With apologies to The Donnas, here is the first of what I hope is many blogs. Forty, in a row, to be exact.
I know, I'm fooling myself, but I'm going to try, I really am. Many of the entries will have to be short, sweet and pointless if I'm ever going to make it to 40. But who am I kidding? I'm just fooling myself.
But in case I'm not, then here's the rule. If I sleep in my bed, then it counts as one of the 40 nights. If I don't, I get a pass that night. There's an outside chance I will be out of town for a weekend in the coming six weeks, and that will make it impossible to blog in the wee hours of the night.
Oh yeah, there's one more rule. I don't have to wait until the evening to write the blog, but writing at 10 p.m. and 1 a.m. doesn't count as two nights, it's still just one. If on a Saturday I choose to write at 2 p.m., that's a night.
That's it, those are the rules.
So how did I spend the night before Easter? I went to a birthday party.
Unlike last week, when I spent my Saturday evening at a birthday party for a 1-year-old girl, this party was a joint celebration of birthdays for Cosmo and his wife, who have birthdays less than a week apart.
The party was at Cosmo's house. I like Cosmo and his wife, so I enjoy hanging out with them, but I knew I wasn't going to enjoy making a cameo at the party. Yet somehow I have a warped sense of obligation to accept such invitations when I can.
I'm somewhat anti-social in my old age, and while I can ask people a million questions if need be, somehow I'm not in the mood any more. Of the handful of co-workers who were invited, only one other guy would be attending, along with his wife and infant son. And I waited just long enough to show up that Jason and family were nearing departure. When the kid gets tired, the party is over for mom and dad.
Most of those attending were friends of Cosmo and the wife, which means I had them all beat by about 10 years.
So not only do I attend a party full of youngsters who are in the prime of their life, I decided it would make sense to wear the silly pink bunny ears I procured from my haunted house gig last fall. Nobody other than Jason's 1-year-old found them to be amusing, and even the kid wasn't that fascinated, even when I turned the blinking lights on.
So after 90 minutes I'm ready to leave and saying my goodbyes. I've endured as much bad karaoke as I can tolerate when some random woman decides she wants a picture of me with my bunny ears as I'm getting ready to ascend from the basement/saloon. I force Mrs. Cosmo to be in the picture with me and then end up in a conversation with the random woman. It turns out she was Cosmo's prom date in high school. They weren't even very good friends back then, yet they went to prom together.
They're friends now, and this random woman seemed really interested in having a conversation with me, which was bizarre and puzzling. She seemed disappointed by the fact I was about to depart for the evening. We ended up talking upstairs for about five minutes or so, and for the life of me I can't figure out why this woman found me interesting. She had no idea who I was or what my connection was to either Cosmo or the wife when she first approached me, yet she engaged me in conversation.
I never did figure out why I was so fascinating to her, nor do I really care. I did learn she was there with a boyfriend, which only made the situation more perplexing. And if she went to high school with Cosmo, certainly she must have known several people at the party. So why did she single out some stranger at the party?
Maybe these stupid ears are more powerful than I imagined. Yeah, that's it. It's gotta be the ears.
Saturday, April 11, 2009
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
BulletBoys sing! (unedited, and long)
For some reason I was compelled to spend Friday evening, Feb. 27, by myself.
When I say by myself, I don't mean home, alone. I was at a bar, but not with anyone I knew. I was there to hear the performance by what passes for the BulletBoys.
Based upon what I remember from various online resources, which should never be fully trusted, here's their story: The band's lead singer, Marq Torien, is the only original member of the band to have stuck it out for two decades. He was a guitarist in an early version of Ratt, and sang in some band on the Motown record label. Somehow he and three other dudes, none of whom I could ever name, got a record deal on Warner Bros. Records during the hair band era.
The band was compared to David Lee Roth-era Van Halen. I guess I didn't hear classic Van Halen in their music, but they were produced by some dude who was renowned for his work with VH, so there were some similarities, evidently.
The band's debut album had one original hit, and they got a lot of airplay for their cover of "For the Love of Money." It wasn't a hugely successful debut, as best I recall.
But the BulletBoys managed to tour with a few of the major bands at the time, so even if they weren't huge, they did OK.
They continued to record on Warner Bros. Records, releasing a follow up album, "Freakshow," that was decent. Their first single off that CD, "THC Groove," wasn't particularly strong, however, and although they released a couple of follow ups, nothing set the world on fire. (My favorite song on that CD turned out to be another cover tune, "Hang on St. Christopher," a song by Tom Waits, who has a cult following and a handful of acting credits to his name, but remains unknown to me.) I have no idea what the biggest BulletBoys headlining show was, but I can say confidently that they never headlined an arena show. A big club filled to capacity, perhaps, but that was probably as big as they got. I wouldn't be surprised if they were paired with a Warner Bros. heavy hitter for a tour after the release of Freakshow. Whatever their touring status, none of it mattered. The BulletBoys weren't destined to be a big deal.
When the grunge movement usurped hair band rock in the early 90s, it was over for most bands of that genre. Well, not entirely. Some of them still released CDs on major labels, but it didn't much matter if those discs were good or bad, the market had been all but abandoned by rock radio and MTV. For the BulletBoys, that final major label release was "Za-Za," a disc I have, and was not impressed by.
Along comes Dec. 1994. It's a grunge world, but hair bands are still trying to make a buck touring clubs and playing for die hard fans like me who still love the music, even if commercial radio traded Poison for Pearl Jam and every band that wanted to sound like Pearl Jam. This was pre-internet, at least the internet we all know and love. There was no satellite radio or streaming broadcasts on your computer of 80s rock. For us fans of the hair bands, there weren't many places we could turn for our daily fix of the music so many of us loved three years earlier.
As I was preparing to move to Canada, I had a chance to see the BulletBoys in Minneapolis on Dec. 3, 1994. It was my last weekend in the asphalt jungle before moving further north than I ever imagined I would. I would have preferred to spend that Saturday night hanging with friends, but there were not to be found that night, so I went to the show, by myself.
That was more than 14 years ago. I don't remember much, but I do recall that there was a decent crowd at the club. I didn't relish hanging out by myself at the long-since-closed venue, but it was a chance to see a band I was a fan of.
The show must have been decent. It didn't leave a bad taste in my mouth, because years later I went to see the band again. I don't remember the year, but if it wasn't at least five years ago, it was darn close. That show featured one BulletBoy, Marq, as best as I recall, and three guys who should be easily forgotten, but as it turns out, one of them has been a touring guitarist for former teen pop queens Mandy Moore and Hilary Duff.
I was not highly impressed by the show, and the crowd was rather sparse. It made me wonder how the BulletBoys could make any money touring when they were drawing at most a few hundred to a major metropolitan area.
Yet somehow the band has lived on for 20 years. I honestly don't know how, but last week they played two shows in Minnesota. One in a college town outside of the Twin Cities, on a Thursday night, and then a show in the Twin Cities the next night.
While the show from five or so years ago was rather forgettable, somehow I had to see this band one more time. I was prepared to pay the $10 cover charge, but as it turns out, I "won" tickets from a local radio station. I use the term "won" loosely, as I doubt anyone else e-mailed an entry to the station for the tickets. And yes, it cost me $10 to see a rendition of a band Warner Bros. spent hundreds of thousands of dollars upon 20 years ago. (They even had a home video or two, with interview snippets laced between their music videos.) I'll bet I paid more than $10 to see them live in 1994.
I arrived somewhat late, hoping not to be there much before the BulletBoys took the stage, but I got there in time to see Swirl setting up for their set.
There was a local opening act, evidently, and then Swirl took the stage. I'm a bit perplexed by this band. They're from Los Angeles, evidently, yet I saw them at the same mediocre restaurant/bar/club in early December, opening for Stephen Pearcy, the lead singer of Ratt. When I saw Swirl setting up prior to the BulletBoys, I figured they were a local act pretending to be from L.A.
But perhaps they are. Swirl -- which I assume derives its name from the fact that two dudes in the band are white, two are black -- is touring around the country with the BulletBoys for a month. I can't figure out how the BulletBoys make money off of touring, and they have an opening act touring with them? My guess is that Swirl is self-financed and can afford to play for free in clubs opening for an 80s nostalgia act.
Swirl isn't bad. I'm not sure they're any better than anything that can be found in any other dingy bar around the country, but perhaps they'll build enough an audience by touring and promoting their music that one day they'll be headlining club shows for 200 people all over the country.
