Although no holy scripture explicitly states it, every day should end with a toasty, bubbly seat in a hot tub. I think that's the way God designed us. How do I know? Because it feels too darn good for that to not be true.
Hot tubs are proof that we humans, to a certain extent, were created to periodically be pampered. We require an occasional wallow in a lethargic, carefree salute to the bodily senses. Hence the congenital need for hot tubs. (Doesn't "Jacuzzi" just sound like an onomatopoeia for the sound of a body relaxing?)
Unfortunately, I don't own a hot tub. Double-unfortunately, I don't have access to one either. So, in order for me to submerge myself in the warm effervescence of a hot tub, I either have to befriend the right people and invite myself over or be on vacation at a destination with such a convenient amenity.
Now, the friends' hot tubs I trust. I have virtually zero problem with the friends' hot tubs -- so long as they are good, clean people and understand the delicate nuances of properly treating and caring for a hot tub.
It's the vacation destinations' hot tubs that make me cringe.
Why? They're public. Any Joe Shmoe can jump in there, suitably swimsuited or Adam-and-Eved, and blend his carnal chemicals with the foamy hot tub's, forming a more imperfect union of dirt, grime, and dare I say fecal matter floating and merging and boiling together into an unknown, vile layer of film atop the water that resembles Mickey Rourke's complexion.
If that was disgusting to read, then I've painted a very accurate portrayal of the thoughts behind my sour facial contortions upon approaching one of these public hot tubs. Hey, I don't know the history of that hot tub. I don't know the rigor with which the staff custodian cleans the impurities of that hot, germ-friendly water. Maybe it's because I've gone to beaches, hotels, and resorts with less-than-constrained friends too many times, but my immediate thoughts when nearing a public hot tub, like when I first enter my hotel room, scream, "What just happened here? What is the story of this tub? What do I not know about and don't want to know about but am nevertheless wondering about? What were its previous occupants wearing? Anything? Were they just talking? Were they a romantic couple? Or just a couple of friends? Or a couple of friends who were getting romantic -- with complete strangers??"
This is what races through my head when the hot tub is vacant. It takes all of three seconds. And if the hot tub actually has people -- total strangers -- in it, whoa... forget about it, buddy.
That's about the time I turn around and dive in the swimming pool instead. Only to emerge for air with a floating clump of leaves and tangled strands of a stranger's long, detached hair on my face.
Monday, September 26, 2011
Monday, September 5, 2011
Limousines
I like going out and I like having fun. If you were to ask me my top three favorite things to do, going out and having fun would probably take two of those positions, with the third likely being a "going out AND having fun" hybrid of the two. And if the going-out-AND-having-fun situation is for a special occasion, a great way to do it is via transportation with someone else behind the wheel.
Now, by default most people would think, "Oh, a limo is the way to go then." Okay, why? Isn't a taxi cheaper? Yes. And if you want to incorporate a party environment into the transportation, isn't a party bus more conducive to partying? Yes.
So, where does the limo fit?
Aren't limousines just pretentious taxis? Sure they are. Because when you're in a limo, it's like, hey, I need a ride somewhere -- as well as the attention of total strangers driving or walking by. There's absolutely no other reason to take a ride in a limousine. It's stretched-out, tinted showmanship -- typically, and ironically, for people who can barely afford it for three hours.
The only remotely justifiable situations for riding in a limo are if you're arriving to (A) an awards show as a star, (B) a movie premiere as a star, or (C) prom as a misinformed teen who is about to find out that limos don't actually make people feel that much like a star. And I say "justifiable" quite liberally as even these come across to some extent as inane reasons.
I think limos give people that temporary sense of wealth, class, and regality that they've heard about on "Access Hollywood" or seen in a paparazzi photo of your given underwear-less celebrity, as if the presence of a limo conveys affluence beyond the need to drive oneself around. But when a limousine drives you, your date, and your pimply friends to a lamely themed school dance, just who are you fooling? You're wearing a wilting corsage over a rented tuxedo that includes a clip-on bowtie. Everyone knows you don't own that limo and that driver isn't your 24/7 chauffeur. It's a one-time ride somewhere for which you paid far too much and likely reaped zero benefits.
Every occasion in which I know I'm getting into a limousine is preceded with a feeling of mild but unsure excitement, only to find myself thinking once in the limo, "Well... this is overrated. Whoopty crap." This rush of disappointment usually overcomes me around the time I look over at the perpendicular backseats where popped champagne and scantily clad blondes should be flowing and flirting respectively but instead are replaced by empty cocktail glasses on display and overdressed male buddies awkwardly looking at one another, inaudibly wondering, "So, what do we do now?"
Even worse is when the limousine falls under a whole other dimension of impracticality, like the stretch Hummers. I mean, unless you're going on a classy excursion through wild, rugged terrain or to an Ed Hardy outlet store, let's just drive these right into the scrap yard and throw the keys and fuzzy dice into a lake somewhere.
No, I'll just catch a cab driven by a guy whose name has seven consecutive consonants and spend the majority of my money at the destination rather than on the transportation to it.
Now, by default most people would think, "Oh, a limo is the way to go then." Okay, why? Isn't a taxi cheaper? Yes. And if you want to incorporate a party environment into the transportation, isn't a party bus more conducive to partying? Yes.
So, where does the limo fit?
Aren't limousines just pretentious taxis? Sure they are. Because when you're in a limo, it's like, hey, I need a ride somewhere -- as well as the attention of total strangers driving or walking by. There's absolutely no other reason to take a ride in a limousine. It's stretched-out, tinted showmanship -- typically, and ironically, for people who can barely afford it for three hours.
The only remotely justifiable situations for riding in a limo are if you're arriving to (A) an awards show as a star, (B) a movie premiere as a star, or (C) prom as a misinformed teen who is about to find out that limos don't actually make people feel that much like a star. And I say "justifiable" quite liberally as even these come across to some extent as inane reasons.
I think limos give people that temporary sense of wealth, class, and regality that they've heard about on "Access Hollywood" or seen in a paparazzi photo of your given underwear-less celebrity, as if the presence of a limo conveys affluence beyond the need to drive oneself around. But when a limousine drives you, your date, and your pimply friends to a lamely themed school dance, just who are you fooling? You're wearing a wilting corsage over a rented tuxedo that includes a clip-on bowtie. Everyone knows you don't own that limo and that driver isn't your 24/7 chauffeur. It's a one-time ride somewhere for which you paid far too much and likely reaped zero benefits.
Every occasion in which I know I'm getting into a limousine is preceded with a feeling of mild but unsure excitement, only to find myself thinking once in the limo, "Well... this is overrated. Whoopty crap." This rush of disappointment usually overcomes me around the time I look over at the perpendicular backseats where popped champagne and scantily clad blondes should be flowing and flirting respectively but instead are replaced by empty cocktail glasses on display and overdressed male buddies awkwardly looking at one another, inaudibly wondering, "So, what do we do now?"
Even worse is when the limousine falls under a whole other dimension of impracticality, like the stretch Hummers. I mean, unless you're going on a classy excursion through wild, rugged terrain or to an Ed Hardy outlet store, let's just drive these right into the scrap yard and throw the keys and fuzzy dice into a lake somewhere.
No, I'll just catch a cab driven by a guy whose name has seven consecutive consonants and spend the majority of my money at the destination rather than on the transportation to it.
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