Here I sit, sunburned, covered in a residue of sweat and sunscreen, bruised and aching from a spin on the Cyclone and to top that off, I’ve got sand in places only a handful of people have had the privilege of viewing. This all means only one thing: I spent today at Coney Island. I will say though, you couldn’t have asked for a more gorgeous day. Just look at this view from the sand:
It’s almost as amazing as this sensational tableau:
I would have taken shots of more characters, but I didn’t want to run the risk of getting shot because we aren’t exactly dealing with the upper echelon of New York society here. But this is pretty great, no? Where does one even buy an outfit like this? Whores ‘R Us? I’m dying to know what Anna Wintour has to say about this one.
It’s almost as ridiculous as the heading under Cha Cha’s:
In any case, our first stop was lunch, where I cheated on “the system” by having a pizza at Totonno’s:
That glistening pie just calls to you like the songs of the sirens, does it not? I’m still dreaming of that hot coal oven crust topped with dollops of fresh mozzarella cheese and sweet plum tomato sauce. Totally worth burning the roof of my mouth over.
After lunch, Lady Levy and I headed to the beach, which was literally a hot mess. Not being very proud of my current physique, I opted to keep my shirt on. Sadly, most of the other men at the beach did not choose to do as I did, and they really should have: Some of these guys were so hairy I could have sworn they were wearing sweaters (both front and back). And the beer bellies? I hadn’t seen so many since I was 14 at Wet ‘N Wild waterpark in Las Vegas. This is not to say that the women were any better with their fashion choices; we should really start teaching how to dress for your body type in elementary school so we don’t end up with a bunch of female muffin tops hanging over G-string bikinis. Oh, and the middle aged Hispanic woman belting out an off-key karaoke rendition of “Under the Boardwalk” on the actual boardwalk? Priceless.
Also priceless? Riding the Cyclone. Well, actually, that’s not true; I had to fork over $8 for my ride. This was my second time riding the famed coaster and I had the same reaction as my maiden voyage several years ago: “I am NEVER riding the Cyclone AGAIN!” Now look, I love rides. I especially love roller coasters. And the woodies are the best! El Toro at Six Flags Great Adventure may be the best wooden coaster that exists on the planet, and I could ride it over and over again. The Cyclone, on the other hand, is an accident waiting to happen. While we were standing in line, I could see some of the wooden support beams wobbling and the whole thing looks like a three year old nailed it together. It’s been around since before World War One, for crying out loud. In retrospect, we were crazy to have gotten on it. It should really be condemned. It is the most rickety, uncomfortable ride I’ve ever had in my entire life and I found myself praying for it just to be over. Lady Levy and I were seriously screaming and holding on for dear life. It took poor Lady Levy a good half hour to regroup after the terrifying experience.
As for me, I’ll regroup once my face is no longer the color of a lobster. In the meantime, I’m calling it a night because I am completely EXHAUSTED.
Until we meet again…
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