If There’s No Music, It’s Not a Shark
So we packed our bags, hitched a ride (thanks, Robert), and headed off to Minneapolis to catch our flight to Florida. Of course, no flight would be complete without paying inflated prices at an airport newsstand, so Stephanie stopped at one to buy a magazine to read on the flight. The only one of interest to her seemed to be Entertainment Weekly with its cover story of Harry Potter. However, since she subscribes to that magazine and would get it in the mail, she chose People instead. I think it was People. It may have been some other magazine, but it definitely had people in it. That much I can almost guarantee! Anyway, she finished it at about the same time we left the gate.
So we flew to Atlanta. Then we flew to Sarasota. Then we rented a car and drove down to Englewood. (Florida.) On the way, we happened upon an ‘80s station on the radio. Growing up in the ‘80s, I grew up with a lot of ‘80s music. The memories of childhood were not mixed with memories of a trip only just begun. Really, I don’t consider it a trip to Florida now unless I hear “The Reflex” by Duran Duran. It’s become almost an automatic and often inborn response to a stimulus that involves a nerve impulse passing inward from a receptor to a nerve center and thence outward to an effector without reaching the level of consciousness.
Anyway, we followed directions to Pelican Palms (the beach house we were renting). We had just pulled into the garage when Matt and the gang were pulling out to go get pizza. So out we go for pizza. Perhaps later that night we’d get to finally see our living quarters. That would be nice.
But, as always, pizza comes first. I hadn’t had pizza since the airport, so I was long due for some. But finding a pizza place in Englewood, Florida is no easy task. There are almost no pizza places in Englewood to find, except for the 134 easily spotted when you aren’t looking for one. We finally ended up at Mama’s Pizza. Good pizza; especially if you’re feeling healthy and want a little extra grease to slow you down a bit. Actually, it wasn’t too different from the pizza at the airport; Sbarro’s, I believe.
But speaking of places of which there are plenty in Florida, pet grooming seems to be all the rage in Florida. I suppose all the sand in the ground and in the water and in the air can make ol’ Fifi a bit less fluffy. So you take him/her/it to the groomer and wha-laa! You have sparkly clean Fifi back.
But Florida is not just sand, pizza, and pets. Oh no! There are beaches, too. If you go to a beach in Englewood, you’ll find three types of people: those in the water, those sunning themselves (often under umbrellas), and those searching for things. The beach is a great place for finding collectables. At first, we went searching for pretty seashells. Then we went searching for shark teeth (the discarded kind; not the ones still in use). While searching the public beach, I personally added who knows how many items to my filthy-cigarette-butt collection. Trade ‘em and collect ‘em, I always say! And there is no place better for collections than Florida.
Of course, we spent some of the time in the water. Unfortunately, I cannot swim. So I did a lot of wading. Then I discovered something that changed the course of my swimming history: Matt’s offer to let me use their snorkeling equipment! I could look around with my head under the water and still breathe. After a while of that, you just lift your feet up and you’re kind of floating. Now, flail your arms about and kick your feet every once in a while and, bada bing, you’re vaguely swimming. Nothing to it. I’ve gotten so over-confident that I’m trying out for the U.S. swim team to participate next year’s Vague Olympics. At the Vague Olympics, everyone’s a winner -- kinda!
Now the key to fish watching is to just float. That way you don’t scare the fish. We saw several kinds of sea critters, all within a couple hundred feet of shore. We saw big fish. We saw small fish. We saw Angel fish (someone said “Look! Angel fish,” so I assume I saw them, too.). I saw a shark-like fish. As you can tell, I’m not fluent in fish, but the fish looked enough like a small shark that I said to myself “That looks like a small shark.” At the public beach, there was a manatee floating around for a bit. I think it got a bit too close to the beach and remembered it forgot to put on sunscreen and left. You can never have too much sunscreen on when you’re at the beach.
At the private beach, I was out practicing my vague butterfly stroke when someone yelled something about a dolphin. I looked up, and there was a dolphin several hundred yards away. Then it was spotted closer. Then closer. I thought, “Cool, I am only a couple hundred feet from a dolphin!” (It’s very rare that a dolphin would swim to my backyard in Rochester, Minnesota, so I think I have a right to be impressed by seeing a dolphin.) Then it came closer yet. I seemed only ten feet away from it. I thought I might never have the chance again, so I raced (or the wading equivalent of raced) to get as close as I could to it. My fellow travelers, who knew I needed corrective eyewear and wasn’t wearing said ware, screamed out that there was a dolphin there. I thought it was silly to be that worried about a dolphin (until I saw its evil goatee), so I ignored the warnings. Then I got closer to it and realized, as noted earlier, that I’m no expert on our friends in the sea (or, in this case, gulf). What if they’re wrong and it is really a shark? Would it really be wise to be vague aqua-racing to a shark? So I kind of slowed down to a vague aqua-jog, which is really about the stupidest thing I could do. If it is a dolphin, I’d never reach my goal of touching it. If it is a shark, I’m still moving (albeit slower) toward a shark. (In case some of you may be getting nervous while reading this, I do survive to write this.) Within seconds, the dolphin was gone. I turned around to tell my fellow travelers my vague-death defying story. They assured me that since there wasn’t any music, it couldn’t have been a shark. Remember that next time you’re swimming. It could save your LIFE!!
Of course, once you’ve had a vague run in with a dolphin/shark, you’ve pretty much hit the climax of a vacation. So, it’s back to the beach house to watch others play video games. The big one was Simpsons Hit and Run. They should have a warning on the game to not play it before operating heavy machinery. The game strongly encourages, if not requires, not following posted highway instructions and social etiquette. After playing this for several hours, you begin to translate it to real life. In short, while driving through Englewood trying to find restaurants only visible during non-dinner hours, you begin looking at parking lots and back yards to evaluate their usefulness as short cuts.
And speaking of short cuts, we decided to get away and play miniature golf. So, off we drove to Pelican Pete’s Playland for “Putt-Putt golf.” This is THE easiest course for putt putt I’ve ever played. For the first time ever, I was on the “happy side of par” for a course. One of our fellow travelers, Christian, got four holes-in-one. But, on the down side, the course special effects--every course has them; in this case it was a waterfall--was non-functioning. Here’s what I don’t understand. If you go to a car lot, do they charge you as much for the car without a windshield as they would the same car with a windshield? No! Of course not. So why should you have to play full price to play miniature golf if the theme portion isn’t functional? They should AT LEAST have a sign saying “as is” in the ticket window. Fair is fair, and fare should be fair.
The next day, Stephanie and I hopped in the rental car, drove to Sarasota, hopped on an airplane, flew to Atlanta, hopped on a different airplane, flew to Minneapolis, hopped in a shuttle, rode to Rochester, called a cab, hopped in a cab, and, just like that, we were home. Ironically, about the only form of transportation we didn’t take during our trip to the Gulf was a boat.
But we were safe at home.
There, we discovered that the Harry Potter issue of Entertainment Weekly we were supposed to have received was mysteriously missing!
And where is that music coming from?
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The opinions expressed here are solely those of the writer and do not neccessarily reflect those of the rest of the family.
© 2004, Mark Wentz