Your Tang Tang, Sir.
I shipped my instrument back this morning so I spent the afternoon walking from La Jolla to Solana beach. This involved my cutting through a nude beach where all I could think was:
“Wangs out, sir/
Wangs in, sir/
Wang Chung, sir/
Tang Tangs, sir.”
My policy of avoiding awkward beach conversations by walking in knee deep water regardless how cold it is was mostly effective with 2 exceptions:
1. Naked guy who hollered “You’re getting your pants wet!” to which I responded “I know, right? I did not forget my bathing suit!” because it seemed appropriately inscrutable. There’s not really a good response. So he went about his business.
2. Naked guy—well, guy in a Mets hat, otherwise birthday suited—who misinterpreted my natural Charlie-Brown-Christmas gait for maybe depression and sidled up to ask if I was “Having a rough day?”. Because I thought he was further than he was, I maybe yelled back a little louder than necessary, “NO, I AM JUST ENJOYING THE BEACH!”. I may have scared him away, which I felt a little bad about because who is being more disturbingly and unnecessarily honest than a naked stranger. …But I am weird about clothed strangers trying to breach my perimeter, too. And I’m weird with clothed people that I *like* NOT trying to breach the perimeter. I am pretty much just weird, full stop. But clothed in public.