SOMEWHERE IN THE GULF OF MEXICO – A good sign that you have sufficiently drown your Hurricane Ike-related sorrows: When you are in Cozumel and, after you drink your lunch at Senor Frog’s, you return in the evening to drink your dinner at Senor Frog’s.
And you happily wear a Phallic Balloon Hat.
It could be much worse, of course. Our Carnival Cruise ship is safe, docked in Cozumel for two days while we wait for Galveston to re-open. Initially our return was planned for Sunday – in time to drive back to Dallas, watch a dozen NFL football games, get DallasBasketball.com re-loaded, review Cowboys-Eagles for DallasBlog.com, and prepare for Monday’s planned closing on a new home. Now it looks like the authorities won’t allow us back into Galveston until possibly Tuesday. And when we do, amid the infinitely more important lives lost or upset due to the billions of dollars of devastation, we’re assuming we’ll find my new Toyota Tundra (Hi, Toyota of Irving! Hi, Nationwide Insurance!) underwater and upside-down.
If we find it at all. You know, those Tundras can endure most anything. But they ain’t exactly canoes.
Nate is in Lubbock at Texas Tech, and is a little worried. Tony is in Dallas in the same mood, as is my mom, back in Colorado. Marcia’s family is calm – except her 80-year-old dad, an old Navy man whose father was a spy for the British Navy, who sounds like he’s about ready to confiscate a helicopter to personally air-lift us the hell out of here.
But really, we’ll be fine. Admittedly, watching too much CNN is filling me with an apocalyptic feeling; it seems that all along the Texas shore, what’s not under water is on fire. And repeated warnings of how Ike plans to amble up to DFW are less than comforting.
So Marcia keeps winning the Karaoke contests (touchingly, she sings “Hopelessly Devoted To You’’ with feeling), I keep losing at Blackjack because my math-deprived brain can’t add 8+6 quickly enough (I am smart enough to have learned that my endless hands of 8+6 aren’t fortuitous) and I keep splitting victories in all the trivia contests. There’s this one son of a bitch who plays “Newman’’ to my “Seinfeld.’’ He looks like Newman, acts like Newman, is obviously, in his ability to stick with me in sports, movie and music trivia, is underhanded like Newman, too.
I must say, I am getting a little sick of humans; they dress poorly and they often stink. I do my best; in the computer room, I’ve guided more than a few ancients in the Art of the Email. I got on my knees and sang “My Girl’’ to one grandmotherly lady. And when children run down the halls in front of my cabin, I only occasionally stick my leg out of my door to trip them.
One guy accused me of stealing his custom-made omelet. The chef handed it to me as he and I thought it was mine. Then a guy taps me on the shoulder.
“Did you order a ham omelet?’’
No, I said apologetically, and I handed him the plate.
“Did you even order an omelet at all?’’ he said accusingly.
“No,’’ I snarled. “I never order omelets. We’ve been on this boat for a week, and I never order an omelet. All I do is stand alongside the omelet line, like an omelet vulture, and when some schlemiel like you orders something that sounds tasty, I pretty much just intercept it. And then I run away.’’
I swear I said that. Furthermore, after I said it, some other omelet customer gave me the evil eye. So I said, “Do you want me to steal yours, too?’’
I guess I dislike people even more than usual right now.
Anyway, thanks for the emails and the prayers. Dave T and Techsan are keeping DallasBasketball.com running smoothly. Mark Cuban and Donnie Nelson are kindly not making any earth-shattering moves while I’m gone. ;) Dallas Observer editor Mark Donald, with whom I am working on a project, has been more than patient. Richie Whitt was kind enough to update my Fantasy Football roster (sign of The Week That Was To Come: My first-round pick was Tom Brady). The good people at Scout.com, DallasBlog.com and Sports Page Weekly are graciously giving me time off. (Without pay, but still. …)
Oh, and that Palin woman still isn’t in charge of anything important yet. So there is still time for me to do my part to “steal her omelet,’’ you might say. (Speaking of apocalyptic movements. … wow. Can’t wait for her to give a State of The Union Address while speaking in tongues.)
Soon, we’ll be home. I’ll miss the all-you-can-eat bacon and all the ever-smiling service staff made up of happy-to-be-here Romanians and my crappy little trivia trophies and I’ll miss my Penis Balloon Hat.
I’ll even sort of miss the weird combo-feeling of calm and of gloom. When we gaze out our balcony onto the Caribbean and the Gulf of Mexico, I sense both: A seemingly-endless beautiful blue vision that, this week, really is almost “endless’’ at it extends inland, over streets and houses and buildings and. … my car.
And soon – once we are home and everything is squeegied dry -- it’ll be time to plan next year’s vacation. Some of you have questioned the wisdom of being at sea in hurricane season, and I’ll heed your warning.
Summer of ’09, it’s all dry land. Baghdad, here we come!
... written by Dallasite1 , September 14, 2008
Don't worry Fish. CNN, and the other cable news networks, made this out to be the worst of the worst.
In the end it was bad for Galveston, but no worse that Alicia in 1983.
As for Dallas, it may have sneezed on us on the way past. The rain wasn't bad, and the winds were non-existent. As morbid as it sounds, I was a little disappointed. We have worse storms every Spring.