pop!

Sucka!

The El San Juan is a famous hotel around here.  Trust me, it's plush.  And from what I hear the local female talent there is unbelievable.  So I take the bet and sit downstairs in the office sipping on a Medalla and listening to the game on my computer. 

Yes, it's Puerto Rico, but it's really just another U.S. state- so we've got everything the states has- Satellite T.V., Sports Bars, and even Irish Pubs.  The only thing we don't have is the same thing you don't have- coverage of a game where the mighty Florida Gators plays a team like Charleston Souther University.

Now I know a team like CSU is just one step above a Junior College but everyone has a team like that on their schedule and it's good to stretch your legs before you jump into the real war- SEC football, baby!

And 58 points is 58 points.

Well, long story short;  Gators 62 CSU 3.

Thanks boys.  You never disappoint.

And Tebow, maybe it's time you go out and get yourself laid.  You've earned it, buddy.

So it's to the El San Juan I go.  I gotta feeling it's gonna be nice.

Whoah!

Dave and Molly...

Hey, talked with Dave and Molly tonight...

That one's ours.

Good enough.

Thank you guys.

And tomorrow is a new day...

Lost in Translation...

Went out tonight.

It was a long day at work- won't describe it because that one's mine.

So I went out and did one of the things I love most.

I went out for a beer and ran solo.

Now to my defense to what some of you are thinking I've got to say that this is the first time I explored the nearby nightlife on my own.  Mas o menos.

So yeah, went out for a beer at one of the local bars down the street.  Now keep in mind this was one of the local bars just across the street from the ocean.  A cool breeze, plenty of laughter, safe enough, and just right.

It's a tough life, but someone's got to do it right?

So I went out and had a few beers, practiced my Spanish a bit with the bartender and enjoyed myself.  And not to excess mind you- I do have to work tomorrow (of course my idea of excess is looking out at the ocean and wondering that if it was beer and good drink that maybe... just maybe, I possibly could drink almost all of it and ... aaaahhh you get the point.)

So there I was solo and content and decided it was time to return home.

On my way back home I came across a guy who asked me for a cigarette and light.  I obliged naturally and cautiously started talking to him. (Although this is one of the safest areas a guy can be- street smarts are a must here and you've got to be on the ball.)

So we were talking and I was trying my hardest to understand his Spanish. It was tougher than normal.

Damn this sucks, I must have a good buzz because I can't understand what the hell he's telling me.

I tried to listen some more, spoke as carefully as I could, guessed upon his Spanish accent and where he was from and still there was a massive communication problelm.

And that's when it hit me.

This dude is wasted!

Seriously, what language are we speaking?

And not only that I suddenly realized he was bat-shit crazy to boot.

Fuck, what can I say.  It's hard enough to figure out this mile a second language without having to decipher whether or not the person is completely fucking loco.

Luckily I've had my fair shair of experiences with such things.

Mainly being myself and my own confident sense of slurring.

It all makes sense up here,  as I often say and point to my head.

You guys know.

So I talked with him, shared a laugh, and skiddadled on.

And I loved every minute of it thinking...

Cutter?

You're crazy, I'm crazy, we're all crazy!

(Cary Grant? Gunga Din. Sayre/Guiol. George Stevens)

And so goes the world.

Pic from Mustard Gas and Catnip.

Tropical Depression Erika on Her Way!!!!!

I'm stoked for Tropical Depression Erika.  This probably means great waves for Puerto Rico and definitely for parts of the East Coast in the States.

Of course I mention my excitement here at the office and everyone turns and gasps, giving me the evil eye.

Apparantley a lot of Puerto Ricans don't have much of a sense of humor when it comes to Hurricanes and Tropical Depressions.

I try to explain that despite the danger of mass destruction and possibility of signifigant loss of life- that sometimes you just gotta take one for the team.  A good wave is well worth it.

 And then everyone goes Ape Shit!

 Puerto Ricans, I love em!

Aviones, Coqui Frogs, and Pissed Off Hawaiins...

At night, when I get that awesome moment to chill and maybe crack a cold one on my back porch, I get to listen to two of my favorite things in the world.

One is the sound of the planes passing by softly in the distance as they prepare to make the land into the San Juan Airport.  If you're thinking of the dry, ear-crushing, thunder-bursting steroetypical sound of a 747 zipping past think again.

