of red strings and man bikinis

If the guy who followed me around the local beach for two hours on Saturday had not been wearing an ill-fitted black patent leather Speedo and was not also copiously drunk-out-of-his-George Hamilton-tanned-mind, his rantings about Kaballah being the only true way to spiritual enlightenment may have fallen on slightly less deaf ears.

Note to guy: Love your perseverance, man. But lose the Speedo, drink less Jack, rethink the whole scary "stalker" approach to your oceanside conversion attempts (lest your next intended target be inspired to break out the mace and aim it in the general direction of your red string bracelet), and let's regroup. Under slightly less unnerving circumstances, I may have been able to actually engage with and hear you. Instead, I spent the majority of my time taking mental notes of exit strategies and attempting to see if there was a weapon hidden in that Speedo anywhere without actually making eye contact with said Speedo (since looking directly at a man~bikini, much like the sun, must be avoided entirely lest it cause blindness). The dude kind of scared the bewhoozies out of me.

Same beach, more clothes, less wine, far less of the scary hovering~following~cornering~stalking thing, and you've got a much more productive dynamic for an ensuing discussion of man's existential dilemma and God's role in healing humanity's "universal fracture from spirit".

At least I think that's what he said.