The rents

On a lighter night, I finally got to meet my cousin Heather's son, Tyler. How adorable is he. Here, you judge.

How could you not love that face?

I got to ride in the back with him chilling in his car seat. What fun. And what an accomplishment, raising a son. I asked my cousin what it's like. She said, "I can't even remember what it was like without him." Cool. Parenthood. Family.

Recognized

So I got one of those calls tonight that you never want to receive. My mom, from Singapore. Her dad just passed. Granddaddy, Wyatt Edward Woody. May he rest in peace.

The last time I saw him was at my aunt Roxane's funeral 2 years ago. We spoke briefly, re-introductions. He had Alzheimer's and went in and out of memories. The last thing he said to me, in the last conversation we had, well, he remembered me. He asked me how New York was and my Aunt Pat's jaw dropped, at least, according to my mom. He hadn't shown signs of being too alert that day and, with all the people coming and going to pay respects for Roxane, it was understandable. But somehow he remembered me. I was touched. And surprised. And looking back now I'm overjoyed for such a moment.

What's next?

I met a kid at 7A last night who also loves traveling. He'd just gotten back from Central America and is working to save cash to take off and not come back. We're all over the world, aren't we? It's funny, though, what a privilege it is. I can go anywhere. Lots of people can't even leave their own cities.

His name is Greg. He just plugged my iPod into the system and is having a field day with my old school funk and grooves. Nice. A little Eazy E. He said it just made his night. God, I love it when you know you're supposed to be exactly where you are. These are the breaks.

Lately, I've been thinking about traveling the US. I haven't seen that much here in depth. I traveled across the country when in college but it was for speed not pleasure. I think I prefer pleasure over speed in general. HA! Something like a phenomenon.

I've also been considering Cuba. I worry that the bubble will be burst soon enough and it would be great to see it before that happens. In my mind, it still seems untouched, pure.

T - L = me

I came across the February issue of Travel + Leisure today and snagged it for the train ride home. Upon first glance, I was delighted at the find, hoping for hidden treasure. What did I find? Rubies and emeralds and diamonds, oh my! While I am the travel type, the leisure type I apparently am not. There were adventures listed galore, driving Argentina's lake district, the wonders of India, even mini write-ups of the 20 best places in the world to visit. Excellent! But upon further inspection, several of the rates started at $1095 per night. Cough, cough. Let me clear my throat.

Further reading caused more heartbreak. Since traveling last year in particular, I've hoped to continue expanding my knowledge and experience of and with this planet and its inhabitants, whether domestic or international. This magazine just helped me glimpse all of which I'll never be able to afford, even did I require a jacuzzi bath and bidet in all my bathrooms while traveling. And what's worse, I thought of all the people I have met, whether domestic or international, who can barely feed their families with what they make week to week, and I wonder. Are those who can afford this leisure happy? Are they happier than those who cannot? Are the haves really better off? And isn't it all relative? To many I am a have. And yet reading that magazine, I see myself as a have not much at all. Ultimately, I can't help but think. Is the catered life that much more worth living?

Perfectionist

Back on the plane, headed for the cold of New York, I am sad that I didn't stay in St. Maarten. How easy is it to just stay somewhere a little longer? Seems like it wouldn't be so hard.

I just read an article about perfectionism and how it's induced in your life. I cried through the entire thing. The main notion is that those who are perfectionists live in fear of sharing that which they continue to perfect for fear of being deemed failures. That they will never truly succeed because they will never let themselves grow, change and fail. I am amazed at how much this article hits home with me. I've never thought of myself as a perfectionist. Then I look a bit closer. It took a five month vacation for me to grow comfortable with and explore writing every day. And it took being apart from everyone I love to share those thoughts. As much as blogs are deemed whatever they are deemed, this one is an accomplishment for me.

Success is following your heart. And sharing it. I hope anyone reading this will choose to see me for my successes.

Except or accept

St. Maarten is beautiful, the land reminiscent of Peru in colors and landscape, only on a microcosmic scale. The same style of peaks in the hills, green crumbles of mountains. But the beaches are the epitome of Caribbean. And suddenly I am back on the island of Margarita ten years ago. Or in Colombia last year.