Although San Juan Airport is less than a ten minute drive away, depending on the Tapon, (Tapon is Puerto Rican slang for traffic, it literally describes a cork in a bottle- a neat and accurate way of describing some traffic in San Juan). However, the sounds of the planes (Aviones) landing are actually gentle and soothing.  If I'm out on the front porch I can see them banking off in the distance and heading left as they prepare to land.

I don't know, what can I say, sometimes for me it's just the simplest of things...

And then of course is the real gem.

"Ko-Kee"

The sound of the Coqui Frogs chirping softly in all directions.

O.K., here's a great Fiction and Fact from the Lincoln Almanac...

The Coqui Frog is an awesome, beautifully singing frog that is specifically and only native to Puerto Rico. (Important Fact: I'm talking about this particuliar species of Coqui Frog.  There are lot of different species, many which live all over different parts of the Caribbean, but I'm talking about this particuliar species.  Okay, back to business...)

It's smaller than most people's thumbs and yet you can hear them at night just about everywhere in PR.

Also, the coqui frog, a tropical tree frog, produces a distinct two-note croak that sounds just like its name "ko-kee." The lower "ko" sound is a warning to other male frogs telling them to keep their distance. Only males listen and respond to "ko." The female coqui frogs listen to the higher-pitched "kee" note. When male frogs hear territorial calls from nearby male coqui frogs, they will drop the "kee" part of their call and concentrate on "ko" until individual frogs are spaced out to everyone's satisfaction. Then the coquis call to the female frogs with the higher-pitched "kee" notes. (Yeah, I'll go ahead and admit I jacked this info off the first website I could find. The rest of the Fiction and Fact from the Lincoln Almanac will be original, I promise).

One of my favorite stories about the Coqui frogs is that for the better part of their exhistence they only lived and survived in Puerto Rico. 

Then some jerkoff got the idea of Well, let's spread the love and see where else they could take them and see if they survive. Because everyone thinks like I do and wants to hear this...

Central America - Nope.  North America - Nope.  Canada - Of course no fucking way.

Just about everywhere they tried to relocate them was a failure.  And then there was Hawaii.

So someone brought them to Hawaii.  And with a little bit of struggle and single-minded will to invade and adapt- much like the white man before them- the Coqui Frogs soon got the hang of things and began to flourish.  

And this really pissed the Hawaiins off good.

I can hear them now. 

God damn Howlies!  First they come and invade our land.  Then they exploit us by using our name with products like sun tan lotion and cheesey surf gear- and now this?   You Motherfuckers!

Well, the Hawaiins might not of appreciated the sound of the Coqui frogs as much as the Puerto Ricans, but that's O.K. 

The majority of Hawaiins consider them a menace and pests and I guarantee if you enter a web search with the simple phrase Coqui Frog I bet you the first thing to pop up will be at least four or five Hawaiin websites bitching about these poor frogs and how to control the Ko-Keeing pests.

But not Puerto Ricans.

They fucking love em'.  And so do I.

And I'm pretty sure you will too.

Here, take a listen on the link below.  It's the best and most accurate link I could find.

And if you truly dig... well come on.

"Alohah you fuckin' Hawaiins!"

You're welcome anytime.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SZ7zTWe5Qrs

Hot Pockets and Peanuts...

San Juan, Puerto Rico.  Around 11:00 pm (Florida Boy Time)

And there I was.   

About 4 Medallas (Puerto Rican equivalent of Bud Lite) later and in San Juan, Puerto Rico.  I skipped through the terminal excited and ready to rock.

I get to the baggage claim which was an interesting experience in itself.  After waiting around a little bit and scoping out some of the local incoming talent I found my bag and tried to walk out into the Puerto Rican night.

Again no dice.

For those of you that haven't experienced the San Juan Airport here's some IMPORTANT ADVICE:
 You've got to have your baggage claim ticket to match your bag in order to leave with your luggage.  This isn't the States.

You're not in Kansas anymore, Dorothy. (This will become a popular line in the next couple of days once the rest of the Grizzwalds arrive.)

So after digging through all my pockets I finally find my claim ticket.  Bingo!  And then I'm out in the Puerto Rican night.

