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August 20, 2008

The Beach

This weekend was my wife’s birthday and so I did not object when she suggested spending the day with the kids at the beach. I do not like the beach. I do not like the beach at all. Why? For starters, sand. If I had to rank substances upon which to eat a fun picnic lunch, sand would rank near the bottom, right above lava. Sand and eating do not mix, and yet eating seems to be one of my family’s two primary beach activities (the other is complaining about the heat). No matter how much plastic wrap you swaddle your food in, it is pretty much impossible to avoid getting some sand in your mouth, which is roughly the same as putting a horseshoe crab shell in a blender and then eating the result. Plus, sand always works its way into my butt crack. My entire ass region has enough problems without adding sand to the mix.

Swimming at the beach is also terrible because of the disgusting saltwater. It hurts my eyes, it tastes terrible, and when I get out of it, I feel as if I’ve been brined. Plus, no matter how hard I try to keep it out, like sand, it always ends up in my mouth. Remember that old Reese’s peanut butter cup slogan: “Two great tastes that taste great together?” Saltwater and sand are not like that.

Then there are jellyfish. Jellyfish are God’s “No swimming” sign. People have no business swimming anyplace where stinging tentacles may come into play. In fact, I will go a step further and say that “stinging tentacles” and “summertime recreation” are mutually exclusive terms. Actually, tentacles as a whole are a category of noun that I did not want to interact with when vacationing. No vacation was ever improved by the presence of tentacles.

Also, I don’t boogie board. I don’t “boogie” anything.

Sunscreen has also evolved into something atrocious. When I was a child, we did not wear sunscreen. The sun’s rays were not to be repelled. They were to be celebrated and absorbed. Our dermis was there to be roasted like a marshmallow over a campfire. Just as that marshmallow becomes evermore delicious when tickled to a golden brown, so our young bodies made delicious by the sun’s friendly ultraviolet love. This, of course, was before science. Now most of my time at the beach is spent slathering myself and my “loved ones” in white sun blocking paste. It takes forever to put on, it stings my eyes, and it’s impossible to remove from your hands without getting them caked in sand. Honestly, I would rather just allow my kids to get skin cancer than spend another second of my life smearing on that shit.
Another horrible aspect about going to the beach are the other people who go to the beach. I’ve never seen anybody at the beach and thought to myself, “I want to hang out with that person.” Everybody at the beach seems like the worst kind of person in the world. Either they’re sunburned parents yelling at their shitty kids, or they’re grotesquely overweight people with Long Island accents, or they’re playing that game with the wooden paddles and a ball that really isn’t a game because it doesn’t have rules and you don’t keep score. Where are the topless sunbathing European models? Probably in Monte Carlo, where I don’t go because Monte Carlo doesn’t have skee-ball.

The only way I have found to make the beach tolerable is to create beach conditions that make the beach as much like being indoors as possible. This requires folding chairs, huge beach towels to spread on the sand, a large cooler of ice cold soft drinks, massive sun-squashing umbrellas, a radio, food that doesn’t involve soggy bread or mayonnaise, somebody to watch my children for me, access to pornography, and preferably a house. In other words, the best way to enjoy the beach is from the comforts of home. So maybe I should buy a beach house? That would be fun. Especially if my beach house were located in a major metropolitan area like Manhattan.

I hate the beach, but I love my wife. So when she suggested the beach this weekend I did not object. Instead I prayed for rain, and when that did not come I sucked it up like a good husband and father, drove to the seashore, and then waited in the car with a lukewarm can of Dr. Pepper and contemplated suicide.

Happy birthday, sweetie.


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Carl Spackler

You should learn to move your boogie body...


Who needs SPF when you're clad in your long sleeve t-shirt and corduroy pants?

Nickel Jean

Living in the Midwest, I haven't had any opportunities to take my children to the beach. The prospect really does sound hellacious. Taking them to the pool is irritating enough without the added annoyances of sand and saltwater. I commend you for being such a dutiful husband. Tell Martha that, on behalf of all the women readers of your blog, we hope she got great birthday sex.


"My entire ass region has enough problems without adding sand to the mix."

Are you going to elaborate? Didn't think so,but a good salve will calm that ring 'o' fire.

Happy birthday to Martha!


Is she Martha Ian Black, or is the Ian just you?


One thing I hate about the beach are seagulls. Those evil birds always steal my snacks and they poop everywhere. The bathrooms are never too pleasant either.

Well, Happy Birthday to your wife!


So funny. Every word of it. Try feeling that way and LIVING at the beach? Yesterday I reluctantly went to a "superfun" beach concert (the kind where the band is 50-year-old men in Tommy Bahama shirts playing songs you can faintly recall your parents liking way back when) and watched everyone up and swaying to the rockin' tunes while sipping from their plastic wine goblets. My kids were everywhere BUT near our camp of beach chairs, friends and platters of food, which meant I was having the absolute BEST time, watching them make new friends and having to keep an eye on those kids too while their parents joined my group, sat on my blankets, drinking my wine and eating my sand-covered food.

