Cape Cod; To Spray Or Not To Spray

Ah Cape Cod.  My wife and I love coming here to relax for  a week.  A week of sun, sand, and seafood. We pile into the car, pray for no traffic, and blissfully drive to our destination listening to the soothing sound of two dogs killing each other.  It really is tranquil.  As soon as we unload the dogs and luggage, we race to the beach, pitch our umbrella, open the beach chairs, settle in and broil.

However, sitting in the sun does have its drawbacks.  Dry skin.  Saggy skin. Wrinkly skin.  Cancer ridden skin.  So I load up on sunscreen.   We typically use No-Ad because that’s the brand my wife buys.  It happens to be a pretty good product, at least, according to Consumer Reports.  And they know everything.  Every 45 minutes, or if I go into the water, I slather on thick globs of SPF5000 cream.  Hopefully that will hedge my bets.  Lately I’ve noticed that a lot of people have been forsaking the tradition squeeze and slather method with spray on sunscreen. You’ve seen that; the wind is howling off the water and someone is applying spray on suncreen.  Most of it never reaches the intended target.  It flies away at 90 miles per hour and settles on the sand or a seagull or something. What a waste!

Anyway, being the responsible blogger that I am I did a little digging into spray on sunscreen.  First stop, the Google.  First article I found was from Consumer Reports that emphatically stated you should NOT spray them on kids.  Okay, that’s about half of the people I see running around getting sprayed with the stuff.  Next stop was an article stating that there are harmful chemicals in the spray on sunscreen.  Stuff like retinyl palmitate, which even though it can be found in regular sun screen has the potential to cause skin tumors because it may be inhaled.  Oops.  I’m trying to prevent cancer not cause it.  

Another article said to be careful with sprays because you might catch fire.  Sorry?  I’m just going to spray me up some sunscreen, walk over to the grill, grab myself a hot dog and burst into flames. Also, be careful that the spray on sun screen doesn’t contain oxybenzone.  This might be inhaled and it can act like estrogen.  So now, I’m causing cancer, bursting into flames and growing boobs.  Great! So instead of looking at women in bikini’s, I’ll become one.  

Cape Cod; The Madness Begins

So my wife and I are on our way to the beach this morning looking forward to spending a relaxing day soaking up the sun and surf.  As I’m walking down the street (an exact  seven minute walk mind you) I spy, out of the corner of my eye, what appears to be a statue dressed in black.  Okay, we are on Cape Cod.  Maybe it’s some memorial to the Pilgrims.  Right? As we get close to it I am shocked to find that, no it’s not a Pilgrim, of course not.  It’s a blow up sex toy, with a Halloween mask on, dressed in a Nun’s Habit!  Really, I’m not making this up.  I mean “what the fuck?” doesn’t even begin to describe what’s going through my head.  Oh, and did I mention that her name is/was Sister Suzie?  Probably not.  Anyway to make matter worse there was a sign-in book.  Of course I immediately signed it, but I didn’t leave my email address.  I mean they could ask me for money or something later on.  

Anyway, I can genuinely say that I have never, I repeat never, seen anything like Sister Suzie. Someone actually took the time and thought that one out.  “ Let’s see.  How can I honor my dear Sister Suzie? Hmmm. I’ve got it.  I’ll dress my sex doll up in a Pilgrims costume, put an Ilsa mask on it and call it a day!”    Listen, I’m Jewish, not Catholic, but even I know that is way out of bounds as far as the Church is concerned.  Although the sign-in book was a stroke of genius. 

So, who is Sister Suzie?  Good question.  There was no pamphlet nor prayer card so I begin my hunt on the Google.  Immediately, Google wants to know if I really mean Sister Susie?  Hey, if I wanted Susie with an S I would have typed that!!!  Sorry.  Anyway, the first result is a song by Cock Sparrer, (not making that up either) an eighties glam band.   The video is horrible, the lyrics allude to incest, and I moved on.  Sister Suzie appears in “Let Em In,” a Paul McCartney song.  I not sure Sir Paul would approve of that homage to his song.  The Google is continuing to torture me about whether or not I still meant to spell it with an S.  Okay, fuck it.  I look up Sister Susie and this  version is a World War I drinking song made famous by Al Jolson.   “Sister Susie's Sewing Shirts for Soldiers.”  Eh?

The mystery of Sister Suzie continues.  A fallen angel?  Or some sick, twisted, demented mind with a diabolical plan to scare people not to come to Cape Cod.  I don’t know, but I think I’m going to back and give them my email address.  Maybe they can send me updates.  

Cape Cod 2016

So I’m heading to Cape Cod tomorrow for my summer vacation and already I’m stressed out.  I’ve actually been on a summer vacation since the summer pretty much started, but tomorrow I get to spend 7 relaxing, sun-drenched days, 6 seafood eating nights just dawdling on a nice strip of beach.  This is in addition to the week I just spent in Colorado, but not counting four days in Florida, because visiting my mother in Florida in no vacation at all! Oh the stressed out part?  I have to DRIVE there.  

 Here we have a piece of land blessed with white sand and a plethora of restaurants, bars, tschoke stores and pirate themed mini-golf courses.   However, this little jewel   is not actually attached to the mainland.  What? Not actually attached to the mainland you say?  Well, that sounds like you need a BRIDGE to get there.  Yep! That pretty much sums it up, but to be more specific two bridges.  Two old, rusting, creaking bridges separate you from paradise.

What’s more, you are not, I repeat not,  the only one doing this!  No, you are surrounded by a mob of likeminded people, bent on doing exactly what you are.  Oh, and those two bridges I spoke about earlier?  Cape traffic is pretty much unlike any traffic I’ve ever driven in.  And I’ve driven in a lot.  Campers, buses, bike-ladened minivans, SUV’s stuffed with beach toys, you name it. Filled to the brim with kids, pets, and luggage.  And we are all vying for our position in line to cross, for lack of a better turn, these two fucking bridges.  And it’s madness.  Also, there is no “good time” to go on a Saturday.  In the best of times Saturday is a busy traffic day.  Add in half the East coast population trying all go to Cape Cod at precisely the same time and I’m just not sure how it doesn’t just sink under its own weight. 

So, I’m planning my strategy.  Its night and I haven’t even packed.  That’s my strategy; avoid.  I’m steeling myself to face the morning ride.  Hours upon hours of yelling at other cars who are too slow, too fast, too rude, too (insert-any anti-social, driving behavior that you despise here), too reckless; you get the point.  This year, we are traveling with two dogs.  Lucky us you say?  Indeed, because what could be more fun than being locked up  listening to two dogs kill each other for ten hours?  Right?  

Geographically speaking, this is the closest, as the crow flies, destination so far.  But, it’s takes the longest in time to get there.    So the closest spot is actually the farthest spot.  Sounds like Common Core math.  Anyway, looking forward to it.  Charge!