VodkaPundit

Notice

Yeah, we don’t leave town until next weekend, but Melissa has me busy tonight burning CDs for the trip. Primitive, I know, but I haven’t bought one of these babies yet — and since I’m not allowed to buy myself anything in the two-three months before my birthday, I’m stuck.

Couple people have asked where we’re going. And… uh… I’m not quite sure. I know it’s near Cozumel, but not Cozumel itself. Melissa made the arrangements, and I’m sure she picked somewhere with great beaches, good scuba, swim-up bars (she lives for swim-up bars), jungly nature hikes, parasailing, etc. At this point, I really do plan on doing all those things. What I’ll end up doing is sitting on the beach, drinking, and taking in gorgeous views of the bikini girls. (I like to play to my strengths.)

So it really doesn’t matter where we’re going, so long as there’s sun, sand, and a prompt & friendly cocktail waitress. But I’d settle for just prompt.

All of this is just to let you know there won’t be much blogging tonight, not unless I can crank out a couple 100+ song MP3 CDs in the next hour or so. Odds: Slim.

Tomorrow will be worse. Have to run downtown to see my cousin, spend some quality time at Garden of the Gods playing with the baby, pick up the resort wear from the dry cleaners, get those linen jeans hemmed, and a couple other chores too dull to mention.

Nothing keeps a body busier than getting ready to spend a week keeping it laying still. There’s something very, very wrong with that fact.

One last thing before I go back to Amateur DJ Mode. There’s a slim chance – but still a real chance – that once we’re down there, I’ll sell all our assets and buy us a boat and a bungalow. In which case, so long, suckers!

UPDATE: I don’t care what my bride says. Boz Scaggs is so beach music.

ONE MORE THING: Going through Ye Olde Digital Musick Librarie, I just had to play some Earth Wind & Fire. In certain circles, what I’m about to say might be considered heresy. But I’ll say it anyway. EW&F’s brass section was every bit as tight as James Brown’s.