I'm not sure if Swirl and the BulletBoys are sharing all equipment, but they had the same drum kit. The BulletBoys took the stage about 12:40 a.m.
Marq had long blond hair back in the day, but his natural hair color must be black, as he had black hair when I saw him in 1994. His hair is still black, and his face looks a little weathered. The dude is in great shape, it appears, although he's freakishly small. He can't be tall, he's not too muscular and he had toothpick legs, evident by the tight pants he wore.
He has long been mocked by Metal Sludge, a website that has kept 80s rock alive for more than a decade, for his "fruity" behavior on stage. Perhaps he has always been fruity and I just never noticed before, but he probably set off every gaydar in the Minneapolis area that night.
Perhaps it was his wide-jawed, eye-popping facial gestures. Perhaps it was his Elvis-like hip gyrating. Perhaps it was his apparent use of eye liner. Whatever it was, you'd have to think the guy is gay. Not that there's anything wrong with that.
I remember thinking, "This guy is flamboyant." When is the last time you've heard a straight male described as flamboyant? That's right, never. And to top it off, the official Bulletboys MySpace page describes him as flamboyant. It's nobody's business whether Marq is gay or straight, but if it is ever publicly disclosed that he is gay, nobody will be surprised. (By the way, Marq, 1997 called, it wants its black fingernail polish back.)
As for the show, well it left something to be desired. While there's not a catalog of memorable hits, you'd think the band could muster up enough material to fill a solid hour. No such luck. They stretched to fill 50 minutes. I was not impressed.
Marq added one- to two-minute intros to some of their songs, and did this more than a couple of times. He also played an unaccompanied song midway through the set, dedicating it to the owner of one of the Hollywood rock clubs from back in the day, claiming the guy helped him make ends meet before the BulletBoys became a worldwide sensation. Despite the lackluster crowd on a Friday night in the middle of winter in Minnesota, he had done a good job of winning over the crowd, some of which was clearly too young to remember the BulletBoys back in the day. Then he killed it with his little ditty.
Their finale was the original hit that put them on the map, "Smooth Up In Ya." They had the dudes from Swirl join them on stage and help sing the chorus. They had a big party on stage, and people seemed to enjoy it. For a band playing to no more than 250 people, and maybe no more than 200, Marq and company did a good job of entertaining the crowd, as if it was 1991 all over again.
In the end, however, I walked away disappointed, and not likely to go out of my way to see the BulletBoys again.
As mentioned, the band barely played 50 minutes, and killed more than enough time during those 50 minutes to play another two songs. One of the songs they could have played: "Hang on St. Christopher." They've played it in the past, but they blew it off on Friday night. That angered me.
I would have happily put up with "Shake Me Awake" if it would have meant I could have heard St. Christopher. Shake Me Awake is a pop-punk song they played the last time I saw them live, and it sounded like the BulletBoys were trying to be Blink-182 or one of those bands that irritates me. It was promoted as new music by the band back then, and did indeed appear on a 2003 minor label CD that I'm guessing 20 people own.
As noted, Marq did a good job of working a small crowd, although he was damn annoying about it. He kept insisting people make noise before he'd start a song. He had to have done that a handful of times. And then there were the times he'd single out the women and men to make noise. It was so lame, and painful to watch. He'd get some participation. Not enough to blow the roof off the dump, but he kept trying.
I had read that the original bassist had rejoined the band. Well, I'm pretty sure it was some other guy in Minnesota. Not that I cared, but the band Marq had assembled didn't sound particularly tight. I'm not a musician, so I can't speak to how technically proficient the band was, but if I thought it was rather sloppy, it must have been.
I was glad Marq played his tribute song in the middle of the show. When I saw him several years ago he did it as the encore. It was just him and just that song, and I don't think many people were impressed, or moved. That night several years ago he dedicated the song to Ty Longley, who had been touring with Great White and died in the famous nightclub fire of 2003. Marq's dedication rang hollow. Marq talked like he had lost his brother in that fire. Perhaps Ty was a good friend, but Metal Sludge has slagged Marq more than once for these type of dedications, dedications that seemed a bit too embellished. Did Marq embellish his friendship with Ty? I have no idea, but it sounded like it. At least his 2009 tribute wasn't overly emotional.
Given the lackluster performance, there's little chance I'll see this band again, even with another free ticket. I was a fan back in the day, and there aren't many of us willing to support this footnote in hair band history. Despite Marq's facial orgasms and insistence upon the crowd making noise, his energy couldn't trump a lousy set.
It's clear Marq isn't touring for the love of money, there just can't be that much to be made. But whatever his reason, he ought to focus more on his musicianship rather than showmanship.
You had a nice run, Marq, but it's time to move on.
When I say by myself, I don't mean home, alone. I was at a bar, but not with anyone I knew. I was there to hear the performance by what passes for the BulletBoys.
Based upon what I remember from various online resources, which should never be fully trusted, here's their story: The band's lead singer, Marq Torien, is the only original member of the band to have stuck it out for two decades. He was a guitarist in an early version of Ratt, and sang in some band on the Motown record label. Somehow he and three other dudes, none of whom I could ever name, got a record deal on Warner Bros. Records during the hair band era.
The band was compared to David Lee Roth-era Van Halen. I guess I didn't hear classic Van Halen in their music, but they were produced by some dude who was renowned for his work with VH, so there were some similarities, evidently.
The band's debut album had one original hit, and they got a lot of airplay for their cover of "For the Love of Money." It wasn't a hugely successful debut, as best I recall.
But the BulletBoys managed to tour with a few of the major bands at the time, so even if they weren't huge, they did OK.
They continued to record on Warner Bros. Records, releasing a follow up album, "Freakshow," that was decent. Their first single off that CD, "THC Groove," wasn't particularly strong, however, and although they released a couple of follow ups, nothing set the world on fire. (My favorite song on that CD turned out to be another cover tune, "Hang on St. Christopher," a song by Tom Waits, who has a cult following and a handful of acting credits to his name, but remains unknown to me.) I have no idea what the biggest BulletBoys headlining show was, but I can say confidently that they never headlined an arena show. A big club filled to capacity, perhaps, but that was probably as big as they got. I wouldn't be surprised if they were paired with a Warner Bros. heavy hitter for a tour after the release of Freakshow. Whatever their touring status, none of it mattered. The BulletBoys weren't destined to be a big deal.
When the grunge movement usurped hair band rock in the early 90s, it was over for most bands of that genre. Well, not entirely. Some of them still released CDs on major labels, but it didn't much matter if those discs were good or bad, the market had been all but abandoned by rock radio and MTV. For the BulletBoys, that final major label release was "Za-Za," a disc I have, and was not impressed by.
Along comes Dec. 1994. It's a grunge world, but hair bands are still trying to make a buck touring clubs and playing for die hard fans like me who still love the music, even if commercial radio traded Poison for Pearl Jam and every band that wanted to sound like Pearl Jam. This was pre-internet, at least the internet we all know and love. There was no satellite radio or streaming broadcasts on your computer of 80s rock. For us fans of the hair bands, there weren't many places we could turn for our daily fix of the music so many of us loved three years earlier.
As I was preparing to move to Canada, I had a chance to see the BulletBoys in Minneapolis on Dec. 3, 1994. It was my last weekend in the asphalt jungle before moving further north than I ever imagined I would. I would have preferred to spend that Saturday night hanging with friends, but there were not to be found that night, so I went to the show, by myself.
That was more than 14 years ago. I don't remember much, but I do recall that there was a decent crowd at the club. I didn't relish hanging out by myself at the long-since-closed venue, but it was a chance to see a band I was a fan of.
The show must have been decent. It didn't leave a bad taste in my mouth, because years later I went to see the band again. I don't remember the year, but if it wasn't at least five years ago, it was darn close. That show featured one BulletBoy, Marq, as best as I recall, and three guys who should be easily forgotten, but as it turns out, one of them has been a touring guitarist for former teen pop queens Mandy Moore and Hilary Duff.
I was not highly impressed by the show, and the crowd was rather sparse. It made me wonder how the BulletBoys could make any money touring when they were drawing at most a few hundred to a major metropolitan area.
Yet somehow the band has lived on for 20 years. I honestly don't know how, but last week they played two shows in Minnesota. One in a college town outside of the Twin Cities, on a Thursday night, and then a show in the Twin Cities the next night.
