The beach at Casa Diablo is closed.
Reminiscent of Bill Clinton’s Monica defense of “What does ‘is’ mean?”, the folks at the Department of Environmental Management soiled the bed by putting up an electronic message on highway signs on Sunday, July 8, informing motorists heading to South County that beautiful day “Beaches closed.”
What they really meant was that the parking lots were full, quite a difference from an oil spill, wastewater infusion, or some other event that would prompt emergency measures.
Unfortunately, with DEM director Michael Sullivan out of the country, the explanation was left to his deputy, Larry Mouradjian, who ignited even more flames when he tried to defend the signage during radio interviews the next day. Larry said the “closed” message was designed to help drivers ensnarled on Routes 4, 1, and 1A consider an “alternative activity.” Such as blowing their brains out after having packed the car and headed someplace they could take a dip?
Semantics notwithstanding, P&J have been told that due to the crush of beachgoers, the police in some towns asked that the “Beaches closed” warning be displayed. This was evidently causing traffic hazards, as people waited for cars to depart from the packed state beach lots (and others), and a genuine concern was posed about access, if necessary, for emergency vehicles. This was indeed what is deemed by local pundits a “full Vo Dilun.”
Anybody even vaguely familiar with South County beach traffic knows you have to wait at least an hour to get to your shore side destination, which is why people make sandwiches ahead of time and fill a cooler with beer. (Or smoke a joint and put on Amy Winehouse, our new personal savior, at high volume on the car’s CD player, and make faces at weird people in other cars while she’s singing “Rehab.”) But unnecessarily alarming the public that a Jaws-sized shark has perhaps invaded the coast and bitten someone in half at Scarborough is a bit much, given the quite lively imaginations of the local citizenry.
Hell, just take the back roads, hit the Twin Willows in Narragansett, have a cold one and chill. Phillipe & Jorge are not doctors, nor do we play them on TV, but that’s our prescription.
While we are speaking about the scorching weather, here are a couple of P&J’s more notable jokes for the summer season.
This first one was heard during a WPRO-AM radio call-in session. It certainly lights up the bad taste bell at Casa D.: “It was so hot I was sweating like an illegal immigrant in a spelling bee.”
The second involves two friends who go out together to walk their dogs on a blistering day. One has a German Shepherd, and the other a Chihuahua. After a couple of blocks, the one with the German Shepherd says, “I could really use a cold beer.” His pal says, “Yeah, but we can’t take dogs into a bar.”
The guy with the big dog then looks across the street at a pub, slips on his sunglasses and says, “Watch this.” He walks into the bar, and the bartender says, “Sorry pal, no dogs allowed.” The would-be patron responds, “I’m blind, this is my seeing-eye dog,” at which point the bartender offers him a seat, with apologies.
So then the friend with the Chihuahua slips on his shades, and goes across the street and walks in the door. The bartender says again, “Sorry, can’t let you in with a dog.” To which the reply is, “I’m blind, and this is my seeing-eye dog.” The bartender says, “I’ve never seen a Chihuahua seeing-eye dog,” and the guy replies, “They gave me a fucking Chihuahua?!?!”