Parasailing Punchline

I've done a lot of things in my life. Parasailing was not one of them, until today. As noted previously, the view is extraordinary. Better still: being seated -- no harnesses -- next to my wife for the shared experience of being as close to flying as man can really get.

The punchline: the Caribbean was rough today. Very rough. So much so that the jet-ski ride to the launch boat gave me motion sickness. And, five minutes after I got out of the parasail seat, I leaned over the starboard bow of the boat and repeated my breakfast all over paradise.

I love vacation!

What I Came For

The magnificent Caribbean Sea...seen from 250 feet above while parasailing Tuesday afternoon.

Breathtaking.

I Love Me Some Dinner

At the Sun Palace in Cancun, all your meals are included. Including the filet mignon and mashed potatoes I nearly had an inappropriate relationship with last night.

Having lost over 40 pounds to get ready for this, I fear most of that weight may return.

If you're a good eater -- you know who you are -- go all-inclusive and bring a larger pair of pants.

If Michael Jackson Wasn't Dead, This Would Have Killed Him

At the Sun Palace, all your evening's entertainment is included. Tonight: it's the "Michael Jackson Show."

The faithful assemble in a ballroom and are seated around a stage adorned by a pair of video screens that have seen better days (one has a swath of tape holding it's middle together), and told to await "MJ." And, at the appointed moment, here comes a skinny, off-color, high-water-pants wearing "impersonator" to not only try to dance like The King Of Pop, but to lip-sync his performances as well.

He's backed up by four "dancers:" one, a stunningly constructed blonde-brunette lady, is the only performer who saves this show, or at least comes close. At least two of the three others rely on their ability to perform breakdance moves; the other, a dude of at least age 30, is overweight.

This travesty goes on for the best part of an hour I'll never get back in my life, and may be the gayest thing I've ever seen. It's so unbelievably bad, it must be seen to be believed -- though not on a full stomach.

How really awful was this? My wife, who loved Michael and his music as much as anyone could, was the first person in the front row (admission of guilt) to leave the room. Quickly. Before the host was finished wrapping it up.

Bad. Bad. Really, really bad.

Getting There

Like a lot of other resort destinations in Mexico, Cancun looks at the American tourist, his newly purchased short pants bursting with American currency, and asks: how can we bleed this bastard completely dry?

From the minute you are cleared to come into this country, hucksters and pitchmen of every sort and description are attempting to sell you something...ANYTHING...to get your money. Today, it's travel. Resort tours...hotels...attractions...and that most precious of commodities (to us), transportation.

Thankfully, our travel agent has already arranged a transfer for the four of us from the Airport to the Sun Palace all-inclusive resort where we'll spend the next ten days. Good thing, too...because between buses that I am pretty sure were used to haul Montezuma's men two centuries ago (and have the missing doors and windows to show for it) and the cabbies who got their careers by painting the word "Taxi" on the side of whatever four-wheeled motorized contraption they could dig up, "getting there" can be as much an adventure as the tours they want you to buy.

Our transfer does not go completely without incident: it takes nearly 30 minutes to get off the platform and into the Best Day Tours van. Bear in mind: the temperature and humidity combined make today feel like 106 degrees...and I'm a fat guy! Thanks to my bro, the lone participant in the native Spanish language, we're taken very good care of on the way. Once we're actually on the way.

On Arrival

The closest I've come to international travel is an eight-hour excursion into Ensenada, Baja California, Mexico...part of a cruise package we took in 1994.

Cancun is a whole different beast. And, post-911, getting into it is no easy task.

On arrival here in the resort jewel of Mexico's east coast, one immediately notices the heat. We've plenty of it here...at 300pm central time, the mercury is a mild 92 degrees. Add in the 70 percent humidity, and your sweat glands get the message: get busy, son...and start drenching the American before he can get too comfortable.

Cancun Airport has one of the best organized immigration and baggage claim systems in Mexico. So I am told by one of the bi-lingual locals who I happen to strike up a conversation with while waiting to get through the four hundred other people whose flights just landed at the same time ours did. When I get to the baggage area, I find six carousels full of people's prized possessions...and a very, very long queue of people waiting to get those possessions x-rayed by the Mexican government officials who have compressed those four hundred folks into three lines.

