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Long Story Short


The first time I heard the word "staycation," I was 4 years old. Instead of going to the beach, as in previous summers, my parents were carting my older brothers and me to our Uncle Cecil's pig farm, where we were going to "have fun working!"

When my mother actually said "staycation," my brothers and I conferred quietly in the backseat of the family station wagon, eventually agreeing that she'd just combined two words to form one bullshit term aimed at duping us.

At first, we tried to rebel, intentionally spilling pig slop all about and staging elaborate midnight breakouts on par with The Great Escape.

But routine quickly set in and we found ourselves enjoying the countryside until Cecil's prized pig, Hogzilla, rolled on top of Adam, nearly crippling his legs.

The point I'm trying to make, believe it or not, is that we're living in different times now, times that call for drastic inaction.

When you can't go, stay. And instead of whining about the rats in the hay loft and cold porridge, make the best of what's around you.

Just take our suggestions, add in your own and make the most of the rest of your summer.

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