Vertebrae by vertebrae roll your way out of a coma

Second Day in Jamaica (Monday, November 21, 2005)

9:30 – I somehow make my way out of bed at a reasonable hour, and wander down to the pool to lay right back down. My sister points out that breakfast is over at 10 (or more accurately it stops being served) so I should go get something. I plough through a huge plate of waffles with random syrups (maple, chocolate, some kind of berry, and ice cream, which melts into a syrup). I also ignore everyone’s suggestions to get some fruit.

10:30 – After being accosted by various resort employees attempting to get me off my ass I wander into the pool and after about 10 minutes of floating around make my way to the swim-up bar to order the pinkest drink they have. It is called a Copacabana and you can get it without alcohol. That is even fruitier than a drink with booze so I go for that option. I float along with my fruity drink and head back to my chair on the pool deck, chosen for its wonderful vantage point of the pool. I think I spent the next 2 hours alternating between being asleep, reading, and checking out random girls. I could live like this.

12:30 – Head to the jerk shack for lunch. A couple people in front of us in line request utensils and are cussed out by the cook. Apparently one does not eat barbequed chicken with a fork and knife. My dad and I pick a few random chicken parts out of the pile and head back to try it out. The chicken is most definitely barbequed, and also not jerked. I would consider the chicken shack a bust were it not for the cook heckling the patrons. I want to hire him for my bar, but I don’t think he would like the cold.

1:00-4:30 – I sit in the sun. Not much else happens. I’m sure at one point I contemplated heading up to do CASB, but obviously hot girls in bikinis trump trying to succeed in the CA profession every single time. Hell, moderately attractive girls in swimsuits trump becoming a competent accountant every single time. I had a few of the random beers they serve at this resort and went to grab some pizza with my older sister.

Oh ya, in here at some point I decide to try windsurfing. Since I am mediocre at every other board sport I have tried I have every reason to add one more to my arsenal. The best thing I can say about this experience is that I provided physical comedy for most everyone on the beach. Like watching a fat kid fall down stairs. The dude teaching me kept saying it was ok because it was my first time, then making jokes in some other language when I was almost out of earshot. I vow to try this again before we are done here, although I still don’t really get the idea of having to ride both goofy and regular depending on where you want to go.

4:30 – Supper – Getting clean was a priority as I had been in the ocean, and that just makes you feel gross. After a shower and realizing all my shirts are super wrinkled due to shitty packing, I head off to the bar to find my parents. They are seated with another old couple engaged in some serious discussion. After seating myself and drinking a couple beers from the tap I decided to ask about getting a Red Stripe. They don’t have glass bottles outside of the hotel rooms here, but the bartender says she will look into it for me. About a half hour later after I have forgotten my request she returns with three bottles and says I shouldn’t drink them out front because she had to grab them from the staff room or something. I head back to the room to throw them in the room after slipping her whatever American money I had in my pocket – a maximum of $7, if that. Red Stripe is still a shitty beer, but I thought I should try some while here.

Supper – We head to one of the actual restaurants in the resort, this one the apparent steak house/grill joint. Our wine guy (I wouldn’t call this dude a sommelier) is just cooked, and having a hell of a time. He made the meal substantially better with his random banter. I had the Australian beef cubes which just ended up being a steak. I was looking forward to some kind of random beef kabobs or something. It was still good though. Our wine guy informs us that the Michael Jackson review is on that night and that we should watch it. Being a huge Michael Jackson fan I am all for it.

8:30 – 9:00 – We sit a ways back from the stage and drink random fruit drinks while listening to some cheesy band that would not be out of place at a high school dance. My older sister is devastated that we are sitting there listening to some kind of easy listening reggae covers, but there really isn’t much else to do. I entertain myself by guessing the ages of random girls.

9:00 – 9:30 – They pull 6 guys from the audience on stage and make them do their best Michael Jackson impression. The first dude is some absolutely trashed fat guy from Toronto who brings the house down with the most awkward dance moves this side of the EY Christmas Party. He absolutely gave’r on stage. The only one who could compete is another guy from Toronto, who resists dancing at first but eventually busts out some straight Wild Style popping and locking. It had nothing to do with Michael Jackson, but was so out of left-field that I think he eventually won. It is amazing to think that this forty-something black dude kept up with his 1980s dance moves just in case a situation like this arose.

9:30 – 11:30 – The actual Michael Jackson impersonator takes over and we are treated to 2 hours of lip-synching to old Michael Jackson songs with a huge dance troop backing it all up. I’m not gonna say it was awesome, but it was probably right up there. How often do you get to see some skinny black dude with his face painted white dance around like Michael Jackson? Not often enough I say.

And that was the whole day.

Peace.