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Water, Water Everywhere And Not A Drop To Drink
Hijinks On The High Seas… And Beyond
Tag Archives: new jersey
My new favorite badge checker. Okay, the third one I’ve ever liked.
Her: How was it–bad?
Me: No, it was fun, actually!
Her: Good. That’s how it’s supposed to be!
So true. Spread the word.
The Wolf in Sheep’s Clothing
On Friday morning, I received two wake-up texts from my human buoys. (Thanks, guys.) Unfortunately, the earlier one didn’t wake me up. The one that did said, “2 foot grab ur board.” By the time I got my wits about me, low tide was hours gone, but it was still glassy, not closing out, and the water was w.a.r.m. So warm, actually, that it was flooded with jellies.
“The stinging kind? Or the disc ones?” my friend asked me later.
“The disc ones,” I said, ” and a lot of those ones that look kind of like this.” (I held up one of the beaters from an electric mixer.)
“Nettles?”
“I don’t know, they weren’t stinging me. But they were everywhere.”
It was like surfing in a murky, green Jell-O bath. It was awesome. It was shark week. Continue reading
Last Wednesday: West Winds and Parkway Beats
Last Wednesday, I brought my board when I met Jackie at the beach–mostly because I could; not necessarily because I expected the surf to be any good. The Park has decided to let us surf anywhere that is not a designated swimming area. Finally. This means that if you happen to have a day free of work or other obligations, you don’t have to rise with the sun to get in a decent session before the lifeguards kick your ass down to the ever-migrating surf beach. Since the regulation relaxation, I’ve noticed a lot more surfers in the water. Lured out by facility, I guess. Getting up super early/dropping by post-work does require some additional effort, which I can see being a deterrent–especially when the afternoon swell is often killed by the wind and the tides only occasionally ally themselves with your free time.
Chris Kelly Watches Nub TV from ESM
“That man behind you is naked.”
“What?”
I’m laying on the beach in Seaside Park. Katy doesn’t appear to be fucking with me, so I prop myself on an elbow and peer south: Penis. Of the middle-aged persuasion.
Then Speedo. Never thought I’d be so grateful for a Speedo.
As we’re recovering from the shock of such flagrant nudity on a non-nude beach, the guy begins walking determinedly in our direction, sunscreen in hand. No. We strategically avert our eyes and act as if we haven’t noticed. Until he is upon us, glaring sun behind his aged back, in all his Speedoed glory.
He quickly utters lots of German words that probably translate, most nearly, to “Will you please rub this sunblock on my back? I can’t reach. I’m German.”
I find myself speechlessly shaking my head with a dazed and horrified look in my eyes. Jackie glances from him to me and back, amused. Katy grudgingly says, “I’ll do it,” and stands up.
For the entire 30 seconds that she’s applying cream to the nude dude’s back, her expression is one of absolute disgust. Like a vegan confronted with freshly hacked pig flesh. Disgust to the nth degree.
“GermanGermanGermanIndecipherableGermanDankeGermanDanke.” This is obviously the reason he’s unaware that it’s not okay to expose your d at F Street. Fair. Maybe.
He returns to his blanket and lays down. On his back. Katy is bewildered.
She is also from England, visiting our fine shoals for the first time. Welcome to the Land of Enchantment (Jersey totally deserves it more than NuMex).
Evolution in Dirty Jerz
I observed from a not-entirely-safe distance as my fellow Garden Staters paddled through fitful bales of viscous, 40-something-degree sea water.
Seaside Park . 4.29.11
I thought this:
It seems unlikely that he’ll make that. Just look at that wave: Hurling the weight of its frigid lip over its deceptively curvaceous hips at Red Bull-vodka speed. Hollow and fast–but definitely not an easy score.
A mostly solid, greenish curtain formed within milliseconds and stretched for considerable moments.
He emerged.
Water, Water Everywhere And Not A Drop To Drink 