While the show from five or so years ago was rather forgettable, somehow I had to see this band one more time. I was prepared to pay the $10 cover charge, but as it turns out, I "won" tickets from a local radio station. I use the term "won" loosely, as I doubt anyone else e-mailed an entry to the station for the tickets. And yes, it cost me $10 to see a rendition of a band Warner Bros. spent hundreds of thousands of dollars upon 20 years ago. (They even had a home video or two, with interview snippets laced between their music videos.) I'll bet I paid more than $10 to see them live in 1994.
I arrived somewhat late, hoping not to be there much before the BulletBoys took the stage, but I got there in time to see Swirl setting up for their set.
There was a local opening act, evidently, and then Swirl took the stage. I'm a bit perplexed by this band. They're from Los Angeles, evidently, yet I saw them at the same mediocre restaurant/bar/club in early December, opening for Stephen Pearcy, the lead singer of Ratt. When I saw Swirl setting up prior to the BulletBoys, I figured they were a local act pretending to be from L.A.
But perhaps they are. Swirl -- which I assume derives its name from the fact that two dudes in the band are white, two are black -- is touring around the country with the BulletBoys for a month. I can't figure out how the BulletBoys make money off of touring, and they have an opening act touring with them? My guess is that Swirl is self-financed and can afford to play for free in clubs opening for an 80s nostalgia act.
Swirl isn't bad. I'm not sure they're any better than anything that can be found in any other dingy bar around the country, but perhaps they'll build enough an audience by touring and promoting their music that one day they'll be headlining club shows for 200 people all over the country.
I'm not sure if Swirl and the BulletBoys are sharing all equipment, but they had the same drum kit. The BulletBoys took the stage about 12:40 a.m.
Marq had long blond hair back in the day, but his natural hair color must be black, as he had black hair when I saw him in 1994. His hair is still black, and his face looks a little weathered. The dude is in great shape, it appears, although he's freakishly small. He can't be tall, he's not too muscular and he had toothpick legs, evident by the tight pants he wore.
He has long been mocked by Metal Sludge, a website that has kept 80s rock alive for more than a decade, for his "fruity" behavior on stage. Perhaps he has always been fruity and I just never noticed before, but he probably set off every gaydar in the Minneapolis area that night.
Perhaps it was his wide-jawed, eye-popping facial gestures. Perhaps it was his Elvis-like hip gyrating. Perhaps it was his apparent use of eye liner. Whatever it was, you'd have to think the guy is gay. Not that there's anything wrong with that.
I remember thinking, "This guy is flamboyant." When is the last time you've heard a straight male described as flamboyant? That's right, never. And to top it off, the official Bulletboys MySpace page describes him as flamboyant. It's nobody's business whether Marq is gay or straight, but if it is ever publicly disclosed that he is gay, nobody will be surprised. (By the way, Marq, 1997 called, it wants its black fingernail polish back.)
As for the show, well it left something to be desired. While there's not a catalog of memorable hits, you'd think the band could muster up enough material to fill a solid hour. No such luck. They stretched to fill 50 minutes. I was not impressed.
Marq added one- to two-minute intros to some of their songs, and did this more than a couple of times. He also played an unaccompanied song midway through the set, dedicating it to the owner of one of the Hollywood rock clubs from back in the day, claiming the guy helped him make ends meet before the BulletBoys became a worldwide sensation. Despite the lackluster crowd on a Friday night in the middle of winter in Minnesota, he had done a good job of winning over the crowd, some of which was clearly too young to remember the BulletBoys back in the day. Then he killed it with his little ditty.
Their finale was the original hit that put them on the map, "Smooth Up In Ya." They had the dudes from Swirl join them on stage and help sing the chorus. They had a big party on stage, and people seemed to enjoy it. For a band playing to no more than 250 people, and maybe no more than 200, Marq and company did a good job of entertaining the crowd, as if it was 1991 all over again.
In the end, however, I walked away disappointed, and not likely to go out of my way to see the BulletBoys again.
As mentioned, the band barely played 50 minutes, and killed more than enough time during those 50 minutes to play another two songs. One of the songs they could have played: "Hang on St. Christopher." They've played it in the past, but they blew it off on Friday night. That angered me.
I would have happily put up with "Shake Me Awake" if it would have meant I could have heard St. Christopher. Shake Me Awake is a pop-punk song they played the last time I saw them live, and it sounded like the BulletBoys were trying to be Blink-182 or one of those bands that irritates me. It was promoted as new music by the band back then, and did indeed appear on a 2003 minor label CD that I'm guessing 20 people own.
As noted, Marq did a good job of working a small crowd, although he was damn annoying about it. He kept insisting people make noise before he'd start a song. He had to have done that a handful of times. And then there were the times he'd single out the women and men to make noise. It was so lame, and painful to watch. He'd get some participation. Not enough to blow the roof off the dump, but he kept trying.
I had read that the original bassist had rejoined the band. Well, I'm pretty sure it was some other guy in Minnesota. Not that I cared, but the band Marq had assembled didn't sound particularly tight. I'm not a musician, so I can't speak to how technically proficient the band was, but if I thought it was rather sloppy, it must have been.
I was glad Marq played his tribute song in the middle of the show. When I saw him several years ago he did it as the encore. It was just him and just that song, and I don't think many people were impressed, or moved. That night several years ago he dedicated the song to Ty Longley, who had been touring with Great White and died in the famous nightclub fire of 2003. Marq's dedication rang hollow. Marq talked like he had lost his brother in that fire. Perhaps Ty was a good friend, but Metal Sludge has slagged Marq more than once for these type of dedications, dedications that seemed a bit too embellished. Did Marq embellish his friendship with Ty? I have no idea, but it sounded like it. At least his 2009 tribute wasn't overly emotional.
Given the lackluster performance, there's little chance I'll see this band again, even with another free ticket. I was a fan back in the day, and there aren't many of us willing to support this footnote in hair band history. Despite Marq's facial orgasms and insistence upon the crowd making noise, his energy couldn't trump a lousy set.
It's clear Marq isn't touring for the love of money, there just can't be that much to be made. But whatever his reason, he ought to focus more on his musicianship rather than showmanship.
You had a nice run, Marq, but it's time to move on.
Sunday, February 8, 2009
All inclusive, you say?
I had never eaten a meal outside of the United States prior to my trip to Puerto Vallarta.
I expected the resort to have a lot of American fare in the mix, and it tried, but each meal was a reminder that yeah, you really are in Mexico.
The milk, what little I drank of it, tasted different somehow. The lunch buffet pizza was unlike anything I had eaten anywhere else. (It might have been decent if it didn't appear, and taste, like it had been sitting in the warmer for hours.) And their nacho chips weren't the light, crispy Tostitos I love so much. Their nacho chips were thicker, and for me, less appealing. The chicken nuggets: not white meat, that's for sure.
And forget about shredded cheese on the salad bar. A heaping pile of cheddar was nowhere to be found.
The resort had a breakfast and lunch buffet each day, and while there were subtle changes in the lunch menu, it was basically the same. There's a variety of entrees, but after three or four days the novelty of their buffet wears off.
Dinner featured a buffet that was decent, and where we had dinner the first two nights there. For dinner there are three other dinner options. There's a Japanese restaurant, a steakhouse and a gourmet restaurant that features some seafood and other dishes. The trick to these specialty dining options is that you have to have a reservation, and if you want one for that evening, you'd better be down in the resort lobby by 8 a.m. to register for that night's meal, otherwise you'll be shut out. We were, however, able to book our dinners a day in advance.
Since we arrived on Wednesday afternoon, the reservation table was done for the day. Neither my brother nor I got up early enough Thursday to secure a specialty dinner that night, but we did book dinner for Friday evening, at the Japanese restaurant.
My brother is more of a connoisseur than I am, and he's been to a fancy Japanese restaurant before. He thought the resort's Japanese restaurant would be similar, featuring food prepared on a grill that several people sit around. No such luck, it was a buffet-style restaurant. It was good, but a bit of a disappointment, especially for my brother, who places a higher value than I do in ordering off a menu. Buffets are often a bit of a disappointment, I find, so I would have been happy to have one entree prepared fresh for me on Friday evening, but no such luck.
