And So I'm Back, From Outer Space - er, The Beach

Yes, your Ricky drought is over. I have returned from the East Coast (NC) and I'd like to talk about the beach.

The idea of the beach is an odd one to me. The beach is sand and ocean. The sand may be different colors in different parts of the world, but it's basically the same. The ocean is ...the ocean. It really doesn't change. It's big and humbling and will turn your shit into churned sand and wood and concrete in about five seconds in the right circumstance.

(NOTE: Granted, my entire career of web design could be turned into flailing electrons by a well-placed EMP, but I'm talking about the beach, damn it!)

There are people who love the beach. They would probably love any beach, but generally focus on one. And those people - the ones that get rich enough to afford it - purchase a house on the beach. And they name that house.

I'm not joking. I saw houses named Sea Therapy, Vitamin Sea, Ocean Hope, Sea Serai (sic), Julie's Dream, 3's a Charm, Bill's Place, What Happened?, The Office, and Everyone's Joy.

It's all very quaint.

And that's what made me sick.

I enjoy the beach. I can deal with it for an hour or two a day. But after that, I get burned by the sun and wonder what other lovely things I could be experiencing. So I read. Inside.

But what makes me ill is that I'm spending a bunch of money on a vacation that is basically...on the beach. We venture out to other places that are also on the beach but it is always a hot trap full of tourists.

And it is a solid mentality. People love it: House on the beach. Everything is about the beach. Or swimming. Or shopping at one of the 19,000 places you can see from your house that promises 5.99 purchases (in tiny words in tiny sections).

Those people who return to those places every year are the same ones who purchase homes and name them with non-witty monikers. And they laugh at trite commentaries and -- shit. Don't want to give it all away for you.

My ideal vacation is one of exploration of culture and exploration of geography and sitting in a pub and bartering at a market and killing an Arab. Sorry. That last one was a reference to a Cure song that was a reference to a Camus novel. Does that make me post-post-modern?

It's a wonder to sit on the beach that disappears at high tide. It's a wonder to be able to mellow out and think of nothing but what's on your mind. It's a wonder to be able to do any of the shit I just said.

Sometimes vacation can be beautiful, but not so much a vacation.

I'm still searching for solitude.