Seaside

Like so many people this time of year (oh, prom season), my skin has darkened. Mine, though, unlike more of theirs, is not the result of a too-bright closet with lights strong enough to do in six to ten minutes what it takes the sun to do in a similar numbers of hours. Nope, my suntan (okay, sunburn) was earned the old-fashioned way: sun on bare skin (except for the swipe or two of SPF 4 on my back and shoulders).

I think it stinks how a suntan makes everybody look so healthy but is really just your skin cells going crazy. I also think it stinks that I know this, but I'll continue to do it anyway, spending my summer timing my flips from stomach to back with never a higher SPF than fifteen, because as trite as it may be, there is absolutely nothing that can make me feel the same way as a Jersey shore day can. Which brings me to my next point: my very first 2009 beach day (and the scene of the burn-earning)!

Not just a sunburn, I got all the good parts of a mid-July beach day. There were french fries, salt water taffy, lemon-filled lemonade, and the piece-de-resistance: a ferris wheel ride! Keith even bought board-walk sunglasses. The only thing missing was some fudge.

But I won't fret: it's only April. There's plenty of time for fudge.

As promised.

Some facts: 

1. I promised with what was deemed a very solid, serious, and unbreakable handshake (it was slow motion, after all) that I'd post a blog tonight. 

2. Even though it's incredibly bizarre, I would love the wardrobe of Carrie Bradshaw. Particularly the shoe and coat wardrobe. I also wouldn't mind, believe it or not, her hairstylist. 

3. I'm having a really wonderful week. It seems like everything is aligning just right and besides that, my cat Einstein was lost and then found. 

4. On our pizza box, the pizza guys wrote, "Comer" instead of Conor. Yes, Comer. Weird. Whose name is Comer? I think maybe they were going for Conner. Also weird.

5. I'm glad OnDemand in my house exists only on the sunporch, where my dad tends to be the sole occupant. Because even though I'm not much of a TV watcher, I can almost guarantee that I'd become quickly and completely addicted.

6. I reread A Separate Peace this week. I'd forgotten most of it, and definitely how fantastic and surprising it is. Go read it, please. 

Can

I do not enjoy soda. I don't like how it makes my teeth or mouth feel (sort of like the entire thing is dissolving, bubble by bubble), it gives me a weird headache, and it makes my insides feel like mush. Regardless of the way I know it will make me feel mere moments after enjoying it, I get a more-than-mild hankering for a few sips every few months. Usually this can be satisfied with a few sucks on someone else's straw at the movie theater or a sneak sip from my dad's glass at dinner. Friday, though, this was not the case. I wanted a can of Coke. Only a can. And only Coke.

First of all, Coke beats all of the other cola drinks. It's silly to say, because I sound like a commercial, but it's a much more classic taste than Pepsi. And don't even get me started on the supermarket varieties. I think I feel this way mostly because Coke was what my dad drank (and still does) when I was a kid; any sips we had were special treats, and always had to be either dad-approved or very sneaky (still the case).

Next, whatever the brand, cola is always tastier from a can. Bottles don't allow it to be as crisp, plus they create more bubbles and don't make the can-opening crack that makes can-drinking so satisfying.

So Friday night (after some not-so-sneaky dodging), standing outside of the local AMC 24, I had my Coke-in-a-can. As usual, even though I didn't want it anymore after the first sip, I forced down two or three more, then handed over the rest.