Are you suffering from Beach Fever? I am. Most summers, when possible, I like to get away to the beach. This summer I am not able, due to being broke and having conflicting arrangements. This would be a painful condition in any summer, but this summer in particular has been savagely hot and humid. I'm not sure I'm going to make it. All I can think about when I am awake, feeling in each daylight moment like I am trapped inside an industrial steamer, is how nice it would be to hurl myself shoulder-first into a huge cold wave and be violently tumbled in the surf, to emerge sputtering and sand-caked and coughing up lungfuls of seawater, and then immediately to do it over again. What bliss!
To be transported to the sand of an ocean beach right now, I would do almost anything. If a deal-making demon required it, I would happily jam a needle into and through my own foot. I would eat terrible things and suffer horrible humiliations. I do have some limits, but generally only where my family's wellbeing is at risk. I would not, for example, open up a new line of credit—money is prohibitively expensive nowadays, JOE BIDEN—but would I vigorously work a handful of dog poop into my hair as one does shampoo? You're goddamn right I would. I would absolutely and without a second thought devour several handfuls of lawn clippings. I don't care! And I am not alone: According to recent polling, in exchange for a free week at the beach, seven of 11 Defector staffers and self-proclaimed "beach sickos" indicated that they would have their own name shaved into the hair on the back of their head. Clearly, Beach Fever is sweeping the land.
What follows is a list of questions to help you scientifically gauge your current levels of Beach Fever, listed in order of the percentage of Defector respondents who answered affirmatively. Please consider each question carefully, imagining both the horrible experience of accepting the challenge and the at least equally horrible experience of turning down a trip to the beach. Also, consider this image:
What are you prepared to do, right now, for one free week of vacation at an oceanfront spot of your choosing? Would you...
...sing the national anthem on television at the upcoming presidential inauguration? (91 percent)
...spend the rest of this summer speaking in a Scottish brogue, with no explanation? (82 percent)
...introduce yourself and go by the name "Dipshit McGee" for the rest of 2024? (82 percent)
...take the deal on the condition that you and you alone must treat the beach as a nude beach at all times? (73 percent)
...eat a bowl of warm oatmeal into which has been stirred a handful of human hair? (73 percent)
...move into a small doghouse for the entire month of October? (73 percent)
...have your own name shaved into the hair on the back of your head (64 percent)?
...pound your hand one good time with a tenderizer mallet? (55 percent)
...give up all sweet and/or sweetened food and drink for a period of one year? (55 percent)
...streak across the field at a Phillies game wearing only a horse head mask? (55 percent)
...place a live centipede inside your mouth and close your lips? (55 percent)
...eat a slice of smoked salmon that has been swiped along the exterior base of your toilet? (45 percent)
...take your beach vacation at the beach that makes you old? (27 percent)
...allow yourself to be buried alive like Beatrix Kiddo for a period of one hour? (27 percent)
...dive for a single penny in a swimming pool filled with dumpster juice? (18 percent)
...take a hearty swig from a bottle of dip spit? (18 percent)
These Defector staffers are considered a representative sample of the broader population of beach freaks, but there are surprising differences even within this group. While most respondents were horrified by the thought of chugging from a bottle of used tobacco pulp suspended in warm human spit, Patrick Redford considered this "one of the easiest" challenges, reasoning that pain and discomfort are temporary. Luis Paez-Pumar, one of relatively few respondents who was unwilling to maim his own hand with a meat pounder, indicated that he presently needs both of his hands to remain operable, as "this is an important gamer month" for him. Kelsey McKinney, who would dare to take her vacation at a beach that turns visitors old and possibly also kills them (as far as I can tell no human on Earth actually watched this M. Night Shyamalan movie), said that she does not "care for youth." And while most respondents were unwilling to swim around in putrid rancid slime from the bottom of a dumpster, Albert Burneko considered this no big deal, which makes some sense considering that he is putrid rancid slime from the bottom of a dumpster.
How severe is your case of Beach Fever? What horrible trials would you endure for a lungful of salty sea air and a clear runway to the glorious tumult of a roiling high tide? Personally, I would drive over any four of you in my car right now, without even one moment's hesitation. I'm sure you would understand.
