Well, considering that I’m a bartender in a seasonal resort town, Memorial Weekend just past, and I happen to have my own weekly column. I’d be remiss not to devote this one to my observations and thoughts on the past few days. Unfortunately, the true meaning of this holiday often gets lost or forgotten in the shuffle of a three-day weekend, the smell of barbeque, and drunken debauchery. I try to write a little bit about each holiday as they come, whether I believe in them or think it’s just one of those silly ones. Memorial Day is one of the holidays that I think is most important, and necessary and should be appreciated and celebrated by all. Any day designated to celebrate those who often go unappreciated, but truly deserve to be, is high on my list. This is why Memorial Day, Veterans Day, and Mothers Day are probably my three most revered holidays. (Though Thanksgiving is still my favorite because it’s completely centered around food).
If anyone is deserving of their own day of thanks, it’s the men and women in our services who have fought and perished for our rights. Without them, you wouldn’t be reading this right now. Because an idiot like me would not have the right, or the platform to spew forth his opinions, stories, and rants on a weekly basis. So thank you from the bottom of my heart to all men and women in the services past, present, and future, living or deceased. You are truly admired and appreciated.
And without further adieu, here are my thoughts on the sights and sounds of this holiday weekend in O.C. Literally hundreds of thousands of people stormed our beaches this weekend like soldiers at Normandy. They came with a much less lofty purpose though, and sadly with equally detrimental results for some. They came by land, not sea, and occupied en mass our little town that just weeks ago was so quiet and peaceful. I’m not complaining mind you. I know they are a necessary evil to pay the bills. It’s all part of making your home in a resort town. I hear so many of us gripe and complain about tourists but they seem to forget where they live. To make a place this wonderful and beautiful your permanent home, you have to take the good with the bad. You can either have a steady income and pay your bills, or you can let’s say—not have to wait in a line or for traffic.
TOURIST SEASON. I always found this to be an interesting phrase, but is it really appropriate? I understand what deer ‘season’ means. I understand what duck ‘season’, rockfish ‘season’, quail ‘season’, crab ‘season,’ and many others mean. But until we’re aloud to hunt and eat them, perhaps we should rename this time of year. Perhaps something like VACATIONER RELOCATION PERIOD. Because we all know what a big proponent I am for political correctness, (wink). This time of year, while driving on Coastal Highway, I often find myself fantasizing that I’m driving in one of those big trucks from the movie Soylent Green. They were enormous dump trucks with giant bulldozer like scoops on the front that could pick up masses of people from the street and cast them into the truck bed to later be used as food. And yes, I DID just make a Soylent Green reference. Thanks to all of you old enough to have gotten it, and who actually viewed that classic Charlton Heston cinematic diaper filler. With that amazing vehicle in my possession, I would be practically omnipotent. I could perform a much needed service. A societal cleansing of the common sense-impaired. A city wide thinning of the dumbass herd. What can I say? A boy’s gotta have dreams.
They sat for hours in thick columns of traffic to cross the threshold we call the Chesapeake Bay Bridge en route to our little promised land for a weekend of fun in the sun and poor judgment. Special thanks to Mother Nature for uncharacteristically smiling on us this weekend. I’m eternally convinced that many of these nice folks failed to bring cash to pay the toll to cross the bridge, however. I believe that instead, they offered up their functioning brain cells, manners, and/or common sense as currency for passage to be retrieved after the weekend on their sojourn back to the west side. It’s staggering how many people of seemingly reasonable intelligence in their normal daily lives completely abandon it once they’ve arrived here. It’s as if by 3:00 p.m. on Friday the average I.Q. of the town has dropped 55 points. Hopefully to be restored somewhat by Tuesday morning.
I must admit, learned a lot about fashion this past weekend. It’s never been something I followed or subscribed to, so it’s no accident that I’ve spent nearly thirty years wearing an apron, (which also incidentally alleviates me from having any concerns about checking my fly). I just learned that apparently a pastel colored plain V-necked tee shirt that is two sizes too small, is now considered ‘evening wear’ for gentlemen. I didn’t know that. It prompted me to ask many questions inside my head though. For example: Didn’t they have that shirt in your size? Do they sell men’s clothes where you got that? Did you just get hot and have to remove whatever shirt was supposed to be on top of that?
Based on the astonishingly high percentage of people who refuse to wear sleeves at all, I think society in general has a gross misunderstanding of their right to BARE arms. Right or wrong, thousands upon thousands of inappropriately, overly-confident people were exercising their right. I would normally use my own words here, but instead I’ll borrow a few quotes which perfectly describe this anomaly know as the sleeveless sensation. When discussing this phenom with a very dear friend of mine, he described it thusly: “Sun’s out, guns out, cause and effect.” I told him I would have to borrow that one but I’d give him full credit. Thanks M.M. And comedian Dennis Miller once put it like this:
“Here’s the rule on tank tops. If you’re built like a tank, don’t wear the top.” I couldn’t have said it better so I didn’t try.
I also heightened my linguistic skills this weekend becoming more well rounded and I thank those who assisted me. I now know that, “Yo Yayguh Bawms” literally translated means:
“Excuse me sir, may we please have some Jagermeister bombs at your convenience?”
I’m slowly becoming multi lingual. If I ever have the opportunity to meet the person who first mixed Red Bull with alcohol, I will first thank him for increasing my total sales dramatically then, I will ritualistically bludgeon him for taking completely hammered people who normally would have been home passed out by this point and making them wide awake enough to piss me off right up until last call. At least in the eighties and nineties, the only people in this category we had to deal with were the handful on cocaine. Now it’s EVERBODY!
Well, I just took a peak at my word count and realized that I’m nearing my allotted space and I’m just getting on a roll with this rant. So I should probably wrap it up for this week and continue later with my thoughts on the sights and sounds from this kickoff weekend. Hell, I might ride this one all the way to September.
As much as I poke fun at some of the stereotypicals, it’s all said with tongue-in-cheek and no ill intent. We’re happy to have you here visiting; we just want you to be safe and smart. So have a great time.
I saved the best for last. I would like to wish a happy first birthday to my beautiful daughter. Daddy’s angel turned one earlier this week and can’t think of any reason I’d rather celebrate. I love you baby girl! Thanks for playing along everybody.
Until next week,
Syd Nichols
