Too Many Tacos

I go away for five days and stuff happens. And not good stuff. My bank, Washington Mutual, fails, is seized and sold. Paul Newman, who has to be one of the most naturally perfect men of all time, dies. Plus all the rest, Afghanistan, Iraq, teen pregnancy, obesity, etc., that has come to define the country is still going strong. No good news there.

On a lighter note, I spent five brain numbing days in a walled off all-inclusive resort in Cabo San Lucas. It was so nice it was like I wasn't even in Mexico! I'm not sure if you know the deal with these places, but they're basically like adult sleep away camp, but with a lot more sun burnt skin and hilarious drunkenness. People go there to have a good time and it was fun to watch the groups that were whooping it up. Suffice to say, I was not among them.

That's me (above with my now perfectly grown-in short haircut) on a food and booze cruise, debating whether I'm sea sick prone or not. (Turns out not.) It was only one of the two times we set foot out of the compound, not counting the time we spent at the airport. On our last half day, we went into town to fill the couple of hours we had between check-out and getting picked for our return flight and I could see (and feel) the benefits of staying in a hotel in the town proper. Sure, no beach access, but we could have wandered around and seen Cabo, albeit one geared toward tourists and have done something besides eat and eat and eat. (They'll be much flailing around to atone for these five days which have turned into just so many pounds.) Either way, it was a nice break for the daily and I appreciate the m-i-l for making it happen, we wouldn't have taken a vacation otherwise. Why? Well, there's this little thing called the American economy...

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