Saturday night we ate at the steakhouse, which featured a variety of entrees for dinner, and in this case it wasn't served buffet style. There were appetizers and desserts served as part of the meal. It was decent, and the closest we came to a traditional restaurant experience. (You choose your entree, but everything else comes standard with the meal, there's no choosing your soup or dessert.)
Being all inclusive, our drinks were complimentary 24 hours a day. Alcoholic or otherwise, it's all part of the package. They resort uses a lot of rail booze, but there was some notable liquors available. The beer was pretty much Corona, on tap. The only bottles of beer were those in our room, which had a refrigerator with a few 1.5-litre bottles of water, several sodas and Coronas.
There was also a shot dispenser on the wall with four types of alcohol, including tequila, of course. (Jose Cuervo, I think.) I drank several beers over four days, and all you had to do was call to get more sent to the room when you needed it, although everything was delivered warm.
Although all inclusive, the resort had virtually no food available outside of its meal times. The only food to be had late at night was in the sports bar, the only 24-hour bar on the property. There were microwave burgers, nacho chips with unheated cheese and perhaps one or two other options. None of it sounded appealing, and reviews I read prior to the trip suggested it wasn't.
My brother stayed at an all-inclusive resort on his honeymoon and said that he could get real food 24 hours a day, with a limited room service menu. I never found myself craving a meal at midnight, which was a good thing, because Riu Vallarta isn't interested in feeding you at that time of night. There wasn't anywhere close where you could get a late night burrito.
The reviews I read varied on the grading of the food. Some people made it sound as if it was barely edible. Others thought it was the greatest dining experience they'd ever had. I'd say it was somewhere in between. My brother is certain he got food poisoning toward the end of our trip. I avoided such a fate.
I also read that a number of people would eat meals in Puerto Vallarta, and that they had spectacular meals for a relative bargain compared to U.S. restaurants. I suggested the option on Thursday night, but my budget-conscious brother wasn't too high on the idea, which was fine with me. Eating at an "authentic" restaurant wasn't that high of a priority for me. And had we opted to do so, we probably would have ended up eating at the Hard Rock Cafe in Puerto Vallarta.
The all-inclusive concept is nice. My brother said he was on a cruise where he had to shell out cash for every drink, which adds up in a hurry. I'm glad I didn't have to pay for every mug of Diet Pepsi I'd get in the morning or mixed drink in the afternoon.
Did the Riu's all-inclusive offering make me want to come back, should I return to Puerto Vallarta? Nope, not really. It sounds like all inclusive has been done better elsewhere, and unless elsewhere is going to cost hundreds of dollars more, the Riu family of resorts is out of the equation. But it's going to be a long while before I'm in a position to book an all-inclusive vacation anywhere, unfortunately.
I expected the resort to have a lot of American fare in the mix, and it tried, but each meal was a reminder that yeah, you really are in Mexico.
The milk, what little I drank of it, tasted different somehow. The lunch buffet pizza was unlike anything I had eaten anywhere else. (It might have been decent if it didn't appear, and taste, like it had been sitting in the warmer for hours.) And their nacho chips weren't the light, crispy Tostitos I love so much. Their nacho chips were thicker, and for me, less appealing. The chicken nuggets: not white meat, that's for sure.
And forget about shredded cheese on the salad bar. A heaping pile of cheddar was nowhere to be found.
The resort had a breakfast and lunch buffet each day, and while there were subtle changes in the lunch menu, it was basically the same. There's a variety of entrees, but after three or four days the novelty of their buffet wears off.
Dinner featured a buffet that was decent, and where we had dinner the first two nights there. For dinner there are three other dinner options. There's a Japanese restaurant, a steakhouse and a gourmet restaurant that features some seafood and other dishes. The trick to these specialty dining options is that you have to have a reservation, and if you want one for that evening, you'd better be down in the resort lobby by 8 a.m. to register for that night's meal, otherwise you'll be shut out. We were, however, able to book our dinners a day in advance.
Since we arrived on Wednesday afternoon, the reservation table was done for the day. Neither my brother nor I got up early enough Thursday to secure a specialty dinner that night, but we did book dinner for Friday evening, at the Japanese restaurant.
My brother is more of a connoisseur than I am, and he's been to a fancy Japanese restaurant before. He thought the resort's Japanese restaurant would be similar, featuring food prepared on a grill that several people sit around. No such luck, it was a buffet-style restaurant. It was good, but a bit of a disappointment, especially for my brother, who places a higher value than I do in ordering off a menu. Buffets are often a bit of a disappointment, I find, so I would have been happy to have one entree prepared fresh for me on Friday evening, but no such luck.
Saturday night we ate at the steakhouse, which featured a variety of entrees for dinner, and in this case it wasn't served buffet style. There were appetizers and desserts served as part of the meal. It was decent, and the closest we came to a traditional restaurant experience. (You choose your entree, but everything else comes standard with the meal, there's no choosing your soup or dessert.)
Being all inclusive, our drinks were complimentary 24 hours a day. Alcoholic or otherwise, it's all part of the package. They resort uses a lot of rail booze, but there was some notable liquors available. The beer was pretty much Corona, on tap. The only bottles of beer were those in our room, which had a refrigerator with a few 1.5-litre bottles of water, several sodas and Coronas.
There was also a shot dispenser on the wall with four types of alcohol, including tequila, of course. (Jose Cuervo, I think.) I drank several beers over four days, and all you had to do was call to get more sent to the room when you needed it, although everything was delivered warm.
Although all inclusive, the resort had virtually no food available outside of its meal times. The only food to be had late at night was in the sports bar, the only 24-hour bar on the property. There were microwave burgers, nacho chips with unheated cheese and perhaps one or two other options. None of it sounded appealing, and reviews I read prior to the trip suggested it wasn't.
My brother stayed at an all-inclusive resort on his honeymoon and said that he could get real food 24 hours a day, with a limited room service menu. I never found myself craving a meal at midnight, which was a good thing, because Riu Vallarta isn't interested in feeding you at that time of night. There wasn't anywhere close where you could get a late night burrito.
The reviews I read varied on the grading of the food. Some people made it sound as if it was barely edible. Others thought it was the greatest dining experience they'd ever had. I'd say it was somewhere in between. My brother is certain he got food poisoning toward the end of our trip. I avoided such a fate.
I also read that a number of people would eat meals in Puerto Vallarta, and that they had spectacular meals for a relative bargain compared to U.S. restaurants. I suggested the option on Thursday night, but my budget-conscious brother wasn't too high on the idea, which was fine with me. Eating at an "authentic" restaurant wasn't that high of a priority for me. And had we opted to do so, we probably would have ended up eating at the Hard Rock Cafe in Puerto Vallarta.
The all-inclusive concept is nice. My brother said he was on a cruise where he had to shell out cash for every drink, which adds up in a hurry. I'm glad I didn't have to pay for every mug of Diet Pepsi I'd get in the morning or mixed drink in the afternoon.
Did the Riu's all-inclusive offering make me want to come back, should I return to Puerto Vallarta? Nope, not really. It sounds like all inclusive has been done better elsewhere, and unless elsewhere is going to cost hundreds of dollars more, the Riu family of resorts is out of the equation. But it's going to be a long while before I'm in a position to book an all-inclusive vacation anywhere, unfortunately.
Schlock of love (unedited)
I'm not done reminiscing about Mexico, but this can't wait.
For the second time in less than 12 months I attended a concert by none other than that bastion of rock and roll excellence, Bret Michaels.
He's perhaps best known for fronting the rock band Poison. Poison managed to emerge from the glam rock era as one of the front runners of the genre. Like nearly every other band of that era, Poison died when glam rock was usurped by the grunge movement in the 90s. And like almost every band from the glam era -- often referred to as "hair bands" -- Poison decided life was a lot harder in the real world. So they reunited in 1999 to do a summer tour, headlining a package of hair bands. They did well enough that the package became an annual event. It beats working for a living, to be sure.
Poison wasn't my favorite hair band, but I did attend one of their headlining tours in their heyday, circa 1990 at the Target Center in Minneapolis. I attended that concert with Monica, but only because my buddy and I bought an extra pair of concert tickets from her for the show. It was that concert, however, that resulted in a friendship that has endured nearly two decades.
