I thought it might be interesting to go back in time and begin to examine some of the events and forces that shaped me. This, I trust, will at the very least take up considerable blogging space that I don’t otherwise know how to fill.
Having just bought a fancy scanner that does negatives, my father has been recently sending me pictures from my childhood. The latest batch were from our family’s trip to Cancun in 1979, back when the island was little more than a dusty patch of bulldozed nothingness with a few hotels stuck on it. Now, of course, every square inch has been completely developed, with plans to start floating the island on a cloud well in the works.
Now this shot from our day trip to the ruins of Chichen Itza got my attention for a number of reasons. The first was the combination of my buck teeth and Terrycloth head visor, which makes me look like a gleeful Bugs Bunny wearing the beak and scalp of Donald Duck (in what I imagine as the bloody aftermath of some epic battle between the animated characters of Hanna Barbera and Disney).
But it also made me wonder: what ever happened to Terrycloth? Its disappearance from popular fashion is as much of a mystery as the decline of the Mayans themselves, upon whose statuary I am shown above lounging. I’m pretty sure my sister, pictured in orange behind me, is also decked out in the soft lovable fabric.
To this mystery, I have neither theories nor answers. But you have to feel bad for poor Terry though, who probably thought his cloth would set him up for life. Hey, who knows? Maybe Terry was a shrewd investor. Maybe he went on to invent fleece or something.
Anyway, pictured at the bottom of the pyramid, you can see the rest of my outfit, including some very short shorts (I am pretty sure they were Size 6X; everything was 6X back then…) and a limited-edition Jawa T-shirt.
Now this picture brings back a bit of a bad memory actually because shortly after ascending to the very top of the iconic pyramid (no easy feat), I found myself desperately in need of the toilet. After racing down those narrow stars and nearly killing myself, I then discovered that the signage directing one to such facilities was incredibly inadequate, and I ended up running around in incredible agony while joking site workers directed me to the leopard-infested jungle.
Come to think of it, that was only one of several bad experience that day. Later, whilst being shown some terrifying sacrificial well, the tour guide made a grab as if to toss me in, to the uproariously laughter of everyone including my parents. Then later still while perusing some crafts, I accidentally wandered into what I thought was part of the showroom but was actually a private residence and had its little Mexican occupant menace me with a series of kung-fu punches and a roundhouse kick.
Anyway, you can imagine my relief when we finally returned to the safety of the hotel, and the soothing sound of Push Push In The Bush as rendered by the house band that played out by the pool.
