May 6, 2004

 I want to go to Hawaii, and I want to go bad.

    I have no reason to feel this way--not that anybody ever needs a reason to want to go to Hawaii.  But I have no specific reason to want to go to Hawaii all of the sudden, except that it is May, and I apparently have "tropical paradise mind" in May, and Hawaii is my answer to all things tropical.

    That's one of the cool things about keeping a journal--being able to track a trend.  I wish I knew if I had gone tropical in 2002, but I have no way of finding that out.  I know I did in 2001, because I remember that I was playing Tropico like crazy before the wedding, and I had to switch to Diablo II because I was afraid I wouldn't be in the mood for a trip to Scotland.   Funny.

In a pinch, I guess Mexico will do.

    Wandering around the financial district on my lunch break yesterday, I kept hearing faint whispers of mariachi music.  Turns out the band was in the atrium/lobby of the JP Morgan building, which I circled during by break.  The music faded in and out as I walked, a victim of high-rise acoustics.  And, as live music always does, it gave the downtown a strange, imaginary feel.  This time it was somewhere between a Corona commercial and the street fair scene from Grim Fandango.  In either case it made me want to do nothing more than kick back with a nice margarita.

    I spent the ride home thinking about the mood of the city, and slushy tequila drinks.  Apparently this was the correct tactic, because Shorn came home with a couple of grocery bags full of the fixin's for a Mexican dinner, including the nice shiny bottles of Cuervo and Bone Daddy's.  Sweet.