A few times since 1999 Monica and I have attended Poison concerts, ironically they've been in Mankato, Minn., Duluth, Minn., and Fond du Lac, Wis., but never in the Twin Cities. Monica has gone to many other Poison concerts during the past 10 years, thanks to her job in the airline industry. But when there's a show I can attend with her, I'm there. I'd never go by myself to one of their shows, but it's a good time, so if I can make it, I go, even though Monica and I aren't always together during concerts we attend.
We've also attend a few Bret Michaels solo shows during the past four years. I'm not sure how often he's toured without his Poison band mates, but I don't remember him doing much of it until a few years ago.
On Saturday night Monica and I attended a Bret Michaels solo show in Hinckley, Minn., the fourth time we've done so.
We went to two shows back in 2005, at the same bar in Andover, Minn., a northern Twin Cities suburb. For whatever reason he played at this bar twice in a span of about two months. It's a good size bar, but that's all it is, a bar. They probably packed several hundred into the building, but it was a far smaller crowd than at your typical Poison concert. Michaels played a few songs from his less-than-notable solo recordings, and threw in a couple of covers Poison hasn't recorded, but otherwise it was the equivalent of a Poison tribute band.
A funny thing happened between 2005 and the two concerts Monica and I attended in the past 10 months, Michaels became a celebrity.
Technically he has been a celebrity for two decades. Headlining arena tours, dating Pam Anderson and working with Charlie Sheen on a forgettable movie project is enough to earn your celebrity card. But 10 years ago this week, as rumors were perhaps just beginning to circulate that Poison would reunite after several years of inactivity, Michaels would have had a hard time getting arrested in Hollywood.
A series of summer tours helped remind the VH1 audience that Michaels was still alive, but it wasn't until the programming geniuses of said network decided that he should be the focal point of a "reality show" that Michaels became such a hot commodity.
I've never seen the show, primarily because I haven't had access to VH1 for about two years, but Michaels has managed to capture the imagination of the VH1 audience with his "Rock of Love" dating game. People have told me the wannabe groupies on the show are an incredible spectacle, and I don't doubt it. There's no shortage of women (or men) in this world who would gladly trade their dignity for a chance to make a living as a pointless public figure, whether it be for winning a contrived survival competition on CBS or for dating a middle-aged hair band singer with a majestic rug atop his head. (He'd never acknowledge it, but nobody could argue with a straight face that Michaels' mane is au naturale.)
After two attempts to find a woman who can accept Michaels' rock and roll lifestyle, VH1 contrived a third crack at eternal happiness by moving the show from a Hollywood mansion to a tour bus. At least that's how it has been explained to me. Again, I have to plead total ignorance.
Last April Monica and I saw Michaels' solo show at Myth Nightclub in Maplewood, Minn., a pretentious concert hall built in a former retail "warehouse." It's a nice venue for a show that will attract more than 1,000 people, and is certainly a far bigger venue than the Andover locale we had previously saw Michaels perform at twice. (A couple of years ago he performed at an even smaller bar in the south metro, and I couldn't attend. Monica intended to, but she was sick, and she was probably better off for it, as that place is a horrible concert venue.)
With Michaels a reborn celebrity thanks to VH1 we saw a noticeably larger crowd at his Myth concert than we had back in 2005. Portions of the concert were allegedly being filmed for the new VH1 tour bus edition of his show. While he played to a larger crowd at Myth, I know many folks in attendance were there thanks to comp tickets. A local band or two opened the show, and they had passwords for free admission to the show that they sent out to anyone on their e-mail list. Our friend Keri forwarded us the password. Since we hadn't purchased tickets in advance, we were able to go for free that night, and I'm glad we did. It was $35 at the door for the show, and Michaels played for all of one hour. I am quire sure we paid no more than $20 to see him in Andover, but when he became a celebrity bachelor, his show was able to command a higher price, evidently. (The venue typically sets the ticket price, and given it was the pretentious Myth Nightclub, it's not a surprise they were charging $35.)
Mr. Rock of Love is back on tour this winter, having toured with Poison last summer, and promoting a Poison tour with Def Leppard and Cheap Trick this summer. His show on Saturday night was at Grand Casino in Hinckley, halfway between the Twin Cities and Duluth.
I'll spare the details, but it looked like there was no chance I was driving to Duluth for the show. Monica thought she was going several weeks ago, but she was wrong. Even when she was wrong, she considered going and staying the night in the hotel with Keri and her entourage from northern Minnesota. But then we found out Mr. Rock of Love had sold out his show in Hinckley, at $30 a ticket. I bet they had 2,000 seats in that showroom, and it sold out weeks ago.
So I entered an online contest from a Twin Cities radio station, just so I could win tickets for Monica to go and spend the night in Keri's hotel room. Sure enough I got a call three days before the show, telling me I won a pair of tickets. The problem: Monica was sure I wouldn't win tickets, so she made plans a few weeks ago for the entire day of the concert. I wasn't about to drive up there by myself, even if Keri had purchased tickets weeks ago. But then Monica called me Friday afternoon, telling me the weather canceled part of her plans for Saturday, and she was canceling the other part of her plans so we could go to the show.
And just like that, I was part of a group of 2,000 or so people, many of whom would never have attended Michaels' solo show three years ago if he wasn't a VH1 darling. The guy's solo career is hotter than ever because he allegedly wants to find love on a televised dating show. Amazing.
Perhaps it had something to do with the fact a casino booked his show, but there was no opening act. The concert was scheduled to start at 8 p.m., and it started about 8:15. And like last spring at Myth, Michaels couldn't be bothered to work for much more than an hour. His band played for about an hour, departed the stage, only to return minutes later for one final song. The irony was he talked as if he was going to play for three hours. What a fraud.
Casinos tend to book a lot more country acts and golden oldies rather than hair bands. I question if Grand Casino has every booked an act like Michaels.
The concert had assigned seats, and they had chairs throughout the showroom. But there was little room in front of the stage for those who want Michaels to sweat on them, such as Monica and Keri's entourage. Casino security actually forced everyone to vacate the narrow area between the stage and front row chairs prior to the start of the concert. But as soon as the house lights went down, anyone who wanted to pack the front of the stage like sardines descended upon the stage area, which I knew would happen. I stayed several rows back in Keri's seats.
The casino had security, but it didn't seem that interested in prohibiting people from standing on their chairs, or doing much else that generally falls under the guise of event security. Most people didn't climb atop their chairs, but some would for a short while, until somebody behind them would yell at them to get down. I was sure I was going to see a couple of cat fights over such circumstances, but somehow that was averted. I'm surprised I didn't see plastic beer bottles thrown at those who were so inconsiderate.
The crowd featured quite the variety, from teens who were dragged there by their parents to women nearly old enough to be my mother. You had young skanks who'd make even gay guys drool, and women who weighed more than me, and I'm not exactly svelte in my old age. The world is an interesting place full of interesting people.
During Michaels' one-song encore a woman who looked nothing like a skank you'd see on Rock of Love climbed on stage to dance with him. He played along before security politely escorted her offstage. Not long after that several woman started climbing on stage, seemingly at Michaels' invitation. And most of them: not Rock of Love material either. It was so weird. Women were trying to grope him while he was finishing the last song, and some had their cameras on them, so they wanted to get pictures with him as he was trying to wrap up his performance. It was rather weird to watch, and not that pretty.
Monica and I had fun, and for the most part Keri's entourage enjoyed themselves. Keri's sister-in-law had her digital camera snatched amongst the mob in front of the stage, and that was quite the buzzkill.
In the end I was glad Monica and I were able to spend the evening together, something that appeared to be out of the question for several weeks, and even 48 hours prior to the concert. But I'm not paying to see that ass clown preen for the unwashed masses any time soon. (I'm sure he'd be devastated to learn of this.)
Should I be shocked that a 45-year-old goofball is eating up the attention he's getting 20 years after his band was an MTV darling? No, not at all. I'm sure it beats working for a living. Now if only the poor bastard could find true love. I'm sure he will, just as soon as the bloom is off the VH1 ratings rose.
For the second time in less than 12 months I attended a concert by none other than that bastion of rock and roll excellence, Bret Michaels.
He's perhaps best known for fronting the rock band Poison. Poison managed to emerge from the glam rock era as one of the front runners of the genre. Like nearly every other band of that era, Poison died when glam rock was usurped by the grunge movement in the 90s. And like almost every band from the glam era -- often referred to as "hair bands" -- Poison decided life was a lot harder in the real world. So they reunited in 1999 to do a summer tour, headlining a package of hair bands. They did well enough that the package became an annual event. It beats working for a living, to be sure.
