But my biggest surprise was discovering that my parents are just as bad as everyone else. I mean, these are the people who taught me to drive using the motto: "For God sakes, slow down, boy!" I had never seen my dad even exceed the speed limit as I was growing up. But there I was in the passenger seat as "Mad Max" piloted the Mini-Van of Death down highway 605.

I was instantly possessed with feelings of pride mixed with moments of sheer terror as we passed semis at warp factor 5. But I eventually got used to this new form of interstate travel, and we returned safely home to my mother who was waving a checkered flag from the window.

As it turned out, five days later I learned that my dad was merely practicing the necessary survival skills that drivers must master in L.A.-- Survival skills that my younger cousin has precious little mastery of. I'll never forget the fateful Wednesday that she came to pick my sister and me up to pay a visit to my relatives. Everything was fine until she accelerated to 70 mph up the high- way entrance ramp and then proceeded to merge perpendicularly with traffic. She then pushed her cute little Hyundai into the fast lane. But for some reason she decided that the far right lane was more attractive and performed the only triple lane change that I ever want to be involved in. When she saw my ashen face in the mirror she simply asked, "What?"

Thank God that I survived that ordeal, along with the trip back. For if I had died, I would have missed my chance to speak Spanish! After taking two semesters of Spanish in high-school, I got my first opportunity to use my bilingual skills in an L.A. thrift store. The cultural experience went something like:

Nice Hispanic Lady: "Te gustas los pantelones?"

Me: "Come again?"

Lady: "Los jeanes, los jeanes. Te gustas?"

Me: Must...recall...Spanish lessons..."Me gusto cantar en la bana!"

Needless to say, the lady was quite perplexed. For what I told her was that I like to sing in the bathroom. But unfortunately, this along with "Mi lapiz es encima de mesa" which literally translated means, "My pen is on top of the table", is all that I remembered from high-school. But I did none the less end up communicating with the lady. She looked at me with an understanding face, smiled and spoke the little English that she knew: "My sock is large." Now we were getting somewhere!

I eventually bought the "pantelones", at least I think that I did, and I bid my new international friend fare-well knowing that I had been part of something very special. Perhaps someday we as a nation can find a way to cross ethnic and language barriers. Perhaps we all learn to speak in a universal tongue of peace and tolerance. And yes, perhaps that lady's sock truly was large.

So naturally you must be wondering what I did with most of my time in the Sun-shine state. Well, I...er...sat around in my pajamas. Yes, I am proud to say that I traveled over 1000 miles, thus escaping the harsh winter weather of the Mid-west, to spent two weeks lying around the house in my sweat pants! But I did do some very important things while lying on the couch. For example, I helped several football teams to victory.

You see, I, like many men truly believe that my cheering for a specific sports team can help them win. This is exactly why my favorite team, the Buffalo Bills, is no longer in the playoffs. I can just imagine the scene in the Bills' huddle as they made their final drive in the fourth quarter:

Jim Kelly: "OK guys. This is it. Right 34 Z in."

Thurman Thomas: "Uh, wait a second. I don't feel John's cheers. I don't think he's in the room!"

Jim Kelly: "Oh no! His cousin called! What do we do? Must...concentrate... on...game..."

Kelly, on the very next play, threw an interception and the Bills lost the game.You see, because of that phone call from my cousin, the Bill's hopes of a Super Bowl won't be realized this year.

So, looking back, I had a very exciting and fulfilling winter vacation. I risked my life, crossed cultural and language barriers, and played a decisive roll in the playoffs. Not a bad way to start the new year! Or as they say in Spanish: "Mis pantelones son encima de mesa en Los Angeles."