Introduction

Anniversary Blog

Just when you thought it was safe to go back on the internet—the blog is back!  Those of you that suffered through the Honeymoon Blog have had a year of rest and, with any luck, have built up the stamina for another installment.

Ann had been dropping little hints for some time that it would be nice to go away on our anniversary.  She had a romantic idea that we could go on another road trip with the Crapmobile and the dog and relive some of the fun of our honeymoon.  I was a little dense about picking up on the hints.  Then she stopped hinting and started making reservations.

We were both pretty busy and couldn't take a long vacation but thought we could get away for a long weekend.  We looked into Mackinac Island in northern Michigan but decided the drive would be too long for a weekend trip.  Then Ann decided to investigate the Finger Lakes in upstate New York where one of her co-workers had been on vacation recently.  I told her my favorite was Middle Finger Lake.  She seemed persuaded for a moment but then gave me a look of disappointment.  Apparently my sense of humor is a little less cute than it was a year ago.

I had only been in this area a couple of times previously—once working on an acquisition for a client and once visiting my brother at Cornell University where he went to school at the time.  I had no strong memories of the area other than a sense that it was rural, hilly and probably extremely cold in the winter (I recall working hard to get the acquisition done before winter set in).

The Finger Lakes are near Rochester New York and were formed about 2 million years ago by glaciers that settled into river valleys and carved out 11 long deep lakes that look like—you guessed it—fingers.    

Ann announced a few weeks ago that she had found a cute little bed and breakfast near the largest of the Finger Lakes, Cayuga.  Those words—“cute little bed and breakfast”—send a chill deep into the soul of any man, and I was no exception.  I immediately had visions of a drafty old Victorian mansion with an earnest, unkempt proprietor couple.  I had visions of other guests searching for meaningful social interactions in an environment where there was no polite escape. 

These places don't have living rooms, they have “parlors”.  They don't have restaurants, they have “dining salons”.  Dining salons with large dining room tables where you are supposed to have breakfast with other lodgers, some of whom may still be in their jammies.  There are “throws” everywhere (a “throw” is something you wrap around yourself to stave off hypothermia in a drafty old Victorian mansion), grandfather clocks that don't work, beds designed for the vertically challenged, creaky floors, thin walls, and no TVs.

The owners of places like this make the common mistake of going on vacation, having a nice time and then coming to the flawed conclusion that they can turn vacation into a lifestyle.  The people who end up in this trap—ski instructors, country club managers, river rafting guides, resort employees—soon discover that bowing and scraping to a constant stream of high-maintenance jackasses with a genius for not understanding anything they are told, is actually not anything like a vacation.  It is the opposite of vacation.  Often these disillusioned souls then take out their frustrations on actual vacationers.

Honeymoon blog readers will recall my theory that women generally apply the “frog in the pot” principle to their  relationship with the men in their lives.  Their goal, of course, is to strip us of any shred of manhood or dignity in order to attain complete and total domination.  They put the happy little frog in the pot and slowly turn up the heat until the frog, never aware of what is going on, is completely cooked.  I think that when a man is going off for a long weekend at a bed and breakfast, you can put a fork in him.  He's done.  Well done.