I light up a smoke and wait for the old man to pick me up.  One smoke down and then I wait some more.  No problemo.  This is why God invented cell phones.

I call him and tell him I'm there and ready to go.  He says he's at the Airport but all the way at the beginning of the terminal- there's some kind of traffic blocking everything and it's stop and go.

I look at the Airport street and notice dozens upon dozens of cars whizzing by.

Ah, my old man.  I just know that he's still on the couch and casually taking his time.

Fortunately, he only lives about five minutes away and I know it shouldn't be long.

Smoke em' why you got em'.

Another ten minutes go by and I wait some more.  Finally he shows up and we give the pat on the shoulder and load up my one bag and head off.

Ahh, the San Juan night. 

I've only been here two times before and the last time was about 4 years ago- Just after the Puerto Rican Olympic basketball team beat the U.S. Olympic team in the Olympic exhibition games.  Boy were the Ricans going nuts then!  And it was good.  Even Rome has to fall sometimes.

So we cruise down the highway and my Dad is pointing out different landmarks and streets and trying to be the best guide he can be.  I kind of feel like telling him that it's the middle of the night, I'm a bit ripped, I hardly remember any of San Juan, and that we could be in my own backyard and I still wouldn't know where I was.  Instead I just listen and laugh with him as we drive. 

And then we get back to his place.  Our place (Although I hadn't come to terms with the idea at the time.)

First things first and he shows me the downstairs office.

Holy shit!

He has moved the office of Price Transportation Services since the last time I was here.  The last time I was here he lived lived in a small high rise apartment complex a few miles down the road in a part of San Juan called Santurce.

This place is a bit different.

The downstairs apartment, structured more like a house than the tiny apartment I knew in the past, is the office of Price Transportation- fucking awesome.  In the main area (or living room if you will) is about  five to six desks with a few computer towers buzzing in the corner.  I look around in shock for the first couple of moments.  The old man's been busy and has expanded a little bit.

Now keep in mind this isn't the digs of a Microsoft Corporate High Rise or even a modestly impressive office space in the States, but from what I had expected from my memory of before I can honestly say I was really impressed.  I mention this to him and he looks at me strangely.

I never told you I moved and hired three more employees?

No Pop, you sure didn't.

And thus is the best example of one of our biggest problelms - communicating with one another.  Remember, he's never asked me to come here before and help out on a more serious level and I've never asked him for the opportunity.  Also remember I'm not here basking in the lap of luxury- the recession that we know in the States swings all ways and it's hitting here as well.

And now I'm here.

So I check out the front part of the office, the employee kitchenette, and then the two offices in the back.  He has one of the offices and PTS's longest and hardest working employee, our Operations Manager, Poli has the other.

Nice digs, Pop, nice digs.

Then we walk back out to the main office and he nods towards the corner to my desk.  A long white folding table with a laptop, phone, and blue lawn chair.

Plush, baby, plush. 

I laugh and we head upstairs.

Upstairs is his apartment.  Our apartment.  A two bedroom with a small kitchenette, bathroom, and two bedrooms, one which is mine.

It's got a T.V. with satellite and a small A.C. unit ( Something that I am now learning blows so much dust into the room that if you don't clean it regularly then you'll be coughing and sneezing throughout the next day.)

And there the lap of luxury ends.

Beyond that I look at the sleeping arrangements.  On the floor to the right is a decent enough air-mattress, a thin old crusty sheet, and an even older looking pillow that I just know used to belong to his Cocker Spaniel (Spunky) until he decided to upgrade him and toss the hand-me-down to me.

Across from the air mattress is an old black futon that sags directly in the middle.  A red sheet lies on top.  Not exactly the Ritz.  And I love it.  (In truth, it's a lot nicer than it sounds- windows that let in plenty of light, the sound of planes gently landing off in the distance, and the best part, the sound of the Coqui frogs gently chirping in the distance- but we'll get to them later.)

And really I love it.

After the initial tour I regretfully mention that I'm hungry- I've only been traveling for about 10 hours straight, not mention I've been up for God knows how long- and could use a bite.

No problem he says and shows me the fridge.

