Hey it’s summertime! Let’s go to the beach! Let’s go to the beach and have some summertime fun!

It’s summertime and I’m always thinking every time I have a day off that I’m supposed to go to the beach. Like I really should, like I have to or something. But, I don’t know, I just don’t get the whole beach thing. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve had some great times at the beach, but only if I’m staying at a hotel that’s like directly on the beach. I’ll go straight from my room, right out to the beach, maybe do some swimming, some laying around, sandcastles, obviously. And then when I’m done I just go right up to my room and take a shower and it’s like I was never at the beach in the first place.

Because while it’s fun being at the beach, everything else about the whole process is really annoying. I live like an hour away from the beach. I’d have to get up super early and pack all of my stuff. And here’s where I’m already totally lost. Because am I supposed to go to the beach in my bathing suit? I guess, right? Because, what am I supposed to do, change at the beach? Where? I can just see it already happening where I get there and there’s nowhere to change, so I have to do this really weird move where I wrap a towel around my waist and take off my pants or my shorts and then put my bathing suit on. I’m just squirming and it’s really hard to maneuver, and the towel keeps slipping. And everyone’s looking at me like, what has this guy never been to the beach before?

But if you go to the beach in your bathing suit, are you supposed to go home in your bathing suit also? I’m probably going to go swimming. And it’s going to be all sandy and itchy. So for an hour I have to sit there and pretend like I’m comfortable, while I’m really itchy and sticky and sweaty and just feeling grosser by the second?And there’s so much stuff to bring. It’s like going on a mini vacation. So much unpacking and packing and repacking and carrying. It’s not an easy thing to do. And there’s a ton of preparation involved that the eventual time actually spent on the beach hardly seems worth it. I’d be happy at the beach for like maybe like two hours. That sounds cool. I could do a little reading, go for a swim, lay out for a second, and that’s it. It’s like going to the park. I don’t feel like spending all day at the park. But if you spend two hours packing, an hour travelling, another hour unpacking and repacking and setting up and disassembling, you’re really at this point invested in the beach, required to spend at least five hours at the beach, just to make it seem like you spent your time at least somewhat wisely. So then you have to think about what you’re going to do for those extra three hours. Aren’t you going to get hungry? Thirsty? OK, so now you have to bring a cooler, and that’s heavy. Don’t forget the ice. And cups. You know what? I think we have to bring a trash bag for all of the trash. Aren’t we going to get really sunburned after five hours? Maybe we should bring an umbrella. Isn’t it tax season already? All right, we have to go to accountant’s house and pick him up. Don’t forget extra copies of those W-2s.

No, I hate complaining. I’m not trying to be a complainer. Like I said, the beach can be a lot of fun. It’s just really inaccessible and so much work. Plus, if it’s a really great beach day, do you think you’re the only person who has the bright idea to go to the beach? No, it’s you and every other person with nothing to do. And so you’re stepping on cigarette butts that always retain their heat whe they’re buried in the sand. You’re getting sand kicked in your face by little kids. That big Italian guy next to you is blasting club music really loud and looking at you, almost begging you to say something. You want to start something? Huh brah? Huh punk?

I’m just kidding. I love Italians. I love Super Mario. I love spaghetti. I don’t care if Marco Polo brought it over from China, it’ll always be Italian food to me. At least the Italians aren’t a bunch of communists like the Chinese. I do love Chinese dumplings better than gnocchi, though. Sorry, Italians. You make the better pasta, but they make the better dumplings. I wonder: if China and Italy joined forces to make one country, would they call it Chitaly? Yeah, definitely. The Chitalians would be a great people, masters of both pasta and dumplings. Don’t you think a General Tso’s inspired pizza would be delicious? You’ve had buffalo chicken pizza, right? Well this would be just like that, but Chinese. Or Chitalian. I forgot already. This is all probably never going to happen though.

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