Montauk and Family Time

My dad, in an attempt to reaffirm the fact that we are a "family," and not simply related to each other, planned for a weekend trip to Montauk, all the way out on the tip of Long Island. We would reinforce our love for each other by building roaring fires on the beach, bulldozing bowls of muscles, and getting sloshed off 18 packs of beer from the IGA grocery store down the block. In short, we would be living the dream, and be living it with each other.

But wait, there is more!
"More?" you ask, raising one eyebrow to match your questioning tone.

Why YES, my friend, compatriot, fellow navigator in the waters we call life, there is more. My cousin, Nolan, would be joining us. Out of all the members in my family (immediate, extended, etc.), he is probably the best suited for the potluck of quirks that constitutes the Kerrs at 565 Broadway. What I mean to say is that he's a level headed guy, completely able to go with the flow; he can talk politics, laugh at dead baby jokes, build fires, and stay happy in the moment.

How many dead babies does it take to paint a barn?
Depends on how hard you throw them.

The drive up was fine and dandy. Riding bitch the entire way wasn't as bad as I thought it would be, due in part to some fine literature I had, as well as funny stories from Nolan.

PAUSE ::
 -- Anyone interested in fantasy should take a look at Garth Nix's Sabriel series (three books long, about 1500 pages all together). I started reading it a long while ago because of a suggestion from a friend (looking at you, JW), but didn't finish it. This vacation gave me the perfect opportunity to dive into some good storytelling and I was delighted. Even as a 20 year old who is realizing that some fantasy may no longer be meant for him (simple language, more basic characters, etc.), I was still able to throw myself into Sabriel.  --

RESUME ::

We arrived at the Ocean Beach Resort around 3:30, settled into our rooms, and immediately fell victim to the whisper of nap nap time. Three hours later and we awoke to a sky filled with creamsicle clouds and streaks of raspberry sinking into the horizon, underlined by a tremendously deep blue that seemed to gobble it all up. It was nice. It was really nice.

The rest of our vacation was a patchwork of moments like that. We would get up in the morning, nom on some diner food, then lazily explore the island. And everything seemed to match our pace. Or maybe we matched the island's pace. Maybe that's what Montauk is like in the off season, just kinda slow and simple. And it wasn't that the people seemed to take things with ease, but rather that it was the only way to go about things.

But hey, don't get me wrong, Montauk wasn't all rose colored and peachy-fucking-keen. The tip of the island is boring as shit, and I'm pretty sure that the only forms of entertainment outside the movie theater that only shows ONE film --  I'm fucking serious -- is getting merrily buzzed and sitting on the beach, hopefully remembering to reapply sunblock to prevent cancer from rearing its ugly head on your beautiful nose 40 or 50 years down the line.

Now, you may be thinking, "Graham, that sounds like an awesome time. You're an idiot. And your nose isn't pretty."

And I would agree with you, to an extent. It's really nice. And, to not appreciate the few days I have to lounge around is pretty dumb. But after a few hours of baking in the sun, it really does start to get to you. There isn't much to do.

My family and I did make the best of it, though; my mom scrounged through some tourist pamphlets and found a boat the would take us out fishing, my dad got some restaurant tips from a friend of his, and my brother, Nolan, and I continued to tell jokes.

It was a good time, all in all.

How do you make a dead baby float?
Take your foot off of its head.

http://meangirlgifs.tumblr.com/post/11656649393/peace-bitches

(copy and paste the link, you fucking twat)