There used to be a time when families would go on vacation and then when they came back there might be a slide show for the presumed pleasure of the neighbors in which the authority figure - so often the tyrannical and patriarchal father - would dispense his enforced wisdom and voice his laborious tales concerning the minutiae of their trip. Luckily there were some people even then, neighbors - I mean the 70s and 80s - usually another tyrannical father, fueled by booze, who was willing to be openly irreverent in the face of such collective domestic stupidity.
Yet that is how I first remember experiencing the idea of travel, and its associated jealousies.
So that's what today's post will be: a family vacation slide show of sorts. It is best viewed by projector onto a white wall with the occasionally blinding white frame where I forgot to add a slide correctly. Your entire family should sit at strict and quiet attention when viewing these priceless images. Imagine my reassuring voice reciting the lead lines for each, like a slightly depressed and American version of David Attenborough.
Here is my son telling me not to take his picture when he's taking a poop and playing with Legos.
Here are our Costa Rican friends, Leo and Eles, whom we came to visit.
Here is mom, happy about being on vacation.
And here is the only jungle god that I was able to find who was worthy of my reverence and worship. I spent all of my time mumbling incantations towards it, burning incense, trying to appease its occasional volcanic anger.
As usual, I was more than prepared to throw a virgin into a volcano and spent my time near the pool searching for one, demanding to inspect the hymen.
There is a shop on the way off the peninsula that sells these stone gods, so that I might be able to better worship at home, or from afar, also.
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