Oh shoot, he says, looking inside.  I really meant to go shopping early.  No worries.  Here, have a hot pocket and some of the peanuts I scored on my last business flight and we'll pick up some food tomorrow.

He tosses a couple Hot Pockets at me and a small mini-bag of American Airlines peanuts.

I look at him, waiting for him to smile and get to the punchline.

Smile he does and then mentions he's tired and would like to go to bed.

And this is my old man.  The Prez.  The Man.  Clark Grizzwald and John Candy mixed together in one body.  And I love every bit of him.  

I laugh and say goodnight and look down at my Hot Pockets and Peanuts. 

Fuck it, I'm no stranger to either and walk over to the microwave to burn a couple of masterpieces.

Oh yeah, he calls out from the bedroom, There's also a case of Medalla in the bottom of the drawer.  It's all yours.

My fucking old man.  He's saved my life in so many ways and I love every bit of him.

A case of Medalla beer.   

It's a party!  It's a party.

Pool Bars, Rhastas and Rum and Cokes...

Jax to Miami + Lincoln Price on mild bender + headwinds and slight weather = 1 hour of flight time and a motherfucker that at first doesn't even realize he's at a layover in Miami.

Damn, that was a quick flight.  In Puerto Rico already? Who knew that little prop plane could haul ass like that.

For real though one- could hardly tell that much of a difference from Miami Airport to Puerto Rico if your not paying that much attention.

So I'm at the Miami Airport. 

A little shuttle from the tarmac to the main terminal and then I catch a quick drag out front and then hit security.

 O.K. fuckers I'm ready this time.

No dice.  I get to the long line at security and there is a tall, black guy with dreads weaved up on top of his head like Marge Simpson and screaming about bullshit and harrassment.  He is pushing his way through the crowds and even manages to give me an elbow.

What the fuck is this guys problem?  Doesn't he know I'm a man on a mission too?

Security soon surrounds him and asks him to calm down.  He must of had some kind of recent trouble because he is screaming about bullshit, white people, righteousness, rhasta rights, and fuck all you motherfuckers and get out of my way. 

Oh, he ain't Rhasta...

And oh yeah, he's going down.  And there he goes.  To the defense of the security guards he was way out of control from my view.  Don't know if Bob would of been so proud.

So I watch the show for a bit and then realize it's time to scaddaddle.  I've got bigger fish to fry-  pool bars and rum and cokes!

A few years ago, more years than I'd like them to be, Ryan McDermott had driven me there on one of my last outings to The Land in Costa.  Long story short we were a few hours early so he offered to show me one of the best kept secrets in Miami, Fla - The upstairs pool bar on top of the airport. 

the pool bar- where the hell it is I don't know, ask that greasy bastard, Rhino.

Couldn't tell you how to get there now but I was a man on a mission and sure as hell looked all over it between flights.  Tried and asked everywhere.  Apparently it's a hell of a secret and couldn't get many answers.  Finally, somebody mentioned I was talking about the Admirals Club around Gate D34, which lucky for me, was the next gate over from my departure to Puerto.  Off I went.

EEEEHhhhhh! Nope. Try Again.  Apparently I was off in my assumption that just anyone could get in the Admirals Club and was stopped at the main entrance.  Looks like you need a pass or something.  I also remembered that Ryan had showed me a back entrance, one which I couldn't find.  Oh that McDermott - he's a sneaky bastard, ain't he.

The Admirals Club. Pass required.

So instead I opted for the downstairs public bar and downed my tall rum and coke at the only outdoor smoking area around.  A tiny little rectangle of a gas chamber that was hot, stinky, and so full of fumes you could gag to death if you took enough deep breaths in a row.  Me - I had a rum and coke and a full smoke - I was in fucking heaven. 

Whoop, bam, down, inhale and I'm gone.

I get to my gate and the guy at the counter tells me I'm the last one.  I check the time and mention there's still ten minutes till departure.  He says no importa and let's go.  Apparently Puerto Rican time doesn't quite apply yet.

And there I was.  2 in a half hours to go and then I'm Puerto Rico Terra Firma.

Up, up and away. 

Uh stewardess, yeah - Medalla cerveza and  of course-

PAPPAS

Hey Utah - make it two!   

(Gary Busey.  Point Break.  Katharine Bigelow. King and Lliff.)

