(no subject)

The way this timeshare is arranged is such that there is an orientation at the main office every Sunday, because all check-ins are on Saturday afternoon -- everyone takes the place for either one or two weeks, and if they leave early their timeshare stands empty until the following Saturday.

I went down to the nine o'clock orientation this morning because Mama Ticky and Aunt Lilly were still waking up. My god could that Orientation woman talk. She kept us there listening to her go on about the island, peppered liberally with personal reminiscences of her life on other islands, her sister, and other unrelated subjects, for two hours. It was a good thing I stole some of the orientation doughnuts and ran them back to the Belles before she started, or the pair of them might have starved to death.

I do, however, now know the best place to get tuna, margaritas, Greek food, burgers, and a Mardi-Gras mask.

My favourite part is the Squirrel Lecture, which I have reproduced for you here:

"Well, the Duck Tours, they go on land and in the water and they're not, y'all know, as strictly hee-storical as that there train tour." (I swear I'm not making this dialect up). "But they're sorta good fer keeyads and funny and all, like y'all will learn how squirrels come to the island. They ain't native, you know. We don't need no squirrels here, but somebody brought 'em in, for whatever tomfool reason. And they over populated and people cain't shoot 'em...." Here she heaved a deep sigh and said, "Now if only we could teach 'em to eat the ducks..."

Lord a'mighty.

The Belles, as they will henceforth be known collectively, spent most of the morning watching the waves and the people on the sea-wall and continuing last night's medico-legal updates. I got back just in time to get quite an education in the Mexican prescription-drug tours that Aunt Lilly goes on, including a side trip into Why You Should Not Use Your Mobile Phone in Mexico.

I also got to watch, hiding frequent laughter behind The Italian Secretary and gulps of iced tea, as they began comparing their inhalers and arthritis medications precisely as they probably compared lipstick and eyeshadow fifty years ago. I don't imagine the mental image is that amusing, but by god is it funny in person.

The plan for today is, after Mama Ticky gets up from her nap, to go driving down to the westernmost tip of the island on a tour, so that we can ogle all the beaches and the construction going on that will, in Mama Ticky's words, "Be washed away in a decade or two".

Commentary post-hack: Welcome to 2008, where Ike just flattened Galveston.

We're plotting to stop by the supermarket to pick up some butter and eggs, but I doubt we'll buy much more since the Belles, quite rightly in my Foodie eyes, love to eat out and are greatly looking forward to seafood tonight. I certainly don't mind, since Mama Ticky is paying and I never eat very expensive dishes anyway.

Tomorrow I'm up early for a bike ride (yes, I hauled my bike all the way down here) along the sea-wall, probably some beachcombing, and then either the Strand or a trip to Moody Gardens. I have to say there's something oddly soothing about wandering the beaches; my gran was a great one for collecting "Angel's Tears" (glass shards softened into peculiar lumps by the ocean) and driftwood, and I inherited her scavenger's ways along with her husband's gypsy feet.

By all rights, really, I should be a wandering tinker or a Bodchan or something.

(no subject)

In the continuing chronicle of Things That Could Only Happen To Sam...

The Belles took me driving this evening, down to the west end of the island as promised, though we didn't go all the way to the tip. There will be much picspam later, because let me tell you, you haven't seen bizarre and gorgeous architecture until you've seen the beachfront mansions down west.

They're all built a good twelve feet off the ground for obvious reasons and they tend to have very few windows, though most of them appear to have at least three floors. Most have their own private walkway over the dune to the beach. I am slightly envious, as I will never in my life be rich enough even to rent one of those puppies, but also slightly cynical, because while living in one I would be afraid to walk too heavily for fear the whole floor would come down around the wooden pilings. It was quite an interesting study in architecture, however, and I took lots of great pictures. I'm becoming a real expert in taking photographs from moving cars.

We went out for dinner again -- have I mentioned the Belles enjoy eating out? -- to Joe's Crab Shack, which is a midwestern chain of seafood restaurants. They're normally pretty reasonable but quite a bit more expensive on the island than anywhere else, possibly including the MOON.

And let me tell you, it was nearly worth it. I had grilled shrimp served with garlic butter on, and here I begin to salivate again, a bed of sourdough garlic toast. Let me repeat this: Grilled shrimp with garlic butter sauce on a bed of sourdough garlic bread.

Omg.

It was, however, rather diminished by the fact that apparently at Joe's Crab Shack they sometimes do a little dance -- it's like a mini floor show where the waitstaff come out and dance to a remix of Stayin' Alive. I was seated in a chair just behind a dancing waitress. The dance they do includes a bit where they do the White Man's Clap -- clap, swing your arms back, swing forward, clap again.... You can guess what happened next. One of those white-man's-clappin' elbows beaned me square in the back of the head. Only to me, man.

Anyway, yesterday I meant to write about this but got distracted, but the Belles are both lovers of the margarita and also veteran parents, having raised eight boys collectively. These two items may be related; at any rate they combine them by criticising the quality of the margaritas of any given place whilst and at the same time shaking their heads at rambunctious children at other tables and muttering dire threats of knocking heads together and the dread "taking him outside". They were more satisfied with tonight's margaritas, which did look less melted and were a more appealing shade of green.

We came home, after a quick stop at Randall's for a few staples, and spent the rest of the evening sitting out on the porch watching the birds, waves, cars, and dogs, which is a post for another time.