THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1996, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Saturday, September 14, 1996 TAG: 9609130066
SECTION: DAILY BREAK PAGE: E1 EDITION: FINAL
TYPE: Column
SOURCE: Larry Maddry
LENGTH: 72 lines
THERE IS PLENTY of beach weather left in Hampton Roads, but after carefully watching the crowd at Chesapeake Beach - where I hang out - it's time to make some observations:
No matter how carefully you have picked the site at which to spread your beach towel, it won't work. The odds are 2-1 that there is a broken piece of seashell, a ghost crab hole or a buried chicken bone underneath.
Men who attempt to hide a gut by sucking it in risk strokes in the hot sun because of the reduced air intake. The risk is double if the man with the middle-aged spread is attempting to walk on the beach. A child observing the walker will be heard to exclaim, ``Ma, why is that man walking funny?''
The likelihood that a strange dog will emerge from the water and shake himself all over you is only about 50 percent. This rises to 70 percent if it is a large dog. And 99 percent if it is a large dog with an exceptionally long coat of water-absorbent hair.
Scientists are unable to explain this phenomenon, but if you are sharing an ice-filled cooler with friends on the beach, the odds are 4-1 that the beer or soft drink can closest to the bottom will have twice the amount of sand on it as those on top.
99 percent of outdoor shower faucets drip.
75 percent of people who have colorful beach towels printed with the names of exotic places or luxurious hotels have never been there.
The nicer or more careful people are on the beach, the more likely it is that something bad will happen to them. No one knows why. But it is so. People who are careful to keep their radio volumes low, carry plastic bags as containers for doggy-do, and always pick up their own litter will get what's coming to them. Maybe someone with a body ring through the nose or navel will lie down next to them.
No matter how careful you are when taking a dip, or how elegant, about five tablespoons of sand will somehow work its way into the lining of your bathing suit.
The likelihood that a careless walker will smash his foot into an elaborate sand castle you have spent half a day fashioning with the kids is only 10 percent. But the likelihood that a passing dog will wet it is 99 percent.
The more time spent making a fancy sandwich, the worse it will taste on the beach. Sun is murder on sandwiches with tomatoes and lettuce in them, and they taste like cardboard and/or mush by and by. The best beach sandwich is bread and crunchy peanut butter. The peanut bits in the butter are indistinguishable from various flying bugs and sand, so you can't tell the difference. Spam sandwiches are good because you can easily brush debris off the slices.
It is a scientifically verifiable axiom that the likelihood of a beach float sinking suddenly (or slowly leaking air) is directly proportionate to its variance from a flat, basic, inflatable square. Floats with sea horse heads on them or those fashioned to resemble a catcher's mitt or horseshoes sink first.
While I was preparing this column, my neighbor Bob Guess, the drum major of the Fentress Avenue Irregulars (friends who drink beer in his boat-building garage), has reached some conclusions about beach parties at Chick's Beach.
He claims:
1. A party can start for any reason: good weather, bad weather, holidays or whatever.
2. The number attending the party will expand to match the beer on hand and eventually exceed it.
3. The party will end when:
A. The beer runs out.
B. The fat lady sings.
C. Jr. Market or 7-Eleven has closed.
However, if the fat lady becomes romantically involved with anyone working at C - all bets are off. ILLUSTRATION: [Color Illustration]
JANET SHAUGHNESSY
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