When you find yourself spending too much time worrying over your work and responsibilities, it is considered helpful to pack your things and move to a distance from which you can't do anything about them. This is a vacation, of course, and I gratefully had the opportunity to take one during a rather stressful period in my comfortably dull life. For over a month now I have been running mice through a maze for hours on end in the hopes that I can prove the basic scientific theory that, if you run mice through a maze for hours on end, you deserve a good lab grade. Taking leave was the best way to regain my sanity, and if I was lucky enough a few of the furry little demons would have keeled over by the time I returned. (For the environmentalists: I love animals, really. But I swear they know they're being used and are conspiring to bump me off!)

 

I left with my family for two weeks in sunny Florida; a natural choice, being the snowbound Northeasternites we are. We drove ourselves there, which is a fine way to go if you enjoy IHOPs and the inability to feel your legs.

 

ARE YOU DRIVING IN A SOUTHERLY DIRECTION?

1. Is the temperature increasing as you travel on?

2. Are the number of pickup trucks on the road, especially those with barnyard animals in the back, increasing?

3. Do you feel your life is becoming more and more threatened by drivers who apparently received their licenses from international terrorists in an effort to dwindle our numbers?

 

If you answered "yes" to these questions or have already driven into the Gulf of Mexico, you're "goin' South"!

 

The retreat officially began in Orlando, tourist mecca of the nation. Actually, tourists are the only human beings that occupy this area since they never stay longer than a few weeks. Any people who have tried to take up long-term residence in the city have long since spontaneously combusted due to the sun's rays bouncing off all the tacky glitz and flourescent traffic signs* and heating the place up to inferno-intensity.

This doesn't stop merchandizing though! All shops and attractions are run by robot workers operated remotely by Canadians entrepaneurs (they're politeness gives them away). Not only are they sweet, they also emit mind-altering tourism rays that convince standing in endless lines and paying $3 for a bottle of water are fun things to do. And nowhere has this been mastered to a greater degree than in Disney World, where even the stingiest miser would gladly sell one of his kidneys for a Mickey Mouse ice cream bar as soon as he walks through the gates.

 

After we had all the fun we could afford in Orlando, we hitchhiked to St. Augustine for some relaxation. I was surprised by how peppy it was. Businesses were run by people named "Trip" and "Chip", and even the skaters wore Hilfiger. The beache scenery was beautiful--if you only looked at the sand and water. For there are two distinct types of beach tourists: those who should be wearing less, and those who should be wearing a LOT more. The ones who wore too much I could handle, but you would not believe the number of people I saw wearing Speedos that wouldn't even provide acceptable wrapping for a stick of gum. Don't even try to picture it mentally!

St. Augustine also has a historical district. As you may know, it was the first real settlement in America, established even before the Pilgrims or the Cubans arrived. It was founded by Ponce de Leon, who was searching for the "fountain of youth," but only found a lot of old people. That's what I found, anyway. We swam a little, had our picture taken with some chads, then hit the road for home. 

 

The trip home was a lot easier, since I was able to ride in my aunt and uncle's RV. When one usually thinks of a motor home they imagine dirty toilets, old camping gear, and the possible exposed buttcrack. But the RV I rode in was state of the art: style, comfort, and the thrill of peeing at 70 mph--all in one semi-sleek package. It wasn't that I was very picky about how I was to get back to New York. There always comes the time when the tourist knows he has had enough, and yearns for the comforts of home. I couldn't wait to go back to my old routine, my old friends, my conspiring mice...

 

Oh, crap.

 

 

  

 

 

*So you can see them in a snowstorm.