Dark Skies Ahead...

So there I was.

Riding in the car on my way to the Jacksonville Airport and watching pitch black skies settle just on top of the runways with sporadic bolts of lightning dancing just across the horizon.

Pouring down rain.  Dark skies ahead.

At the time I had a mild buzz and was trying to keep in good spirits, wondering what lied ahead of me a few hundred miles south in the caribbean.

Puerto Rico.

I hadn't slept a wink the night before- perhaps my biggest problem in life.  Yeah, despite all the vices I've got in my life a good bender of insomnia has always been my worst enemy.  Don't get me wrong.  When times are tought, the skies are dark, and the cave is cooking... well, I've been know to log in a solid twelve hours of sleep with ease. But this... this was tough. A new beginning with no answers, no expectations and no idea of what the hell I was going to do. 

Dark skies ahead, and there I go.  I slap my brother a five goodbye and I'm off into the airport.

I check my luggage, one bag, and realize I'm early enough to throw down a beer and enjoy the last of the Jacksonville feel.

One beer down, good cold tall draft of the lady, and then I'm off to security.

Security, let's just say I was a bit rusty.  I believe now I've got the fucker down pat and know the routine back and forth.  But then... gum wrappers, lighters, belt buckle- it all sets the sirens off and next thing I know I'm in that plastic booth with air blowing around me like some science fiction movie.

Then I'm off, down the runway and on the plane.

Still, dark skies ahead.        

         

Not that I don't trust your instincts guys... (Except that Dirty Hippie Trevor) but click on August above to get the early stories.  Esta bien?

Sorry.  It''s just not that easy for everyone to make the paddle out sometimes. 

Homan's Big Night Out...

Dave Homan in Chill Mode.  Nurses Beware.

Hey gang, here's another funny one.

Been talking/emailing Dave Homan and laughing and joking about all kinds of things.  He mentioned that he wouldn't mind if I posted the article about his Big Night Out on the town over a year ago where he uh... well let's just say he went big.

For those of you that know Dave Homan, and for those of you that know him like I do, well you know that in life the kid always goes big- especially when it comes to a little partying.  I know by reading the article below it might seem like things got out of control a bit, but I agree with the theory:

Ferris

A- You can never go to far.

(Matthew Broderick.  Ferris Bueller's Day Off.  Hughes. Hughes.)

So about a year ago I get a call from Ryan McDermott and he's laughing his ass off, saying that through the grapevine he found an article through Google about Homan's Big Night Out.

Of course I read it and laughed my ass off. 

Let me just say it's one of those had to be there moments, or in this case, one where you had to hear the story from Dave Homan personally to really appreciate the situation.

Damn, brother, you always do Go Big.

So anyway, Dave and I have been talking and he's given me the greenlight to run with this one.

In his complete defense Dave says... well shit, here's what he says in his exact words via email:

Link,

if it makes you laugh, post it up .. also mention that I've abstained from drinking for the good of greater Boston and surrounding areas since the incident...i still slap nurses however.

I love it.  So check out the following article posted on The Brookline's Police Report Blog:

Arrest:

Occurred between 12:14 AM and 12:44 AM 1651 Beacon St.

David Homan, 33 yrs, was arrested and charged with resisting arrest, malicious damage to a building, and assault and battery.

Police responded to reports of a disorderly person at the Golden Temple. Upon arrival they observed the kitchen to be in disarray with dozens of broken plates, prepared food, and other items scattered on the floor. Mr. Homan was placed under arrest and brought to the police station. Fallon ambulance determined that they were going to transport him to Beth Israel Hospital. While the subject was being escorted to a room he slapped a nurse across the face and became very belligerent. During a struggle to restrain the subject, he also managed to hit the officers.

Ah yes, I fucking love it.

Just in case some of you think I'm exaggerating this article in my own words please feel free to varify from the following link:    http://blog.brooklinepolice.com/2008/02/february-1st-3rd-police-reports.html

And if you ever get the luxury of talking with Dave Homan personally I highly recommend you hear his side of the story.

Me, I'm proud of him.  In more ways than he'll probably ever know.

You're a true inspiration, brother. 

Except maybe when it comes to nurses.

Whoah!

Homan, Lassy and Dave O.  Back atcha boys.