Rants from the Coastal Curmudgeon

The items that hold a higher ranking than “being at the beach” on my list of Things I Enjoy Most are few and, well, generally inappropriate for this blog. Suffice to say, though, that by adding “at the beach” to any of those same items thrusts them upward to a nearly incomprehensible level of enjoyment. It’s a true best-of-both-worlds situation for me. Reminds me of the Jimmy Buffett tune Smart Woman in a Real Short Skirt. No – more like sitting on a beach with my smart woman in a real short skirt listening to Jimmy Buffett sing the song by the same name. Wait…it’s really more like hanging out with my smart woman in a real short skirt and Jimmy on a South Pacific beach after a surfing session, playing guitars and singing Smart Woman in a Real Short Skirt. Oh, and Bob Marley is there. You get the picture.

Needless to say, there are very few things I enjoy more than being at the beach. Were it not for many of those who also travel to the beach, it would be Eden for me. For it is they who, on rare occasion, turn me into the Coastal Curmudgeon, the alias I will assume for this post.

Allow me to expound on these folks who, upon my most recent visit to my beloved Carolina coast, gave me pause to consider the interruptions they inflicted on my otherwise idyllic experience.

First, it is not appropriate nor acceptable to wear loosely laced high tops, baggy butt crack-showing, calf-length shorts, a wife-beater tank top undershirt, and a Major League flat-brimmed ball cap - with the brim at 5:00 - on the beach! It looks ridiculous in the mall. On the sand by the surf? Thoroughly idiotic. Try some board shorts. And if you must wear a shirt, you have options. Think loose and cool, or something with SPF protection. Headwear? Certainly. But keep in mind the words of my wise old grandfather-in-law – “I never seen a hat with the brim sewn on the back.” Oh yeah, trade in the heaps of cologne for a liberal application of sunscreen.

Speaking of apparel, let’s turn our attention to the ladies. Now, like most red-blooded males, I’m all for showing some skin. Bikinis are beautiful. If they fit. If you wear a size 18, don’t squish yourself into a 4. The saying, “If you got it – flaunt it” does not apply to fat, beer guts, rolls or hairy underarms. Is that a double standard? Damn skippy. We can’t pull off the magic you gals are able to create every day. There is a line, though. And I’ve seen some not only cross over that line but douse it in ranch dressing and cheese dip, roll all over it, wrap themselves in it,  try it on as a thong, then crush it underfoot, soak it in lighter fluid, set it ablaze, and eventually travel hundreds of miles past it.

I mentioned hairy underarms being taboo for the ladies. But where has the hair gone for the guys? Now this I kinda understand. If your woman likes a bare chest, then striving to please is not necessarily a bad thing. All I gotta say is it seems like there was a step in the evolutionary process that bypassed me in this area. If not, there is a whole lotta shaving going on. I find it laughable, and maybe a little sad, when I watch a dude go by with a silky smooth front torso and the back of a bear. Out of sight, out of mind, I guess. Looks silly, fellas. An all-or-nothing approach makes more sense. As for me, I’ll leave the waxing for my longboard.

This next complaint applies to the Garden City/Surfside beaches of South Carolina. If you don’t want to walk when you play golf on one of the Grand Strand’s many pristine golf courses, rent a golf cart. If you’d like to go from your rental house 5 blocks off the beach to the pier 4 miles away, take a road-worthy vehicle! Somehow, these 2 towns have seen it feasible to allow golf carts to travel on their busy streets. To make matters worse, those who drive these little misery-making machines refuse to move to the shoulder to allow the 24-vehicle build-up to pass. It’s as though they consider the streets to have been built for them. Bikers and joggers share the road and use common sense (usually), yielding to those machines made for tar and gravel travel. And many go at a higher rate of speed than the displaced duffers’ wagons. Town councils, can we not restrict golf carts to the secondary roads and require them to move over when safe? In the least, be considerate of those of us behind the wheel of a vehicle that can travel beyond 10 miles per hour. Otherwise, save the carts for use when driving a golf ball, like they were intended, not driving the rest of us slam nuts.

My final pet peeve deals with pets. Dogs are not humans. True, I prefer the friendship of a pooch to that of many a person I’ve known. But, if they are not allowed on a section of beach at certain times of the year, don’t take them out there. I can’t tell you how much I just love sifting through broken conchs, olives, and other assorted shells only to come across a pile of dog poop, in pristine condition, nonetheless. A wet nose of an overly friendly canine in my crotch makes maintaining the altitude of a kite somewhat difficult. Oh, and thanks for slobber-soaking that tennis ball my son and I were trying to toss about.

Mean-spirited? Maybe.

Uncompromising? Most likely.

Politically correct? Never.

You may hate me for what I said.

Haters gonna hate.

 

And Coastal Curmudgeons are gonna be crabby.

 

Be that as it may, I can’t wait to head back to my place in the sand.