The people remind me of Cartagena, too. And I wonder about the notion of light versus dark. It seems that the people working are darker, those vacationing lighter. Can it be globally that lighter indicates some sort of ease or favor? The States has its issues. In South America, there exists a class issue or maybe just a distinction between indigenous people and those from European descent. Perhaps I am merely a victim of my own time. Perhaps I just need to travel more. And probably to Africa. And yet, we all covet what we don't have. Who hasn't wished something had been different? Curly hair, blue eyes, skinnier, better rhythm, taller. I guess it's all about self-acceptance, dark, light, skinny, short.

On a lighter note, all puns aside, here's to Tony and his self-acceptance and confidence in sharing himself with the world. In his birthday suit on his 30th birthday today! Ole!

Debauchaneer

So from nakedness and joy and Carib beers, the night moved into Keri, Sara and Tony getting provoked into a fight by some older gentleman's security guard at our favorite, the Buccaneer Bar. Keri took a few photos of our group's antics, which were still tame at this point anyway, and this guy got on her like chili on a dog. Who knew the man was a celebrity?? And who cared? I remember Willem Dafoe walking past me on the upper east side one St. Patty's day. I stood agog, struck, and watched him pass as if in slow motion. But he's the only celebrity who's ever gotten me. And maybe Bono. Anyway, the "security" got in Keri's face and ordered her to give him her camera. Just not gonna happen, buddy.

AnneMarie and I joined the fun after the incident (Keri and AnneMarie are the two in the picture) and quickly reached code level orange. After a few drinks and tons more photos, we headed into town and to Sopranos piano bar. The performer that night had a red guitar-shaped instrument equipped with piano keys instead of strings and struts. I think I had one in the third grade. So the guy came out from behind the piano to rock out on this instrument to a little Def Leppard, then some Van Halen. Had any of the Sopranos been there that night, he would have ended up being taken for a ride, most likely ending with a brand new pair of cement shoes.

Back to the Buccaneer, the real debauchery began. And it ended for Tony & me at noon the next day. One of the many moments that made all of it worthwhile was the sunrise on the beach that morning.

St. Maarten

So, here's the deal. My friend Keri's best friend Sara got a sweet condo in St. Maarten for the week. So Keri invited me. Hell, yes! Now Tony turns 30 this week as well, and I haven't been at his last four, say, birthday parties, so I asked if Tony could join. So that makes us four, and then Sara's girlfriend AnneMarie is, of course, a part of the original plan. So that makes us five total.

Have I mentioned lately how much I love vacations?!? Well, traveling period makes me happy. So we touched down yesterday in St. Maarten and it started out an adventure. Tony & I had no info on where the group was staying, no idea the name of the place or whose name in which the reservation had been placed, no cell service and really no clue where we were or should be going. But we figured, "Hey, we're in St. Maarten and it's warm and beautiful! Who really needs a place to stay when you can sleep on the beach?!?"

We ended up finding the gang, grabbing some dinner and gambling at the resort's casino into the night. A friendly neighbor at the blackjack table kept passing me chips, helping out the newbie. I love cards, but have never been into gambling or casinos. I occasionally play the lottery. Funny thing is, I think I'm the only one in the group who netted any money from the casino.

So today, Keri, Tony & I hit Mullet Bay. Not known for mullets that I saw, we made it infamous for a bit of nude sunbathing. A first for me, it's quite liberating sunbathing topless. Now, don't judge, people! We all have to remember to spice up our lives however we can from time to time. We laughed, swam, drank Carib (the island's local beer) and enjoyed the company. Keri kept an an eye out for her dream man to cruise up in his yacht and throw down the rope ladder for her.

God bless the Caribbean. The water is the most gorgeous thing in the world.

Guilt is like pleather. Man-made, unnatural, never cool, and all too often unflattering not to mention self-restrictive. And did I mention never appropriate for the beach?!?

Aflight again

Looking down at the water over JFK, we have lift off. I feel like an alien, or more in awe of this earth. There is a comfort associated with this planet and walking it day by day that makes you more nostalgic for it as you see it disappear underneath you.

Lines of beaches cut the water like blood vessels, only the reverse of human coloring. In this instance the solid sand bars the color of human skin reach out into the liquid blue of the ocean, a body all its own. And then a vessel--a sea vessel, the only speck for miles apart from tiny waves breaking and breaking upon themselves. They are the stars of the sea, an ocean of white dwarfs. As we ascend into the clouds, mere stepping stones seem to separate us, continent to continent.

St. Maarten, here we come!

9

Happy birthday, Mom! Love you.