My family and friends are constantly amazed by the depth of my knowledge of
minutiae.  Trivial Pursuit?  I was always the winner.  Name the artist who sang
that obscure song?  I'm your guy.  Unfortunately, such prowess with "non-traditional"
knowledge did little to enhance my college grades or job prospects.

No matter, I always said.  *Someday* my ability to retain even the smallest scintilla
of trivia would bear fruit, and I'd have the last laugh.

Today is that day.
 

Thanks to my recollection of an obscure baseball record (set in 1998, when Mark McGuire
and Sammy Sosa were depleting the supplies of baseballs....but I digress), and the
generosity of Bartcop, an all expenses paid, luxury accomodations, first class trip
to that vacationeer's hot spot in the Caribbean was mine.

Yes, I speak of the magical island paradise of Aruba!!
Thank you Fernando Tatis....when was the last time a professional athlete
set a record and an average Joe got the prize?

Awaiting the big metal bird is a little nerve-racking.  I don't especially
enjoy flying, but unless I want to ride the Slow Boat to Aruba, it's the
only way to go.  Anyway, I've queried the Airline (Air Aruba, of all
things!) and they assure me that there is only a small, probably
negligible, chance of the plane crashing.  So, with that tentative
encouragement in mind, I mustered up the courage to get on the DC-9 and
settled in.  My fellow travelers (all 47 of them) looked to be in much
higher spirits than I--a situation I remedied as soon as the beverage cart
came my way.  Complimentary cocktails?  This place is going to be even
better than I expected, if they live up to their airline.

Well, we're almost there.  There seems to be a slight delay in
landing.....lizards or something on the runway.

Finally, we arrive at  Queen Beatrix Airport, not far from the capital city
of Oranjestad.  Aruba has a Dutch heritage, so names tend to be long and
full of vowels.  A combination of jet lag and overindulgence in the free
cocktails left me feeling like Paula Jones after nose surgery, so I hit the
ground, not running, but at least moving.  I headed toward the taxi stand,
hoping not to get a transplanted NYC driver.  Luckily, the cabbie was
pleasant (?) and off we went.  He seemed sympathetic to my plight, and
suggested stopping for a quick nip of the hair of the dog as the best cure.
 Not sure it worked, but we had fun trying.  The taxis don't run on an meter-
-trips are charged a flat rate, depending on destination.  The cabbie driving me
didn't seem to worry about a stray hour or three on the way to the hotel.

Arrived at the hotel, more than pleasantly buzzed and looking forward to a
hot shower, clean clothes, and bikini-clad babes by the pool.  However,
there's this little saying about the best laid plans of mice and men?

My hotel room was not too bad, in a third world slum sort of way.  Lizards
(again with the lizards!) on the ceiling I can take.  Assorted vermin
scrambling about I can handle.  But when there is a magazine in the room
with Linda Tripp's picture on it, even I draw the line.  I assumed that
this was the cause of my losing all my hard-earned drinks......but later
events showed how wrong I was.  Apparently, my hotel wasn't one of the
advertised "luxury hotels with their own private beach facilities"; I was
in one that was more "room that keeps most of the rain out" with a short
hop to the beach.  Ok, I can handle this.  After all, I'm not going to
spend too much time here, right?

Decided to go shopping.  According to the travel literature, "Aruba is a
"Shopper's Paradise", with perfume, liquor, linens, jewelry, watches,
cameras, designer fashions, crystal and china among the luxury items
available at excellent prices".  Great, I'll pick up some luxury items for
the folks back home.  No one mentions that you have to pay Uncle Sam an arm
and a leg to bring your new treasures into the US, but I'll get to that later.

I cruised the shops, purchasing with wild abandon.
Liquor?  Check.
Watches?  Check.
Jewelry?  Check.
Primo hash at bargain prices?
Chec......umm, never mind.
 

Upon returning to my room to drop off my new acquisitions, I discovered
that the damn lizards had decided to build a luxury condo of their own in
my luggage (how do you get lizard poop out of linen?).  After evicting
the new tenants, I decided I needed a better storage option, and out I went
to score a trunk or something to keep the lizards out of my stuff.  Lugged
a steamer trunk back to the "hotel".  Found the lizards camping in my
clothes again.  Wonder what roast lizard tastes like?

After all this excitement, I was getting worn out and decided to call it a
day.  It didn't help that I hadn't eaten a proper meal, and as yet had had
no contact with the promised bikini babes.  Even so, I was able to fall
asleep, to the romantic sounds of randy lizards doing what comes naturally.
Great, soon more baby lizards making their home in my luggage.....

The next day I planned to try my hand at scuba diving.  However, when I
awoke, I wasn't really in the mood.  I think sitting on the toilet enduring
perhaps the world's worst case of the runs didn't do much for my state of
mind.  There's this guy down Mexico way named Montezuma; I'm not sure what
I ever did to piss him off, but he's exacting the most excruciating revenge
imaginable.  So, I betook myself to Sasakiweg to see the doc.  Got
medicine, went back to the hotel, and went back to bed (punctuated by
frequent trips to the bathroom, however).

So, day two shot to hell.

Day three I felt a little better, but decided better safe than sorry, and spend
the whole day under a palm by the water.  At least the lizards left me alone.

Did I mention that Aruba is a big desert?  Sure, greenery around the
edges, but in the middle it's a big, dry, desert.  BORING!  It's like
Australia in miniature--except no Ayers Rock, no Sydney Opera House, and no
shrimp on the barbie.  I took a trip into the island, and here's my report......

Once you've seen dirt and rocks, other dirt and rocks don't really thrill you.

Back to the beach.  Met some bikini babes.....they didn't like the sound of
my hotel, so that went nowhere.  Don't really blame them, though; I don't
like the sound of my hotel, either.

Tried scuba diving, but spent my whole time underwater trying not to look like
shark food.  Could be a lot of fun, but thinking about being sushi was distracting.

By now the steam had run out of my trip.  I had spent as much time in the
bathroom as anywhere else on the island.  Local cuisine was starting to
make my stomach clench even more.  Bikini babes who wouldn't give me the
time of day, fornicating lizards in my luggage, and major sunburn.  The
hash was still great......never mind.

Finally, the end was in sight.  Boarding the plane to return home, I tried
to summarize my trip, and the best I could do was, "Stay home, buy some
lizards, eat some rancid food, and get ignored by nubile young women.
It'll be cheaper than going to Aruba".

When I went through US customs, I ended up paying a hefty premium for my
bargain purchases.  I ended up as broke as the federal government under
Raygun (but at least I had something to show for it).

Thanks for the trip, bartcop.
Next time I win a prize, don't let me know, k?
 

Henry
 

One nice thing about being home?
NO LIZARDS!!!