Poison wasn't my favorite hair band, but I did attend one of their headlining tours in their heyday, circa 1990 at the Target Center in Minneapolis. I attended that concert with Monica, but only because my buddy and I bought an extra pair of concert tickets from her for the show. It was that concert, however, that resulted in a friendship that has endured nearly two decades.
A few times since 1999 Monica and I have attended Poison concerts, ironically they've been in Mankato, Minn., Duluth, Minn., and Fond du Lac, Wis., but never in the Twin Cities. Monica has gone to many other Poison concerts during the past 10 years, thanks to her job in the airline industry. But when there's a show I can attend with her, I'm there. I'd never go by myself to one of their shows, but it's a good time, so if I can make it, I go, even though Monica and I aren't always together during concerts we attend.
We've also attend a few Bret Michaels solo shows during the past four years. I'm not sure how often he's toured without his Poison band mates, but I don't remember him doing much of it until a few years ago.
On Saturday night Monica and I attended a Bret Michaels solo show in Hinckley, Minn., the fourth time we've done so.
We went to two shows back in 2005, at the same bar in Andover, Minn., a northern Twin Cities suburb. For whatever reason he played at this bar twice in a span of about two months. It's a good size bar, but that's all it is, a bar. They probably packed several hundred into the building, but it was a far smaller crowd than at your typical Poison concert. Michaels played a few songs from his less-than-notable solo recordings, and threw in a couple of covers Poison hasn't recorded, but otherwise it was the equivalent of a Poison tribute band.
A funny thing happened between 2005 and the two concerts Monica and I attended in the past 10 months, Michaels became a celebrity.
Technically he has been a celebrity for two decades. Headlining arena tours, dating Pam Anderson and working with Charlie Sheen on a forgettable movie project is enough to earn your celebrity card. But 10 years ago this week, as rumors were perhaps just beginning to circulate that Poison would reunite after several years of inactivity, Michaels would have had a hard time getting arrested in Hollywood.
A series of summer tours helped remind the VH1 audience that Michaels was still alive, but it wasn't until the programming geniuses of said network decided that he should be the focal point of a "reality show" that Michaels became such a hot commodity.
I've never seen the show, primarily because I haven't had access to VH1 for about two years, but Michaels has managed to capture the imagination of the VH1 audience with his "Rock of Love" dating game. People have told me the wannabe groupies on the show are an incredible spectacle, and I don't doubt it. There's no shortage of women (or men) in this world who would gladly trade their dignity for a chance to make a living as a pointless public figure, whether it be for winning a contrived survival competition on CBS or for dating a middle-aged hair band singer with a majestic rug atop his head. (He'd never acknowledge it, but nobody could argue with a straight face that Michaels' mane is au naturale.)
After two attempts to find a woman who can accept Michaels' rock and roll lifestyle, VH1 contrived a third crack at eternal happiness by moving the show from a Hollywood mansion to a tour bus. At least that's how it has been explained to me. Again, I have to plead total ignorance.
Last April Monica and I saw Michaels' solo show at Myth Nightclub in Maplewood, Minn., a pretentious concert hall built in a former retail "warehouse." It's a nice venue for a show that will attract more than 1,000 people, and is certainly a far bigger venue than the Andover locale we had previously saw Michaels perform at twice. (A couple of years ago he performed at an even smaller bar in the south metro, and I couldn't attend. Monica intended to, but she was sick, and she was probably better off for it, as that place is a horrible concert venue.)
With Michaels a reborn celebrity thanks to VH1 we saw a noticeably larger crowd at his Myth concert than we had back in 2005. Portions of the concert were allegedly being filmed for the new VH1 tour bus edition of his show. While he played to a larger crowd at Myth, I know many folks in attendance were there thanks to comp tickets. A local band or two opened the show, and they had passwords for free admission to the show that they sent out to anyone on their e-mail list. Our friend Keri forwarded us the password. Since we hadn't purchased tickets in advance, we were able to go for free that night, and I'm glad we did. It was $35 at the door for the show, and Michaels played for all of one hour. I am quire sure we paid no more than $20 to see him in Andover, but when he became a celebrity bachelor, his show was able to command a higher price, evidently. (The venue typically sets the ticket price, and given it was the pretentious Myth Nightclub, it's not a surprise they were charging $35.)
Mr. Rock of Love is back on tour this winter, having toured with Poison last summer, and promoting a Poison tour with Def Leppard and Cheap Trick this summer. His show on Saturday night was at Grand Casino in Hinckley, halfway between the Twin Cities and Duluth.
I'll spare the details, but it looked like there was no chance I was driving to Duluth for the show. Monica thought she was going several weeks ago, but she was wrong. Even when she was wrong, she considered going and staying the night in the hotel with Keri and her entourage from northern Minnesota. But then we found out Mr. Rock of Love had sold out his show in Hinckley, at $30 a ticket. I bet they had 2,000 seats in that showroom, and it sold out weeks ago.
So I entered an online contest from a Twin Cities radio station, just so I could win tickets for Monica to go and spend the night in Keri's hotel room. Sure enough I got a call three days before the show, telling me I won a pair of tickets. The problem: Monica was sure I wouldn't win tickets, so she made plans a few weeks ago for the entire day of the concert. I wasn't about to drive up there by myself, even if Keri had purchased tickets weeks ago. But then Monica called me Friday afternoon, telling me the weather canceled part of her plans for Saturday, and she was canceling the other part of her plans so we could go to the show.
And just like that, I was part of a group of 2,000 or so people, many of whom would never have attended Michaels' solo show three years ago if he wasn't a VH1 darling. The guy's solo career is hotter than ever because he allegedly wants to find love on a televised dating show. Amazing.
Perhaps it had something to do with the fact a casino booked his show, but there was no opening act. The concert was scheduled to start at 8 p.m., and it started about 8:15. And like last spring at Myth, Michaels couldn't be bothered to work for much more than an hour. His band played for about an hour, departed the stage, only to return minutes later for one final song. The irony was he talked as if he was going to play for three hours. What a fraud.
Casinos tend to book a lot more country acts and golden oldies rather than hair bands. I question if Grand Casino has every booked an act like Michaels.
The concert had assigned seats, and they had chairs throughout the showroom. But there was little room in front of the stage for those who want Michaels to sweat on them, such as Monica and Keri's entourage. Casino security actually forced everyone to vacate the narrow area between the stage and front row chairs prior to the start of the concert. But as soon as the house lights went down, anyone who wanted to pack the front of the stage like sardines descended upon the stage area, which I knew would happen. I stayed several rows back in Keri's seats.
The casino had security, but it didn't seem that interested in prohibiting people from standing on their chairs, or doing much else that generally falls under the guise of event security. Most people didn't climb atop their chairs, but some would for a short while, until somebody behind them would yell at them to get down. I was sure I was going to see a couple of cat fights over such circumstances, but somehow that was averted. I'm surprised I didn't see plastic beer bottles thrown at those who were so inconsiderate.
The crowd featured quite the variety, from teens who were dragged there by their parents to women nearly old enough to be my mother. You had young skanks who'd make even gay guys drool, and women who weighed more than me, and I'm not exactly svelte in my old age. The world is an interesting place full of interesting people.
During Michaels' one-song encore a woman who looked nothing like a skank you'd see on Rock of Love climbed on stage to dance with him. He played along before security politely escorted her offstage. Not long after that several woman started climbing on stage, seemingly at Michaels' invitation. And most of them: not Rock of Love material either. It was so weird. Women were trying to grope him while he was finishing the last song, and some had their cameras on them, so they wanted to get pictures with him as he was trying to wrap up his performance. It was rather weird to watch, and not that pretty.
Monica and I had fun, and for the most part Keri's entourage enjoyed themselves. Keri's sister-in-law had her digital camera snatched amongst the mob in front of the stage, and that was quite the buzzkill.
In the end I was glad Monica and I were able to spend the evening together, something that appeared to be out of the question for several weeks, and even 48 hours prior to the concert. But I'm not paying to see that ass clown preen for the unwashed masses any time soon. (I'm sure he'd be devastated to learn of this.)
