The screen is black, and all you hear at first is the sound of sloshing water, the hints of a soft breeze, perhaps even the buzzing of a cicada. Then, rippling, blue, reflective water fades in, almost blinding in its sunshiney beauty, and the water is so clear and beautiful that even the audience wants to jump right in...you can almost smell the suntan lotion, and the faint whiffs of cigarrette smoke as the camera pans out to reveal a pool setting and catches that the cigarrette smoke is coming from the rebellious, wife-beater clad teenagers who are trying to be cool at their table and chairs under the umbrella in the corner (they're using an old soup can as an ashtray.) Music fades in...it's Frank Sinatra softly singing--as though from an old, tinny radio--the one about "tall and tan, dah, dah, dah, dah, dah, dah, the girl from Ipanema goes walking and when she's passing each one she's passing goes...ahhhh". The camera spans around the pool, revealing lounge chairs, and then there (on "ahhh") stops on a woman lounging in one, oiled to the extreme, one knee up, one arm over her head, the other arm placed strategically so as to cover the rather large ass hanging out the edge of her two-piece, over-sized aviator sunglasses protecting her eyes, her bikini top straining valiantly to push up what it can to greet the Sun, that fickle god that gives color to the young and cancer to the old, whom the girl worships in all its fiery glory and can't get enough of. She shifts in her chair, and the audience notices she could probably use a few more crunches, but hey, her arms aren't half bad (has she been working out?). The camera cuts in close to her face, and a smile plays around the corner of her mouth, and then we realize that she's dreaming, and the camera fades into her face and shows us her dream, (backed up by Frank, now louder, in full sound, "oooo, but I watch her so sadly, dah, dah, dah, dah, dah, dah") which consists of the girl, in her mint green and brown bikini--ass now firm and toned...c'mon it's a DREAM--and she's slo-mo jumping and leaping around the edge of the pool like a young gazelle, and then suddenly she's in the pool, water streaming in rivulets down her flat, chiseled stomach, in between her boxom bosoms--a DREAM!--and she's splashing water everywhere, and even though it's so Paris-Hilton-stupid-over-the-top hot, the audience can't look away, and she does a terrifically huge, sexily laughing splash, when suddenly then the camera cuts back to real time, music kicking off abruptly, and shows the girl getting doused by an enormous splash from the fat, pasty-white kid (already pink on his flabby shoulders) who's just decided it would be an opportune time for a cannonball. (He's wearing goggles and has his nose pinched shut with one of those plastic thingies.) At first, we see she's flabbergasted and gasping from the shock of the cold water and a tad irritated at having her dream interrupted, but the kid smiles chubbily and waves, and she smiles too. As the music fades back in--tinny radio again--she leans back, the little smile returning to her lips, while the camera pans out and goes back whence it came from the beginning, past the chairs, past the smoking teens, back to the sparkling blue water, and fades to black, while Frank finishes: "She doesn't see me...she doesn't see me."
The pool's open, folks! Happy Memorial Day to me!