COUNTDOWN TO SUMMER! Your Grit guide to Charleston's golden season
MONDAY: Summertime Do's & Don'ts
DO save restraint and formality for fall. Summer's for doing all the weird, funky things on your list. For instance...
... Drive out to the Edisto Serpentarium and squirm. Hey, it's their season, too.
... Plan a diving contest. With prizes. And judges. And doubles. Then spend the entire summer practicing. Here's a quick primer on how to start.
... Skate to dinner * Paint summer (just try it... get a canvas, some paints, and see what happens) * Go roadside motel instead of chi-chi towering hotel (photos: Roadside Visions & Chicago Sun Times).
DON’T yearn for the Seasons of a Thousand Festivals... Of see-and-be-seen engagements, of button-up-and-smile, have-you-got-your-tickets-yet?, don't-miss-a-thing-ness. After Spoleto is over, be the king of your own backyard if you want.
DO stay on the sand until sundown, or a little past. You can take back the beach, and let your salty, quiet fatigue set in. If you miss day's end, you miss half the fun.
DON'T spend the next three months doing that nervous tic thing with your cell phone, when you look every five seconds to see who called. Come on, get a grip. You're better than that. You're more interesting than that. Wait... aren't you? It's no way to live. And on that note...
... Floating the Edisto. Find out more at South Carolina Parks or Canoe SC.
... Strolling downtown Bluffton. Find out more at Old Town Bluffton.
... Heading down the "Road to Nowhere" in the ACE Basin. Intrigued? Here's more.
For another 28 rockin' road trips, check out Charleston magazine's June issue, on newsstands right after Memorial Day.
DON'T bitch at the server when he won’t seat you outside at 3:55 in the afternoon. It’s going to rain, and it's going to rain hard. It just is. What? Yes, of course I'm sure. Now head inside, order a drink, and watch late afternoon in the South happen. Or pick someplace with a covered patio, like Surf Bar or Shelter...
DO enjoy the show. Which? The ones you see late afternoon on Folly or IOP, at Capers or Bull Island, at the Rockville Regatta, when summer gets just a little more... interesting.
DON'T be one of those girls. You know the ones: the ones in ill-fitting bikinis hanging off the end of the a boat, ten seconds from some sort of ill-advised grind to "Supersonic" by J.J. Fad that's all wrong, ten minutes from doing the same sans bikini top, and about ten hours from waking up with a third-degree sunburn, a splitting headache, and big 'roid of regret, likely in the form of an overly tanned, thick-necked dude named Chad. Who, interestingly enough, was the one shouting for you to remove your top in the first place. This isn't Jersey Shore, and if we can help it, let's leave Myrtle Manor to the north of us. And on that subject...
DON'T be one of those guys. You know them, too. The clever ones flexing their pecs and shooting vodka in the hot sun, because, you know, what's funner than that? Nothing. At any point on our sunny weekend days, these dudes are roughly five seconds away from a chest bump and a "Hey, PUSSY? Take another shot!", five minutes from whipping it out and pissing on a friend, any friend—strangers will do just as well (what's funner than THAT?)—an hour and 5 away from pretending they're not choking back vomit and beating the crap out of someone—a friend, any friend, strangers will do just as well—and less than five hours from getting an entire beach's drinking privileges revoked. Thanks, Chad.
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