In case you missed it, the front page of the Key West Citizen on Wednesday morning featured a large color photo of a man and a woman skimming over the water on a Jet Ski. A person is parasailing in the background, and a pelican sits at the water’s edge.
The headline?
“WISH YOU WERE HERE.”
I know this not because I was in Key West as the season’s biggest snowstorm raged across the rest of the country, but because “a friend” of mine was and posted a picture of the offending front page on Facebook at 9:22 a.m. Wednesday.
That was just about the time the snow was starting to blow sideways here and bundled-up TV reporters were busy letting us know that the whipping snow hurt when it hit your face.
“My friend” kept at it throughout the day. Actually, he was at it the entire week he and his family spent in the southern Florida paradise.
There was a day, not so long ago, when lucky friends or family would leave this icy tundra for a brief respite down South and perhaps send us a postcard with a “wish you were here” scratched across the back of a picture of a dolphin or a “Welcome to the Sunshine State” sign.
Of course, the postcard never arrived until after the traveler was home by which point the envy of the trip was long gone. By the time they got their photos developed spring had arrived.
Add postcards to the list of items that soon will be obsolete.
This past week I and other “friends” have vacationed vicariously, or virtually if you prefer, through our pal Lance — and we’ve been doing it in real time.
Lance has been very excited about this trip as any of us would be. With a camera-phone or something of its kind in tow and the ability to post photos instantly to Facebook, Lance began his journey, and we all went along — virtually.
There was Lance at the airport. There was Tyrone at the airport (Tyrone is Lance’s puppet. You don’t want to know any more.) There was the plane they would fly on and then the monorail at the airport and so on and so on.
Finally, in the Florida Keys, there were pictures of signs warning him of falling coconuts. The sign on the side of Geaghan’s Pub where Lance works when he’s in the real world warns patrons of the danger of falling ice.
As the days passed and temperatures here dipped and the snowstorm to end all snowstorms barreled our way amid days of endless warnings by seriously concerned meteorologists, Lance, Tyrone and their crew took more photos and posted them on Facebook.
There was Jeff in his shorts on the deck of a place called Coconuts, there was an icy-cold Margarita on the rocks, a shot of a sandy sun-soaked beach and palm trees with the caption “suffering” written beneath it.
There were breakfasts by the pool with mimosas and Bloody Marys and Belgian waffles.
There were more pictures of the beach with captions like “eating ice cream on the beach with my brother.”
In a sad attempt to perhaps solicit sympathy there was a close-up of him barefoot with a caption that read, “Oh no. Flip flop injury.”
Lance’s thrice daily postings became my own personal train wreck. I knew I shouldn’t look. I knew it would be painful, yet I couldn’t look away.
The worst came early Wednesday evening. About the time everyone here was arriving home from work to a driveway filled with a foot of snow, Lance, Tyrone and crew were seated on the ocean-side deck of a place called Lor-e-lei.
The sunset behind them was spectacular, they sipped tropical, fruity drinks, smiled and waved at the camera.
The caption read, “Happy snowstorm, everyone.”
Those familiar with Facebook know that with every posting there is room for comment from “your friends.”
I cannot tell you here what some of Lance’s “friends” thought of his posting. The words would burn the eyeballs from your head.
But then at 5 a.m. Friday there was this posting.
“Well, we’re all up and ready to head to the airport … It’s already 75 degrees here.”
The first comment from his “friend” back home?
“It’s 10 below here.”
Welcome home, friend, but I kind of wish you were still there.