“You don’t put pictures up on the weekend, Larry,” I explain, trying to keep any condescending tone out of my voice.
“Why not?” he asks me, eyes glittering darkly under bushy brows.
“People don’t go to flickr on the weekends as much.”
“Why not?” he asks. Again.
“I think it has to do with their routine. Weekends are hard on routines…so no one notices stuff that gets posted. And by the time the weekends are over, your shot has slid off the current listings and into the mudpit of “crap they’ll never see. Plus I think a lot of them flickr from work. That’s why.”
Larry purses his lips and in that second I can see him again as he was when we met on the first day of kindergarten together. Thomas Enderbank, a fat kid with piggy eyes, had just wrested Larry’s pudding out of his hands and was happily chowing down on it. Larry didn’t tattle. He didn’t raise a finger to take it back. He just watched him. (This made sense to me because Thomas Enderbank was a big kid and we were both little…and, well, in kindergarten as in the adult world, big kids rule.)
It’s funny though…because I don’t remember seeing Thomas around after that. Hmmm.
Anyway – sorry for the digression. My point is that when Larry purses his lips like that, a decision’s made.
“What has Easy Rider had to say?” he asks finally.
“He’s liking these things,” I replied, knowing I was walking into a trap an unable to stop it from happening.
“And can Easy Rider read?” he asks.
“Of course he can read,” I reply.
“Ah,” said Larry. Then he raised his eyebrows in a ‘so what now?’ kind of look.
*sigh*
So here’s today’s article from the Larry Talbot Helium Archives.
BEACH HOUSE RENTALS
by L. Talbot
Beach house rentals. Is there any other way to vacation?
Hmmm?
Sunlight streams in through the open window. Feel free to lie there in your soft bed for a minute and just listen.
What’s that sound?
Are there car horns honking? Nope.
Sirens? Nope.
Is that the too-stupid-to-live-dog-next-do or-that-your-stupid-freaking-neighbors-let-out-at-unreasonably -early-hours barking at nothing in particular? Ummm…nope.
It’s the slow, powerful rhythmic sound of waves gently slapping against the shore. One after another. There is a reassuring quality to it all. It’s the same sound you fell asleep to the night before and it gives you the sense that you are just a few feet away from something both majestic and powerful: the ocean.
The next thing you do is stretch…BIIIIIIIG. It was worthwhile, you think. It was SO worthwhile. Sure. There was an added expense for a house right ON the beach. But you’re on VACATION! How often do you have a chance to get away? And it’s true that you had to park a quarter mile away from your beach house – but after the massive breakfast you are already planning in your mind – you can use the walk.
You smile – just a tiny bit smug and cozy – as you feel something gently tickling the top of your hand. The touch is tentative. It’s not unpleasant. But there shouldn’t be something there.
Should there?
Could it be the gentle sea breeze moving a stray thread across your fingers? The thread suddenly skitters up your hand and along your arm – and you come to the reluctant and immediate conclusion that it’s not a thread at all.
Your brain fills in the blank: BUG! THERE’S A BUG ON US!
Your fears are confirmed as you open your eyes and see a spider. Hairy. Hungry. You see, in his little insect eyes triumph – like he’s congratulating himself on finally finding a really stupid tourist. Mandibles click and he regards you with the same pleased intensity you focused on that double pepperoni pizza the night before.
Seconds later, as you scrape spider off of the bottom of your – bare – foot you wonder first, why you didn’t use a book…a magazine…or a Kleenex to crush that little sucker…who was actually very, very fast. Then you start to think how much it would suck if there were more of them…maybe a whole nest of beach spiders…in your bed…which is ridiculous, isn’t it? Especially after you’ve stripped all the sheets off and thoroughly shaken them and looked under the bed with a miserable combination of fear and hopeless optimism.
Nope. No spiders.
You wait for your heart to slow down because if you had a heart attack this far from civilization, it would take the ambulance guys at least nine days to get here and by them the stinking spiders would be eating your eyes.
You cross the room to the tiny kitchen, scanning the nooks and crannies for telltale webs or motion. You start the morning coffee and slowly, like the tide easing out, the terror ebbs away and is replaced by a happier image of yourself sitting on the front porch of your little beach house, sipping a cup of coffee.
Another sound…and you turn…a half smile frozen on your face.
"Waaaaa-hooo?" you think. What kind of animal makes the sound "Waaaa-hooo?"
You cross the room and peek out of the picture window.
Nineteen hillbillies with assorted children, pets, beer coolers and improbably expensive looking sound systems are setting up on your private beach.
Beachfront vacations
Yessir.
THAT’S living the American Dream.