Should I be shocked that a 45-year-old goofball is eating up the attention he's getting 20 years after his band was an MTV darling? No, not at all. I'm sure it beats working for a living. Now if only the poor bastard could find true love. I'm sure he will, just as soon as the bloom is off the VH1 ratings rose.
Friday, February 6, 2009
Crazy games
I'm not sure if every resort has them, but I have a hunch many of them employ a sports and entertainment team like Riu Vallarta had.
There were a group of seven or eight people each day who seemed to be around the resort much of the day. At times they all wore uniform shirts signifying they were part of this obscure group of people. It was a predominantly male group, and none of the dudes were white guys. I'm not sure what countries they represented, but their names and/or accents made it clear they weren't Norweigan.
All of the dudes were relatively young and in good shape. They would lead activities and games from time to time. Late one morning I saw two of them leading some sort of water aerobics class in the pool. Well, it started out as water aerobics, but it ended up more like a foreplay session for a geriatric orgy. It was a bit creepy.
A couple of dudes seemed to handle all the emcee duties at the pool. They had a sound system set up so they could broadcast across the pool when promoting an upcoming activity or calling a bingo game. They'd usually do their announcements in both Spanish and English, although I swear 99 percent of the resort guests spoke English.
The dude who emceed most often had quite the accent, and it was damn hard to understand him at times. I don't know why that guy was the voice of the sports and entertainment team, but it should have been the Canadian chick.
Yep, there was a chick who was part of the team, and she's Canadian. The reason I know that is that I overheard some dude hitting on her the first afternoon we arrived at the resort. The team members eat lunch at the same buffet where everyone else does, and some dude really wanted to get to know her better.
She was cute, certainly, but somehow she was more than that, at least to the dudes who worked with her. A couple of those dudes were clearly gay, yet that didn't seem to make a difference, they were all enamored with her. Given that she was probably the only white woman on the entire resort staff, it's not surprising she drew as much attention as she did from every dude on staff. Irrelevant trivia: she was in good shape, but had meatier legs than most of the guys on the team, and her legs looked like they'd been attacked by a dozen bees.
I thought she was the only woman on the team, but on the last day another woman appeared. I'm not sure what nationality she was, but I'm pretty sure she wasn't Swedish.
On the final afternoon my brother went up to the room for a while to take a siesta, so I was lounging at the pool by myself. I was sitting in the pool near the sound system when one of the dudes started promoting a "crazy game" in minutes. The allure of the crazy game was a chance to win a massage from the resort spa.
One of the team members asked me if I wanted to play the crazy game. I didn't, but I didn't exactly say no. Not long after that he asked my name and signed me up. I wasn't thrilled.
As it turns out, only four guys wanted to play the crazy game, or were stupid enough to let themselves be recruited. The game: diving for chips.
A variety of poker chips in varying colors were thrown into the pool near the sound system. Each color was worth a different point value, from five to 50. The challenge was to pick up as many chips off the bottom of the pool as possible in 30 seconds, while wearing a lifejacket. I had no idea how easy or difficult it would be.
The first guy to play the crazy game managed about three or four chips, including one of the 50-point chips. His girlfriend was with him, and cheering for him. I think she really wanted the massage.
I went second. The emcee for the event asked where my wife was. Not wanting to look completely pathetic I gestured up toward the hotel. My life was pathetic enough, the last thing I needed was to acknowledge to the entire pool I was there with my brother.
During my 30 seconds diving to the bottom of the pool in about four feet of water I did pretty well. I surmised that part of the trick to diving down to the bottom of the pool was exhaling as I upended myself. Each time I did that I'd buy myself a few seconds to grab chips, and there were enough of them that each time I was able to grab one or two. I'd grab them with my right hand, primarily, and hold them in my left hand.
Each time I surfaced nobody could tell how many chips I was holding. And I'd quickly take a breath and dive back down. At the end of my 30 seconds I managed to grab several chips, including two 50 pointers. My total was near 200 points, more than 100 better than my predecessor. When I climbed out of the pool and opened my hand, revealing several chips, I heard the dude's girlfriend gasp. She knew I clobbered her boyfriend's total.
The two dudes after me did better than the first guy, but not as well as me. One dude came within 20 points of my total, but I won. I was leaving the next day, but I won the free massage, allegedly.
Being the winner, unfortunately, I had to dance like a jackass for 20 seconds as the emcee played some dance tune. To claim my prize, I had to attend the evening show in the showroom, where each day they call the winners of the various games up on stage. We got a certificate with our name on it, acknowledging we were a winner, and had to do a Rockettes-style dance with the team members.
I could have lived without the stupid dancing, both at the pool and on stage, but I'm the only one who will remember it. I enjoyed playing the crazy game, I must say. My competitive spirit was quickly unleashed when I realized it was a game I could excel at.
As for that free massage, I had a noon flight out of Puerto Vallarta the next day, so there was no chance to take advantage of it, although during my appearance on stage I never received anything that would suggest I was entitled to a free massage. So much for a happy ending to my vacation.
There were a group of seven or eight people each day who seemed to be around the resort much of the day. At times they all wore uniform shirts signifying they were part of this obscure group of people. It was a predominantly male group, and none of the dudes were white guys. I'm not sure what countries they represented, but their names and/or accents made it clear they weren't Norweigan.
All of the dudes were relatively young and in good shape. They would lead activities and games from time to time. Late one morning I saw two of them leading some sort of water aerobics class in the pool. Well, it started out as water aerobics, but it ended up more like a foreplay session for a geriatric orgy. It was a bit creepy.
A couple of dudes seemed to handle all the emcee duties at the pool. They had a sound system set up so they could broadcast across the pool when promoting an upcoming activity or calling a bingo game. They'd usually do their announcements in both Spanish and English, although I swear 99 percent of the resort guests spoke English.
The dude who emceed most often had quite the accent, and it was damn hard to understand him at times. I don't know why that guy was the voice of the sports and entertainment team, but it should have been the Canadian chick.
Yep, there was a chick who was part of the team, and she's Canadian. The reason I know that is that I overheard some dude hitting on her the first afternoon we arrived at the resort. The team members eat lunch at the same buffet where everyone else does, and some dude really wanted to get to know her better.
She was cute, certainly, but somehow she was more than that, at least to the dudes who worked with her. A couple of those dudes were clearly gay, yet that didn't seem to make a difference, they were all enamored with her. Given that she was probably the only white woman on the entire resort staff, it's not surprising she drew as much attention as she did from every dude on staff. Irrelevant trivia: she was in good shape, but had meatier legs than most of the guys on the team, and her legs looked like they'd been attacked by a dozen bees.
I thought she was the only woman on the team, but on the last day another woman appeared. I'm not sure what nationality she was, but I'm pretty sure she wasn't Swedish.
On the final afternoon my brother went up to the room for a while to take a siesta, so I was lounging at the pool by myself. I was sitting in the pool near the sound system when one of the dudes started promoting a "crazy game" in minutes. The allure of the crazy game was a chance to win a massage from the resort spa.
One of the team members asked me if I wanted to play the crazy game. I didn't, but I didn't exactly say no. Not long after that he asked my name and signed me up. I wasn't thrilled.
As it turns out, only four guys wanted to play the crazy game, or were stupid enough to let themselves be recruited. The game: diving for chips.
A variety of poker chips in varying colors were thrown into the pool near the sound system. Each color was worth a different point value, from five to 50. The challenge was to pick up as many chips off the bottom of the pool as possible in 30 seconds, while wearing a lifejacket. I had no idea how easy or difficult it would be.
The first guy to play the crazy game managed about three or four chips, including one of the 50-point chips. His girlfriend was with him, and cheering for him. I think she really wanted the massage.
I went second. The emcee for the event asked where my wife was. Not wanting to look completely pathetic I gestured up toward the hotel. My life was pathetic enough, the last thing I needed was to acknowledge to the entire pool I was there with my brother.
During my 30 seconds diving to the bottom of the pool in about four feet of water I did pretty well. I surmised that part of the trick to diving down to the bottom of the pool was exhaling as I upended myself. Each time I did that I'd buy myself a few seconds to grab chips, and there were enough of them that each time I was able to grab one or two. I'd grab them with my right hand, primarily, and hold them in my left hand.
Each time I surfaced nobody could tell how many chips I was holding. And I'd quickly take a breath and dive back down. At the end of my 30 seconds I managed to grab several chips, including two 50 pointers. My total was near 200 points, more than 100 better than my predecessor. When I climbed out of the pool and opened my hand, revealing several chips, I heard the dude's girlfriend gasp. She knew I clobbered her boyfriend's total.
