And now, my muscles are seizing from sunburn

The one on the right is definitely Kimbo Slice.

 

Actually, not just aloe, but make sure it's the blue, not green, aloe. Much better for sunburn.

 

Mixing some vinegar with water in a spray bottle might help. Baste yourself for a week or two. Hang on for dear life.

 

If you take some ibuprofen or another anti-inflammatory, it will take the edge off the burn and keep you from getting that "warm, glowing feeling."

 

Post the video on YouTube and poindexter will be happy.

 

Went to Arizona for spring break one year in college, and took in a D'backs-White Sox spring training game in Tucson. Great seats for walk-up, first row on the third base line, and a beautiful 90-degree March day in the desert. After getting stranded for a day in Juarez (car trouble) two days earlier, life was good.
Until about the seventh inning, when I started to realize the error of my ways. Being young and foolish, I was ignorant in the ways of sunblock. Stuff is for pansies, I thought. I'll be fine. How wrong I was.
By the time I got to the hotel that night, the magnitude of my folly was setting in. My head and shoulders were slightly burned, so I went for a dip in the hot tub. Felt good. Again, being young and foolish, I knew nothing of aloe vera. I asked the front desk if they had anything to help and they gave me a bottle of some hand lotion that worked wonders. I think I got two more bottles that night and slathered it all over my back and legs.
The desk clerk probably thought my room was going to look like a "Dateline NBC" expose if they took a black light to it.

So I made it through the first night, a Tuesday. The next day, the real horror set in. I woke up to see that my legs had turned a lovely shade of red. As in, somewhere between "fire extinguisher" and "brick." Just putting on pants was like rubbing my skin with 20 grit sandpaper. Worse, the skin was drying out faster than I could moisturize. And this was a road trip, which meant a couple hours in the car between stops -- just enough time to let the skin pull itself back together.
Every time I got out of the car and walked around, the skin on my legs would crack and break again, and it pulled the hair with it. Each time, it felt like a thousand hot needles running roughshod over my skin. I used as much of that lotion as I could, but I left it in the car and it turned into a watery mess. I stopped at the same hotel on my way back through but they were out of the miracle cream and I had to endure.
By Friday I was used to the pain in the way a Viet Cong prisoner of war eventually stops noticing the car battery shocks to their balls. I drove with a towel across my lap to limit further sunburn. Every pit stop brought more cracking and breaking and pulling, but once it was out of the way with those first few steps it was like plates of armor that moved around each other. I drove back across Arizona, New Mexico, and the long I-10 route across Texas with a demented half-smile on face, secure in the knowledge that no vacation, for as long as I live, would ever be worse than this one.

 

They have invented this thing called sunscreen, might look into in next time you cross the Sahara, whitey.

 

Mary Schmich, Chicago Tribune, June 1, 1997:
"Advice, Like Youth, Probably Wasted on the Young"

Wear sunscreen.

If I could offer you only one tip for the future, sunscreen would be it. Scientists have proven the long-term benefits of sunscreen, whereas the rest of my advice has no basis more reliable than my own meandering experience. I will dispense this advice now.

Enjoy the power and beauty of your youth. Oh, never mind. You will not understand the power and beauty of your youth until they've faded. But trust me, in 20 years, you'll look back at photos of yourself and recall in a way you can't grasp now how much possibility lay before you and how fabulous you really looked. You are not as fat as you imagine.

Don't worry about the future. Or worry, but know that worrying is as effective as trying to solve an algebra equation by chewing bubble gum. The real troubles in your life are apt to be things that never crossed your worried mind, the kind that blindside you at 4 p.m. on some idle Tuesday.

Do one thing every day that scares you.

Sing.

Don't be reckless with other people's hearts. Don't put up with people who are reckless with yours.

Floss.

Don't waste your time on jealousy. Sometimes you're ahead, sometimes you're behind. The race is long and, in the end, it's only with yourself.

Remember compliments you receive. Forget the insults. If you succeed in doing this, tell me how.

Keep your old love letters. Throw away your old bank statements.

Stretch.

Don't feel guilty if you don't know what you want to do with your life. The most interesting people I know didn't know at 22 what they wanted to do with their lives. Some of the most interesting 40-year-olds I know still don't.

Get plenty of calcium. Be kind to your knees. You'll miss them when they're gone.

Maybe you'll marry, maybe you won't. Maybe you'll have children, maybe you won't. Maybe you'll divorce at 40, maybe you'll dance the funky chicken on your 75th wedding anniversary. Whatever you do, don't congratulate yourself too much, or celebrate yourself either. Your choices are half chance. So are everybody else's.

Enjoy your body. Don't be afraid of it or of what other people think of it. It's the greatest instrument you'll ever own.

Dance, even if you have nowhere to do it but your living room.

Read the directions, even if you don't follow them.

Do not read beauty magazines. They will only make you feel ugly.

Get to know your parents. You never know when they'll be gone for good. Be nice to your siblings. They're your best link to your past and the people most likely to stick with you in the future.

Understand that friends come and go, but with a precious few you should hold on. Work hard to bridge the gaps in geography and lifestyle, because the older you get, the more you need the people who knew you when you were young.

Live in New York City once, but leave before it makes you hard. Live in Northern California once, but leave before it makes you soft. Travel.

Accept certain inalienable truths: Prices will rise. Politicians will philander. You, too, will get old. And when you do, you'll fantasize that when you were young, prices were reasonable, politicians were noble, and children respected their elders. Respect your elders.

Don't expect anyone else to support you. Maybe you have a trust fund. Maybe you'll have a wealthy spouse. But you never know when either one might run out.

Don't mess too much with your hair or by the time you're 40 it will look 85.

Be careful whose advice you buy, but be patient with those who supply it. Advice is a form of nostalgia. Dispensing it is a way of fishing the past from the disposal, wiping it off, painting over the ugly parts and recycling it for more than it is worth.

But trust me on the sunscreen.

 

The moral of my story -- one you don't want to hear -- is if you're going to go barefoot, put sunblock on your feet. The pain and subsequent swelling associated with feet that are sunburned nearly purple is absolutely no fun at all.

 

True. You'd be better off with a sunburned weiner than sunburned feet.

 

Hey buddy.

 

Woo! Not feeling too good today. My whole torso feels has that burning sensation, the kind I would imagine Lindsay Lohan feels in her snatch.

Mrs. Bubbler, though, is far worse. Her skin is much more sensitive than mine, though equally white, and she was much braver than usual yesterday about being in the sun, despite my advice to her to put on sunscreen. I think she's going to fill our tub with aloe vera when she gets home from work and just chill.