day at the beach: u-haul needed

Remember when going to the beach meant bringing a towel and maybe a sunhat? Writing this while reunioning with family members, parked on a beach, surrounded by chairs big as barcaloungers, delivery wagons, baby's play yards and sun domes the size of a circus tent. Hey, here comes a couple wearing backpacks so big, they might be training for a mount of Everest. Ta, off to ride waves on a float the size of Tortola...

day at Jones Beach: conversations overheard

Listen, let me just correct one fact. That summer, I didn't have a job and you didn't NOT have a job...
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You're at the beach. Take it off.
No. I'm fat.
I'm fat, too!
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She only buys frozen stuff. The only way I can eat it is to mix it all up together and pretend it's mashed potatoes.
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You'd be up for camping, right?
I don't know if I'm emotionally equipped for camping.
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I can't get a direct flight to Salt Lake City, have to fly to Long Beach then back to Salt Lake, how ridiculous is that?
I had to fly to Vegas to go to Florida once.
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I forgot 50 for the baby.
You got 30, right? Just put it on twice.
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