Current read: "Bad Girls" by Jan Stradling/2008
Best song randomly heard: "Bad Reputation" by Freedy Johnston/1994
Nothing says July Fourth like alcohol and explosives, to quote one of my guests today.
That said, AAA was correct; clearly fewer people traveled for the fourth this year because usually the beach is crawling with day trippers on Independence Day and today it was business as usual, at least on our stretch of beach.
The first full day of vacation always involves overindulging in food and napping and today was no different.
After a breakfast with an obscene amount of local sausage (Griffin's of Williamston, NC), I headed up the beach for my daily walk, knowing full well I'd see a stars and stripes bikini on a body on which it did not belong.
I did. Commentary withheld because this is the land of the free.
I was surprised at how much narrower the beach has gotten north of the pier, but there were just as many dedicated joggers up there as always.
No doubt they see me as a lollygagger with my meandering walking; half the time I'm walking at the water's edge to get wet plus I have a tendency to stop and chat with anyone who tries to talk me up.
Joggers don't pause.
I clocked in with not one, but two (half-hour) naps today, but was bested by a guest who napped for two and a half hours before grabbing a beer and joining us on the beach.
Discussion revolved around relationships and, although none of us are in one at the moment, all of us have aspirations as well as advice to offer the others on where they need to be.
Summer sun and happy hour make people bold about what they say on vacation.
A different kind of satisfaction arrived when I finished yesterday's book about the making of "Apocalypse Now" written by Coppola's then-wife.
Her descriptions of the problems caused by the stifling heat of the Philippines, the challenges of using military helicopters to make a movie (sometimes they had to leave to attend to the civil war in the south) and her disintegrating marriage were told in matter-of-fact snippets as she attempted to make a documentary about the making of the movie.
Book number one, done.
By the time we finished eating dinner on the breezy porch, it was time to take up our positions on the beach for watching the fireworks, glad that the rain had held off.
Besides the two major displays at the piers on either side of us, dozens of budding arsonists were setting off smaller shows up and down the beach.
The problem is always which way to watch; it's a little like a tennis game, first right and then left and try not to miss anything.
The good news is that we heard neither screams nor sirens.
Afterwards, we sat on the porch sipping Keswick Vineyards Monticello, a late season viognier dessert wine, with chunks of Lindt extra dark chocolate (85% cocoa) and watching the smoke from the fireworks hang in the densely humid air.
Explosives over and alcohol imbibed, we'd done what we needed to in order to properly celebrate this important day.
The naps and relationship talk were pure gravy.