my nature adores the vacuum

This afternoon Mrs. Bitter and I depart the Land of Perpetual Winter for the balmy beaches of Belize. We will have no access to phone, television or the internet, and this is fine by us.

Far from “roughing it” in the jungle or the Mayan Mountains, we will be living in a seaside bungalow with running water and electricity (to power the ceiling fans, of course). We will not be bringing MP3 players, cell phones or PDAs. We will be bringing all of the books we’ve been meaning to read for the past few years. Among my reading material are the following:

“On the Road” by Jack Kerouac (which I never seem to finish)
“Doctor Sax” by Jack Kerouac
“A Confederacy of Dunces” by John Kennedy Toole
“Angel-Headed Hipster” by Steve Turner
“Faithful” by Stewart O'Nan and Stephen King

I hope to get plenty of writing done as well, but all of this takes a back seat to our real purpose—drinking obscene amounts of Belikin beer and speculating about the life stories of all the people we meet along the way.

The chubby fellow in the tie dye t-shirt, khaki shorts and lime green bucket hat embezzled millions from investors in Chicago and is now enjoying a Banana Daquiri.

That sort of thing. How will this chubby fellow see me?

The pasty, white-haired, forty-something in the faux Hawaiian shirt and Old Navy Bermuda shorts is an FBI agent who is about to arrest me for embezzling millions from investors in Chicago. I should feed him to the sharks, but this Banana Daquiri tastes so good I think I’ll offer him half of my take in return for his silence.

How perfect is that?