The Beach Part Deux

Yup. Still here at the beach.

Day 2 started off with an interesting twist which revolved around the ceiling fan in our room. It only has two blades, and it’s wired to a remote for our convenience.

Of course, we weren’t able to really appreciate the convenience until we found said remote squirreled away in a nightstand table instead of hanging from the pull chains or in the mouth of a pit bull where any self-respecting remote resides.

But that’s not the interesting part. Nope. The interesting part is the fact that the light kept coming on in the middle of the night followed by what I could only surmise as utterances of profanity. Granted, the jury is still out on whether such colorful epitaphs (or epithets, take your pick) were emmitting from the fan-light itself, or Wifey when the light came on.

Our in-laws in the other room reported similar occurrences. It was then that we all wondered if the fan remotes provided in each room were wired to control more than just one fan.

That’s something I would do if I owned a beach front condo and were renting it out to unsuspecting vacationers who had just dropped some of their disposable income into my grubby paws.

None the less, it’s beautiful out here. I found the code to jump onto a wifi network, however it would seem the reach of the network is limited here in the back “office”.

Onto more interesting things, I’m going down to the beach to further exacerbate an old basketball injury by walking in the sand with bad ankles. While I’m there, I’ll take every opportunity to get pictures of unique tramp stamps on aging men who choose to display their dunlaps in open public without risk of rebuke from the authorities or local faith based organizations.

If I don’t find any of those, I’ll just post a picture of the fan.

*fingers crossed*

So everything you’ve read to this point was written prior to our adventure down to beach.

Now it’s two hours later and we’ve just gotten back from the only pharmacy on the island.

Did you know that the gulf coast has jelly fish which find the backs of recently graduated sons of quick witted and lethargic bloggers to be quite palatable?

I need to have a talk with Junior later about the intensity of the language he used while running out of the surf with arms flailing about. Geez, you would think that lights were spontaneously turning themselves on in the middle of the night.

Randy Tharp

TharpSter is a husband to one woman, a father to two kids, a master to two dogs, an occasional cubical occupant, and unable to make up his mind on an adequate theme for this website.

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