The two dudes after me did better than the first guy, but not as well as me. One dude came within 20 points of my total, but I won. I was leaving the next day, but I won the free massage, allegedly.
Being the winner, unfortunately, I had to dance like a jackass for 20 seconds as the emcee played some dance tune. To claim my prize, I had to attend the evening show in the showroom, where each day they call the winners of the various games up on stage. We got a certificate with our name on it, acknowledging we were a winner, and had to do a Rockettes-style dance with the team members.
I could have lived without the stupid dancing, both at the pool and on stage, but I'm the only one who will remember it. I enjoyed playing the crazy game, I must say. My competitive spirit was quickly unleashed when I realized it was a game I could excel at.
As for that free massage, I had a noon flight out of Puerto Vallarta the next day, so there was no chance to take advantage of it, although during my appearance on stage I never received anything that would suggest I was entitled to a free massage. So much for a happy ending to my vacation.
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
The rule of the pool
I have heard the story before, and it's true.
There are squatter's rights to the chairs at the pool of major resorts, and it's damn competitive.
Mexico was no exception.
There are plenty of chairs around the pool area, some get a lot of sun, some don't. But none are as valuable as those closest to the pool.
I noticed that there were plenty of towels spread all over the pool chairs each day, but not many people in them. That wasn't a shock, but on our third day I was up earlier than I had been on day 2, and when I was down near the pool I found that there were plenty of towels spread across lounge chairs, but hardly a soul to be found at the pool. Some people also left books, magazines, newspapers, flip flops or other personal items with a towel on their designated chair. Somehow by doing that you guarantee yourself right to that chair for as long as you want it that day, whether you're using it or not.
It's nice to be close to the pool, as you're closer to the bar, but my brother and I learned a couple of important things about being poolside. No matter how much sun you get at certain times of the day, the trees and other obstructions will limit the hours in which your chair gets direct sunlight. For some that's not a consideration, but if you want to soak up the sun, it can pose a problem.
And at our resort the ocean breeze didn't quite work its way through the pool deck, so it got hot in the sun. You'd think I was sitting in a sauna by how much I would sweat in the sun. Sure, I'd drink beverages to keep cool, but sweat would pour out of me in the sun.
But not at the beach. We could pull chairs toward the water and be free of all obstructions each afternoon, yet we'd never get that hot at the beach, there was always a nice breeze to keep us from overheating.
We spent some time poolside and on the beach, both have their benefits. But when you travel to an ocean-side resort, why would you want to spend all your time poolside, as if you're in Minnesota rather than Mexico? I don't get it, especially when you have to get up before 8 a.m. to stake your claim to one of those precious spots.
There are squatter's rights to the chairs at the pool of major resorts, and it's damn competitive.
Mexico was no exception.
There are plenty of chairs around the pool area, some get a lot of sun, some don't. But none are as valuable as those closest to the pool.
I noticed that there were plenty of towels spread all over the pool chairs each day, but not many people in them. That wasn't a shock, but on our third day I was up earlier than I had been on day 2, and when I was down near the pool I found that there were plenty of towels spread across lounge chairs, but hardly a soul to be found at the pool. Some people also left books, magazines, newspapers, flip flops or other personal items with a towel on their designated chair. Somehow by doing that you guarantee yourself right to that chair for as long as you want it that day, whether you're using it or not.
It's nice to be close to the pool, as you're closer to the bar, but my brother and I learned a couple of important things about being poolside. No matter how much sun you get at certain times of the day, the trees and other obstructions will limit the hours in which your chair gets direct sunlight. For some that's not a consideration, but if you want to soak up the sun, it can pose a problem.
And at our resort the ocean breeze didn't quite work its way through the pool deck, so it got hot in the sun. You'd think I was sitting in a sauna by how much I would sweat in the sun. Sure, I'd drink beverages to keep cool, but sweat would pour out of me in the sun.
But not at the beach. We could pull chairs toward the water and be free of all obstructions each afternoon, yet we'd never get that hot at the beach, there was always a nice breeze to keep us from overheating.
We spent some time poolside and on the beach, both have their benefits. But when you travel to an ocean-side resort, why would you want to spend all your time poolside, as if you're in Minnesota rather than Mexico? I don't get it, especially when you have to get up before 8 a.m. to stake your claim to one of those precious spots.
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
Surviving Mexico
I'm more than a week removed, and I have yet to reminisce about my trip to Mexico.
For the first time in my life I traveled south of the border. I never expected to be going to Mexico in 2009, but as luck would have it one Thursday afternoon last June I had a voice mail message from one of the local radio stations, telling me all my entering of contests to win concert tickets and other crap paid off big time. I won a trip for two to Puerto Vallarta from one of those radio stations that plays what it wants, allegedly.
The beneficiary of my good fortune? My brother, whose wife would have preferred that I just give the trip to them. Tough break, sister.
The trip included round trip airfare and four nights at Riu Vallarta, one of three Riu resorts along the beach. Riu operates resorts in many vacation destinations, evidently. Our Puerto Vallarta destination was an all-inclusive property.
We didn't really stay in Puerto Vallarta, we stayed north of the city, in an area that I think is called Riviera, Nayarit. Nayarit is the state, evidently, but I'm not sure that there's actually a city called Riviera. I guess I have some Mexican geography to study.
There are numerous resorts lining the beach in this area, and the access road to them has gated entries on both ends. The area also appears to have its own tourist police force assigned to the highly profitable land of well-to-do Americans.
I was glad my brother was able to go to Mexico with me, but this place is really for couples, primarily. It's not the type of place that draws lots of singles, I could tell. The two young skanks running around the first two days of my trip seemed to have drawn the same conclusion. They seemed like they couldn't get enough male attention, yet were disappointed most of the guys there were already spoken for.
All inclusive means you don't have to pay for food or drinks on the property, but that has its limitations, too. The food was decent, but it wasn't spectacular, and after the dinner hours, there's almost nothing to be had on the property, except for a few lousy offerings in sports bar. There weren't even vending machines to get potato chips or candy bars after hours. I think the gift shop had some of that, but there was no walking down the street to a convenience store at this place.
There will probably be no rhyme or reason to what I write about in the coming days, but I'm going to try to record memories of this trip each night until I've had enough. My trip was less than raucous, and far from scandalous, but I'm going to relive it nonetheless.
For the first time in my life I traveled south of the border. I never expected to be going to Mexico in 2009, but as luck would have it one Thursday afternoon last June I had a voice mail message from one of the local radio stations, telling me all my entering of contests to win concert tickets and other crap paid off big time. I won a trip for two to Puerto Vallarta from one of those radio stations that plays what it wants, allegedly.
The beneficiary of my good fortune? My brother, whose wife would have preferred that I just give the trip to them. Tough break, sister.
The trip included round trip airfare and four nights at Riu Vallarta, one of three Riu resorts along the beach. Riu operates resorts in many vacation destinations, evidently. Our Puerto Vallarta destination was an all-inclusive property.
We didn't really stay in Puerto Vallarta, we stayed north of the city, in an area that I think is called Riviera, Nayarit. Nayarit is the state, evidently, but I'm not sure that there's actually a city called Riviera. I guess I have some Mexican geography to study.
There are numerous resorts lining the beach in this area, and the access road to them has gated entries on both ends. The area also appears to have its own tourist police force assigned to the highly profitable land of well-to-do Americans.
I was glad my brother was able to go to Mexico with me, but this place is really for couples, primarily. It's not the type of place that draws lots of singles, I could tell. The two young skanks running around the first two days of my trip seemed to have drawn the same conclusion. They seemed like they couldn't get enough male attention, yet were disappointed most of the guys there were already spoken for.
All inclusive means you don't have to pay for food or drinks on the property, but that has its limitations, too. The food was decent, but it wasn't spectacular, and after the dinner hours, there's almost nothing to be had on the property, except for a few lousy offerings in sports bar. There weren't even vending machines to get potato chips or candy bars after hours. I think the gift shop had some of that, but there was no walking down the street to a convenience store at this place.
There will probably be no rhyme or reason to what I write about in the coming days, but I'm going to try to record memories of this trip each night until I've had enough. My trip was less than raucous, and far from scandalous, but I'm going to relive it nonetheless.
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