Greetings from a slightly more farmer tanned David. Sorry for the long layoff of posts. (I doubt the apology is really necessary since no one, almost assuredly, suffered from any angst waiting for the next blog.) As promised the blog would not be 100% sports related, and here is an attempt to tackle something a little more light hearted and personal to the goings on of my life.
Recently my wife and I took the kids to visit their aunt and uncle in Florida. This trip had two main themes. Long car rides and going to the beach. The long car rides, predictably, were boring for the most part. Therefore, they will go uncovered except to say two things. I can't help but wonder if it annoyed my wife to stop at every baseball field between Dallas and Pensacola so I could add to my minor league hat collection (I know it annoyed Braden, because every time we stopped anywhere the phrase "please tell me this is not about a baseball hat" was muttered from the back seat). Also, the show swamp people has infested my family's minds. Vanessa, Braden, and I rated every creek, lake, river, and puddle from Louisiana all the way to Florida based on the likelihood of being able to catch a gator there. None of us will ever catch a gator anywhere thus making the exercise futile if not a decent way to pass time. That sums up the car trip, if you desire anymore coverage of that particular area email me and I'll forward you route directions and playlists.
Now to the more interesting stuff. The beaches in Pensacola, and Destin. First of all, the white sand beaches are amazing. It shouldn't surprise anyone, but the Florida beaches beat the crap out of anything we have here in Texas (Sorry South Padre fans). Pensacola Beach, as described by my brother, is a party beach. This was extremely evident when we went on Saturday morning. The thing that stands out most in my mind is the guy who was to drunk to walk on sand, but he had the genius idea that walking in the ocean would be much easier. Had he actually drowned it wouldn't have been near as funny, but with each wave he took spectacular falls only to stand up a little more dazed, and a little more confused. When I offered a "hey buddy, are you good?" he had the witty retort of a slow turn of the head, a drunken stumble nearly leading to a fall on top of Braden (which would have lead to an ass beating of epic proportions) and the obvious inability to make actual words come out of his mouth. He later almost got his ass kicked for digging in the wrong backpack before passing out in a lawn chair which he hopefully awoke to a massive sunburn and throbbing headache. I had some other head scratching observations from that particular beach. Such as, is it really necessary to play beer pong at the beach? Could you not have just grabbed your 24 pack and got drunk as you want sitting in the waves, or do we need to make the beach more kick ass by adding beer pong? Idiocracy if you ask me. Also, you know your courting efforts of a young lady have gone awry when the following line is issued, "You are here with your grandparents? Wait, how old are you?" I had to bite my lip when I heard a guy say that on his way to a strike out equivalent to when the Mighty Casey was playing for the Mudville Nine. All that being said, it is truly amazing to me that beach bums can be so laid back and easy going when they have so much sand in so many cracks where it is never comfortable. The beach is a great place, but I am pretty sure there is a negative correlation between the number of kids you are responsible for and the amount of fun you can have at the beach. It became a tedious task unloading all the required equipment to make it possible to have a 6 year old and a 5 month old at the beach all morning. Then getting everyone heavily sunscreened (spf 110, we shun the sun). Then after swimming getting everyone rinsed off, towels and blankets shaken out, and buckets of sand dumped out.
I will leave you with this last short thought. On Sunday morning my brother and I snorkeled in Destin. Conditions were not great, but it was really fun. The current in the ocean was going so fast I could swim like Michael Phelps going with it (or inversely my brother, who is well on his way to being a Navy rescue swimmer, had to swim at full strength against it just to stay in one place), and schools of jellyfish two of which stung me pretty good, cut the day a little short, but that is something I definitely want to do again and highly recommend. (My old english teacher would have marked that last sentence up like crazy, that is a run on if I've ever seen one).
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