Spring Break memories.

Okay, I have none. There! Are you happy now? Despite the fact that I spent six - count 'em six - years as an undergraduate, not one did I partake of the time-honored ritual of flying south to some sunny beach resort located in an otherwise impoverished Third World nation (or Florida) to drink heavily and judge many a wet t-shirt contest. Never mind that I probably would have spoiled everyone's happy hangovers by insisting on the optional day trips to visit Mayan ruins in my determination to soak up some culture along with the sun and fun! But the fact of the matter is that not only did I not go on any of these Girls Gone Wild-style vacations, but I didn't go anywhere at all during my Spring Breaks; and as I look back on it, well, that just seems odd. I didn't even tag along with my brother to catch Spring Training down in Florida!

Only one time did I do anything that even remotely approached a Spring Break vacation, and that was when my future wife and I bounced a couple of utility checks in order to tool down the Atlantic Coast in her silver Ford Aspire over the first week of our first March together as a couple, back in 1998. We took our time and haunted the still-shuttered resort towns of the Jersey Shore, the barrens of the Delmarva Peninsula, and the Outer Banks of North Carolina, getting as far as Savannah, Georgia before being thwarted by none other than Poseidon himself, in the form of torrential downpours and rampaging tornados. But it was one of the best trips of my life - the food alone was to die for, from hush puppies to she-crab soup! - and certainly provided the inspiration for our honeymoon, when Maria and I piled into the car again on an open-ended road trip, only this time driving off into the sunset.

So I guess that qualifies. And although Snoop Dogg wasn't there to film our wild exploits, we did take a lot of nice pictures...