Next time you eat a pound of BBQ ribs and wash them down with 32 oz. of alcohol (rum/coconut/pineapple concoction), DO NOT decide to try a bungee catapult for the first time with your teenage son and come hurdling towards the earth...at incredible speeds...face first...in the dark! Just sayin'. (My incredibly long, howler monkey-like toes? Wrapped around the lower bar, holding on for dear life).
The best part about road trips with my son (besides occasionally sticking my right arm out across his chest like we're coming to a sudden and complete stop): torturing him with my Sirius Satellite 80's retro station.
We used to have this game - I'd say, "I'll give you a million dollars if you know who sings this", but he started getting wise that I wasn't really going to pay up. So, yesterday, during West End Girls, I cranked it up and said I'd give him $10 if he knew the artist.
Wise ass son: "Let's see...they sound really gay..with a crappy, techno beat. It must be Pet Shop Boys."
SCORE! Part of me is so proud that he's been paying attention all these years (though I'd disagree with his assessment of PSB's talent). But now I have to hand over $10.