February 16th, 1996
I’m only on page 12 of Douglas Coupland’s “Shampoo Planet” and it’s already inspired me to shut up about wanting to write and just start writing already.
A crab just side-stepped past my lounge chair, stopped and challenged me with its claws. A wise-ass crustacean flexing with cartoon, come on-come-on-I-dare-ya toughness.
Mon and I have decided that the Shaw Park Beachfront Hotel in Ocho Rios, Jamaica is “Jamaica Lite.” Elvis is on the stereo. And when reggae is being peformed by the band, it’s synthesized, lounged-up, cheesy covers of Bob Marley’s greatest hits. And I can’t find jerked anything on the menu.
But the hotel help all say, “Ya, mon” and “No problem.” There isn’t a single cloud in the sky. The water looks exactly like it does in the “Come Back to Jamaica…” commercials that inspired Mon and me to call the travel agent and book this trip…credit card debt be damned!
And I’m not at YM getting anyone’s tea.
There’s a girl in a yellow bikini with the type of curvy yet toned bod I’d love for myself, yet can’t motivate myself to achieve through aerobics. I’m watching this very pretty girl in the yellow bikini pose for her balding, paunchy boyfriend who must be looooooaded to compensate for the imbalance in attractiveness. She’s taking her blonde hair out of her ponytail, shaking it seductively… This photo will get passed around the firm, so he can show off his pretty girlfriend wading up to her tan, firm thighs in Jamaica’s perfect waters…
