There we go: listen, not much happened in the way of smarts-learnin’. If you want to talk about the kind of larger, life-experience, “endurance of pain as a means of soulful self-analysis”, stuff-that-I-usually-cover type of learning, then you can buy me a beer and I’ll sing you a song. There’s ups and downs, and the chorus is the same as ten you’ve heard before, but at the end I think you’ll feel like it was worth the beer and blah blah blah, thoughts and feelings, thoughts and feelings.
Bottom line is that the wedding was lovely.

Oh, and I learned that shooting handguns is loud and fucking terrifying.

-diggy

ADENDUM: originally the entirety of this post consisted of “Wedding was nice. Shot some guns.” Shit, I think that would’ve read better.

February is always a weird month.  It’s only 2-3 days shorter than other months, but somehow it feels like it always flies by.  Maybe that’s because January and March are so different.  When the month began, my world was a snowy mess.  And now, it’s practically spring.  I’m already getting that fluttery, jittery feeling — that urge to go outside and run around even though it’s not really warm yet (the same urge that leads everyone in Minnesota to flaunt their pasty shoulders on the first above-freezing day).

This February was particularly weird because it pretty much defeated any hope of routine.  I spent a week indoors and another on vacation (more on this in a moment).  Of course, there were still opportunities for too much thinking and the usual silly stuff, but I sort of felt like I spent the whole month on the go.

So, as I look back on February in search of a moral (read the primer), it’s hard to identify a theme.

I never wrote my “What I learned in Cancun” post because, well, Cancun doesn’t lend itself to a whole lot of learning.  We had thought we would beat the rush by going the week before American spring break — but instead, we encountered Canadian spring break.  And although Cancun is technically in Mexico, let’s be honest: it’s Vegas with more sand and less class.  It’s a theme park for college kids.  Six Flags Jager.

There was a lot of weird:

• One night, we went to a club to see Lil’ Jon…perform?  Perform isn’t right.  Appear?  He doesn’t sing, he doesn’t rap, he doesn’t even DJ (some white kid with an iPod was playing the songs).  He…demands that people drink?  He sexually harasses women?  He…I really don’t know how he makes money.  Someone told me he’s a producer.  Maybe that makes sense.  But then paying to see him is like buying tickets to watch Peter Gammons watch a baseball game.  I’m rambling.
• You can’t get good Mexican food in Cancun.  I didn’t have even passable ceviche the whole time I was there.  In fact, it was a culinary disaster (Pat O’Brien’s, I’m looking at you) until we found the little taco stand up the other end of the highway.  Ate a lot of tacos.
• We went snorkeling one day, which, if I’d been in a snarky mood and in reach of my computer, would have produced a post with the sentence: “Today I learned that Americans are terrified of fish and unaware that they live in the ocean.”  Seriously, a whole crew of people “eeeeek”-ing out because a school of grouper swam past their legs.
• The hotel had a guy named Javier who was supposed to be the sort of concierge.  He had a desk, and on it were all these pamphlets for things you could go and do.  Unfortunately, also on the desk was a sign that, in the morning, said “JAVIER WILL BE BACK AT 4:30,” and, in the evening, said “JAVIER WILL BE BACK TOMORROW AT 9:30.”  I saw him once, in the bathroom, carefully fluffing his simply amazing perm.  It was like seeing bigfoot.

I could go on.  And it would sound like Alvy Singer’s Vacation Diary.  You would think I had a shitty time in Cancun.

But I didn’t!  I had a great time.  I drank Dos Equis, I ate tacos, I saw parrotfish, I let my heels dig in the sand and stared out at the ocean, I watched sunsets, I laughed at my friends’ sad attempts to get laid, I saw fucking LIL’ JON.  If I’d hated it, I would have done the old Andy thing I used to do when I’d try something I didn’t like — come home and angrily insist I would never do something like that again.

Instead, the whole thing made me want to go on vacation again as soon as possible — although, maybe somewhere a little less Americanized.

My favorite post this month was this one.  The exuberance reflected therein was the result of being in a new place with people I liked.  And when I got home from Baltimore, I realized what the lesson was, and it’s going to be February’s moral.  In January, I learned not to be afraid of happiness.  In February, I learned a bit about how to make it happen.  February’s moral:

Exploration makes me happy.

Obviously, if “exploration” only meant “vacation,” I’d be sort of screwed.  But isn’t the whole point of this Internet project that exploration is easy?  It’s all around us!  I get the same kick out of Marlo’s rim shop as I do out of a tropical “paradise.”  In fact, I get some version of that endorphin hit out of nailing a new Korean taco recipe or seeing a new bird.

I can’t believe this stupid blog is working so well.

-andy

Last night I learned that Vinson’s rim shop from The Wire — the one Marlo uses as his clubhouse in, say, this clip — actually exists.

I was in Baltimore, and we were driving through a not-awful neighborhood, and I saw it, and pretty much peed my pants.

Baltimore was great — saw this insanity and ate some incredible jerk wings and got to see Chris and saw three red-tailed hawks on the drive home.

But, come on — MY NAME IS MY NAME!

-andy

I’m in Cancun!  Which means that posting will be sporadic until I get back latelate Thursday night.  But here are a few things I’ve already learned:

• I learned that 911 operators are trained to be preternaturally calm.  Don’t panic, Mom!  I learned this this morning on the early-ass bus to Dulles.  It was maybe 5:30.  And all of a sudden the bus slowed down on the 14th St. Bridge, and we see an SUV tipped over onto its windshield and another motorist running towards it.  The bus stopped.  And I saw…two feet…wiggling from beneath the SUV…the driver trying to get out.  The Good Samaritan got the door open, the driver popped up and brushed some snow off his jacket, and they both wandered away, perfectly fine.  Meanwhile, I called 911, and was just amazed at how low-key and chill the operator was — I could barely even hear him.  Apparently, they’re trained to do that so callers don’t freak out.  Good news, everyone was fine and I got on the flight okay despite my paranoia about my decomposing passport.
• I learned that there is a street within the Dulles complex called “Autopilot Drive,” which is the new name of my emo band.
• I learned that Mexicana is perhaps the most pleasant airline in the history of the world.  Everyone from the check-in desk to the flight attendants to the captain — unbelievably pleasant and calm.  Made flying a totally satisfying experience.
• I learned about a liquor called D’Aristi, which you can apparently only find down here.  I will be bringing some back.
• Oh wow — I just learned that Google knows I’m in Mexico and therefore gives me my search results in Spanish.  Yikes.

More later.  But maybe not until I get back.  Using my laptop in the lobby of this hotel makes me feel like an ugly American.  Oh, speaking of which:

• I learned that this week is Canadian spring break.  I figured this out after I got like eight attaboys on the Montreal Expos cap I’ve been wearing around Cancun.

-andy

Man, I’m gonna tell you right now I didn’t learn shit yesterday. Oh, that’s not true, I learned that apropos of nothing and totally without trying to, I’ve managed to begin a gallery of photos depicting me drinking 40s on long-distance buses. Other than that, it was-

Wait, when did they change what nickels look like?

-diggy