Dear David,

I caught your recent column in the New York Times, the one where you lament spending your summer vacation in some un-named mid-Atlantic beach town eerily reminiscent of Rehoboth Beach. Stupid t-shirts. Slovakian girls. Saltwater taffy, and ski-ball.

I feel your pain. It’s nothing a decliningly virile middle aged man (your words, not mine) ought to be content with. Yet, for some reason, you keep doing it. For fifteen years you say you’ve been enduring less than inspiring beach holidays. David, it doesn’t make any sense. I mean, you’re a smart fellow. A University of Chicago grad. You’ve got a hell of a journalism pedigree—the Wall Street Journal, The Atlantic, The Weekly Standard, NPR—and you write for what many consider the best newspaper in the world.

Why in the world are you eating fries on the boardwalk?

Could it be that you secretly like to be appalled? Perhaps it gives you a smug sense of superiority? Or, maybe, just maybe, you don’t know any better? You are a straight man, after all.

The reasons don’t really matter because, David, I’ve got a solution. It would be my distinct pleasure to invite you to spend a weekend with me next summer in Rehoboth Beach. Leave the wife and kids behind and let me show you what a classic summer beach vacation could be. Think of it sort of like an NFL mini-camp to prepare you for the real thing when you and your brood return to the beach in August.

Now David, I’m willing to help you out even though I don’t agree with your politics. I’ve never voted Republican and I hope to go to my grave with that distinction. But, the fact of the matter is I do enjoy your columns and I appreciate how you poke the right and the left. I get your humor. And, I like your cute little smirk.

David, let me restore your faith in the beach.

We’ll start with your bathing suit. It sounds trite, but trust me, the right swim suit is the foundation for an inspired beach vacation. Most likely you’re wearing one with an elastic waistband that pinches your soft mid-section and accentuates your love handles. I suggest you invest in a refined, fashionable Vilebrequin swimsuit with a flat waistband. It’s French, but that’s okay now that Sarkozy has been elected president isn’t it, David? Yes, it’s pricey, but you’ll be pleased with the look. It’s not too baggy or too long. It looks right on a man of a certain girth (your words, not mine). Pair your Vilebrequin with a simple white t-shirt and black flip-flops, and you can go from beach to afternoon cocktail party.

Now, about going to the beach. We won’t go until the late afternoon. That’s when all the families begin leaving and it empties out and settles down. It’s the perfect time of day for napping and quiet reading. Plus, the lighting is less intense but aesthetically phenomenal, bathing everything and everyone in golds and silvers. And might I suggest that instead of sitting in a chair staring at the waves that you actually venture in and experience the push and pull of the waves and currents. Do a little swimming even. It’ll remind you of why people began taking seaside vacations in the first place. Be sure to take along a chilled bottle of wine. I recommend a nice French Cote de Provence rose—it has just the right hint of sweetness. We’ll toss some fresh watermelon and peaches into the cooler too. I think you’ll agree it’s a much more civilized approach to the beach than what you’ve probably been accustomed to.

If you were to follow only this simple advice so far, I guarantee your vacation would improve. But, David, I want to really help you out, so you need to make sure your accommodations next summer have an outdoor shower and a big screened porch.

Let’s talk about the outdoor shower. A proper outdoor shower should not have a roof. Who cares if someone can see us. Let ‘em look. It’s more important to feel the breezes and see the sky above while you’re slathering up. I’ll admit it’s somewhat arousing. And, yes, David, the soap is an integral part of the experience. I’m partial lately to big bars that smell either of Mediterranean figs or Menton lemons. And, let’s not forget the towels.

Once you try out my big linen body towels you’ll want to buy a few for yourself. Brahms Mount Textiles in Maine makes the best.

Last but not least is the screened porch. I can’t imagine summer without a screened porch. It’d be like a Manhattan without a cherry.

With a screened porch there’d be no need for you to wander the boardwalk with the throngs of humanity looking for taffy and t-shirts. Oh, the indignity of it. We’ll just fix some gin and tonics, turn on the ceiling fans and the lamps, and settle in for the evening. Some people like to read quietly on their porches. Others invite friends for drinks or bring out a small television and watch baseball games. I prefer music and conversation on my screened porch, so I’ll make sure to invite some interesting people over. You know, I’ve even gone so far as to create a special iMix called Porch Music for such gatherings. Don’t confuse it with house music. Porch music is evocative of a more genteel era. Frank Sinatra, Bobby Darin, Dave Brubeck, Artie Shaw, Herb Alpert, Xavier Cugat, Yma Sumac. Throwback music that has an old AM radio quality to it. You can download the Porch Music iMix, David, from Apple iTunes. That is, if you download music.

I could ramble on, but I’m running out of space and time and gin. I do hope, David, that this letter will at least inspire you to make some simple changes next summer. And, I’m serious about the offer for you to visit me for some pre-vacation training.

In closing, I’m not saying a beach vacation is as spiritually and physically robust as the week in the Rockies you pine for. But, dude, it doesn’t have to entail chowing down on funnel cakes or endlessly rolling balls into holes at some arcade.

Best wishes,
Rich Barnett