And then, there's customs. Make sure you have the right form filled out; make sure you've signed it in two places; and then go through a series of snaking lines and winding paths to get to the minimum wage government lackey who looks at your incorrectly filled out immigration forms; scans your passport while giving you the once-over, and decides you're not much of a threat to make things tough in his homeland. Three rubber stamps later and you're off to the ground transportation platform.

This is where the fun begins.

The Long And Winding Air

As I put this into my laptop to transfer it later, we've made the first leg of our journey from Sacramento to Cancun. It's a 96-minute hop on USAirways to Phoenix and its bustling Sky Harbor Airport. USAir occupies two terminals here. We've learned this, because our first plane landed at 749am at gate A2...and our Cancun flight is to board at 829am at gate B28. It's exactly as long as it sounds...two full terminals away, and a lot of moving through airports done by folks whose fastest move at this hour of the morning -- let's be honest -- is to the crapper.

It also does not help that, before we are allowed to deplane in Phoenix, paramedics have to come on board to assist a very nice gentleman at the rear of the plane, who has run into a bit of trouble on this, his 74th birthday. Apparently, no one knew flying would trigger his heart and breathing to go askew. Happily, we're told he'll be fine.

For the next flight, USAir has us on a Boeing 757. It's not called that because it's a model number; we're fairly sure 757 is the year this piece was constructed. There are painted sections of the wing that aren't painted (a real confidence booster); video monitors folded out of the ceiling that were probably once security monitors at a prison; and a decided lack of in-flight entertainment (six channels of the alleged audio service don't work, but you'd not know it unless you brought your own headphones - this flight won't sell you any).

USAir also charges seven bucks for a beer or a sandwich; seven bucks for a pillow and blanket; and 23 bucks for your first checked bag (if you check in online first). This, on top of their already non-existent low fares.

As this leg of the journey is set to start, it is already delayed. Mechanics are running in and out of the plane, brandishing screwdrivers and other metal implements. We're told that it's a minor problem...it ends up taking 30 minutes to fix...and by the time we're in the takeoff queue, we're on the ground an extra three-quarters of an hour.

Oh, but at least I've got that seven dollar beer to look forward to...

An American In Mexico

My wife and I are escaping the work-a-day world, at least for a spell, and traveling to that most urbane and well-developed of places...Mexico!

Considering that I know just enough spanish to get my ass kicked in the Taco Bell drive-through line, this ought to be more than just your standard vacation adventure. Our traveling companions are our dearest friends, one of whom is using this trip to celebrate a milestone birthday. Her fiancee' is the only true Spanish speaker in the bunch. A fact not lost on any of us as we tried to learn as many spanish words as we could over the last weeks and months.

Follow me as I chronicle a ten-day excursion to that jewel of the Caribbean, Cancun...ready to explore?

Entirely Random

I have no issues with people who are carrying extra weight...I am a fat guy by habit! However...on Saturday at my local gym, a woman with a large posterior thought it would be a good idea to wear white spandex workout tights. And a thong. What are we thinking, people?

Am I the only one who thinks men don't understand women because they don't listen and at least attempt to understand?

Nothing against Mississippi, Alabama or Tennessee...but yesterday's outbreak of tornadoes make me very glad I do not live there.

During breakfast this morning, I drove my wife nuts by playing Sinatra; Johnny Mathis; and James Brown on the jukebox. I don't believe in "formats." I believe in good music.

Which brings me to Kings Of Leon: I am a few months behind everyone else, but I started getting into it about two months ago. Pretty real stuff.

Which brings me to Lady Gaga: I was out in front on this one. I continue to look at her and say, "And?" Sorry. Not getting it.

The people I love most in life are the people who are actually grateful to have me in their lives...and show it! Remember: love is an action...not a "statement." It isn't love until you give it away.

When you're in Rocklin, California, stop by Venita Rhea's for breakfast. Old fashioned, one-off joint that does breakfast incredibly well.

I hear the Caribbean coast of Mexico is lovely this time of year...might have to check that out.

Patience

Lesson learned: do not be so quick to believe everything is going to be as it is now. Life, much like this moment, is short. And temporary.

No, this has nothing to do with Butler beating Michigan State. Get your mind out of the bucket.