My husband and kids love the beach so I do go with them every blue moon because I am really a wonderful person. I sit on my beach chair doling out food, wearing my big hat, big sunglasses and I mentally pack up for most of the afternoon.

Luckily for me, living on the west coast means getting to look at gorgeous 20 year olds everywhere, in tiny bikinis with too-big boobs, peculiar tattoos, beachy blond hair and everybody surfs. Always fun when you are 42 and can't touch your toes.

I'm looking forward to this weekend when Daddy takes the girls camping for 4 days and I will most likely not leave the house. Most likely not change out of my pjs. Heaven.

Daddy Dan

They have the spray-on sunscreen now, not that you'd know since, being such a huge star, you must have a valet/personal shopper that does all your shopping for you. Tell him or her to pick up some on their next Target run.


First, I think it's cool that your birthdays are within the same week. That being said, I agree that she has bad taste in birthday locations. I can't stand the beach, either. Unless it's at dusk when the people are gone, it's no longer hot and sunny, and you can just enjoy the atmosphere.

The beach may suck, but your account of your experience does anything but. Very sweet of you to suck it up for your sweetie. (That sounds mildly pornographic, yes?) And I love you even more because you mentioned skeeball.

Steve Huff

*Little tear.*

Very moving. You should write paeans of love to the missus more often.


I love Martha.


Yes, this shows you to be the guy I choose to think you are, a nice big softie for the fam.

Or did you buy the wrong present (a gift certificate for a personal trainer so that she can "firm up a little" never goes over quite as well as one might think) and this is an attempt to get you back in her good graces?

Anyway, happy haps to all.

Kathi D

What I hate about the beach, besides almost everything, is that I take the big towels and the coolers full of stuff and the fans and the water misters and double umbrellas, and then some self-professed "beach lover" always wants to insinuate himself into the shade of one or the other of my double umbrellas, thereby depriving me of some of my hard-won shade, not to mention exposing me to his sweaty, stanky body.


Aw, that was fun to read. :-) You're such a cutie-patootie. Even if you do want to die in a car with a warm Dr. Pepper in hand.

That blog should be sent to all husbands. I don't know one single husband who loves the beach. Mine included. But because men are awesome, they put up with our female whims and incredible complexity. All this in the name of love (or sex).

And of course you use sunscreen. You have to keep your skin wrinkle free and fabulous because you're famous. The rest of us just tan, freckle, and mole on up like there is no tomorrow. And for many of us with basal cell, there isn't.

Thanks for the funny blog and many more happy birthdays to your lovely wife.


"Another horrible aspect about going to the beach are the other people who go to the beach...Everybody at the beach seems like the worst kind of person in the world."

^OMG, I *so* agree with this statement!!! It's the number one reason I avoid the beach. For me it goes:

1. Other people
2. Sand
3. Filthy water beaming with tentacles
4. Not everyone wants to see me topless


lolol hahha aww SOO TRUUUU


In nine years of living in Sarasota, I went to the beach probably ten times. We had a boat, which was nice...benefit of looking at the water and sand without actually having to touch it.
As for being surrounded by topless people, we'd take our boat to a key off Tampa By that was frequented by nudists. Nudies on yachts, fishing boats, even jet skis. Not sure where they got nude, or if they left port like that. We liked the spot, but damn, I can count on one hand the number of people I saw that I actually WANTED to see naked.

(PS--sorry about Bigfoot)
(PPS--Happy Belateds Mr and Mrs Black)


Better yet - build the beach house across the street from Papaya King. And far, far away from Asian tourists who stop every five fucking seconds in the middle of a crowded sidewalk to take a picture of their 12-year-old Olympic champion gymnast daughter posing in front of an eight-person bicycle cab.

And Felicia - nudists on jet skis? Not only does that sound like the premise for the greatest 2 a.m. Showtime movie ever, but it also sounds like it would smash more testicles than Lorena Bobbitt on a Lifetime Channel-inspired bender.


THANK YOU. Saltwater is pretty much the worst thing I have ever had in any exposed orifice on my body.

and that is TMI.

p.s. happy belated to your wife. :)


Being that I've only actually seen the ocean maybe three times in my entire life, I'd become enamoured with it.

Thank you for crushing my fragile romantic aquatic love affair with the ocean. It is dead. Dead I say!

At least I still got you snow. I love you baby.


And though you've killed my lover, thanks for the blog!! Your funnies make up for the whole dead lover thing. Poor ocean.


Like Felicia, we lived one mile from the beach for years and went probably 5 times. Whaaaaa? Don't know what you've got til it's gone.
Maybe you could tell the wife that you recently discovered a dangerous hereditary condition that prevents you from spending more than 10 minutes in the sun. Spontaneous combustion or something or other.


Wait, it was MY birthday this weekend. So that means I'M your wife. But since you don't like the beach, I want a divorce.

Daniel Dickey

Roses are red, frogs are green,
I also hate sand because it is gay.

If I saw sand at a bar and it was really really drunk...I would climb in his ass and see how he likes it...yeah you know it.



"Tentacles"...kind of sounds like "Testicles"...too funny!!!

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