Coney Island Crazies
Yesterday (Sunday) was Coney Island Opening Day. I've recently made a list of things I want to do before I leave New York (if that ever happens!) so that I don't regret the NOT doing of something. I figured this would be an opportune time to accomplish one of the first items on my list: Ride the Cyclone at Astroland. Sadly, Dustin could not attend (working for the man), so I met my girls there after a long and lonely subway ride to the baby toe of Brooklyn, with only my tattered copy of "Jitterbug Perfume" to keep me company.
Even the subway station itself is festive o'er there.
We were surprised to see the beach, as it was emptier than we'd ever seen it before. Usually (in July/August), the shore is peppered with Puerto Ricans, broken glass and boom boxes. Today there were but a few couples, some kids, and broken seashells.
Li'l Jennifer, the sun in her eyes, tried to make a sour face at me but it was just cute.
And Miss Kerri, freezing cold even though it was 57 degrees outside, donned her gloves, scarf, coat, and went to work photographing all in sight.
We wandered around Astroland and another side goal of mine came true: I got to see the Hungry March Band again, a band that I have been trying to see since New Year's Eve and it has just never worked out... until now. You wouldn't think a 20-piece band would be so elusive. But alas! I have found them!
This li'l tyke was just lovin' it.
Then we embarked upon the adventure for which we'd travelled so far: The Cyclone. Built in 1927, it's one of the world's oldest roller coasters and VERY SCARY, mostly because it's so rickety while you're being thrashed around its wooden rails.
This sign did not boost our confidence.
Unfortunately they didn't let me take my camera on, so we had to recreate our fear immediately following the ride:
After one more ride (they're like $4 each, for God's sake), we went back towards the shore and again spotted the Hungry March Band towards the water's edge. They were surrounded by a crowd and as we grew closer, we noticed the crowd was undulating in jumping jacks, and most people were in their swimming trunks. I gasped excitedly.
"Do you guys know what this is?" I exclaimed. "It's the Polar Bear Club!!!" I had, just a few hours previous, been talking about another notch on my list, Become A Polar Bear. This is a club, made up 95% of hairy old men, who dive into the frigid winter ocean during the months between October and April. I have always wanted to do it, thinking it such a crazy adventure, but assumed I would wait until next January 1st (the best day to do it). However, we had unwittingly happened upon their second-to-last event of the season. We watched in awe as, in unison, they charged the ocean, splashing, hooting and hollering along the way.
Everyone was fascinated.
I saw a pair of young ladies out there who seemed to be not in their swimming suits but their plain old underwear. I thought, Hey. I'M wearing underwear. Maybe I should do it! Internally, I got whiny and fraidy-cattish and thought, Well, if I'd known I would have brought my swimsuit. Maybe next time. Blah Blah Excuses excuses. Then I thought, No! You know, I could go to work tomorrow and say "I saw the Polar Bears, and I was gonna do it and then I didn't" or you could go into work and say, "I jumped into the ocean and thought I was gonna die!" So I chose the latter. I tried in vain to convince Kerri to go in with me. I thought, I need at least one person to hoot and holler with me! But as I was doing so, Shannon was noticing that Jennifer was peeking at her own undies to see if they were acceptable for the public to see. Shannon yanked me aside and whispered loudly and excitedly, "ASK JENNIFER, SHE'LL DO IT, ASK JENNIFER!" So I looked at Jen, put my hands squarely on her shoulders and said, "Jennifer. Will you do this with me?" She smiled and said, "Yeah, I'll do it!" She had barely said "Yeah..." and my coat was off. We got down to our skivvies and ran out to the sea, screaming like little kids on a sugar rush. The old men (and few old ladies), cheered us on. We got in and tailing the adrenaline rush was the sharp pang of the icy water. It. Was. COLD. I didn't clearly understand the concept of it until I felt like pins and needles were piercing my skin and my lungs felt halved in size. It was honestly hard to breathe. This was around the time that the notion of hypothermia came clearly into view. We agreed that we shouldn't stay in too long, seeing as we hadn't done the jumping jacks and all. We got our proverbial groove on and hopped out, never before having been so grateful that our clothes were dry. After redressing, some old Polar Bears came up to us and thanked us for making their day. "Beware," they said, "this is what happens to you after being a Polar Bear!"
Bald and hairy. Awesome.
Thank you, Coney Island...
... for helping make my dreams come true.
P.S. - Later that day I gave Jennifer my latest work of brilliant genius, a variation on the painting I made for Kerri, which Jen had "commissioned" me to make. Here's the outcome:
I like it. It's red.
Even the subway station itself is festive o'er there.
We were surprised to see the beach, as it was emptier than we'd ever seen it before. Usually (in July/August), the shore is peppered with Puerto Ricans, broken glass and boom boxes. Today there were but a few couples, some kids, and broken seashells.
Li'l Jennifer, the sun in her eyes, tried to make a sour face at me but it was just cute.
And Miss Kerri, freezing cold even though it was 57 degrees outside, donned her gloves, scarf, coat, and went to work photographing all in sight.
We wandered around Astroland and another side goal of mine came true: I got to see the Hungry March Band again, a band that I have been trying to see since New Year's Eve and it has just never worked out... until now. You wouldn't think a 20-piece band would be so elusive. But alas! I have found them!
This li'l tyke was just lovin' it.
Then we embarked upon the adventure for which we'd travelled so far: The Cyclone. Built in 1927, it's one of the world's oldest roller coasters and VERY SCARY, mostly because it's so rickety while you're being thrashed around its wooden rails.
This sign did not boost our confidence.
Unfortunately they didn't let me take my camera on, so we had to recreate our fear immediately following the ride:
After one more ride (they're like $4 each, for God's sake), we went back towards the shore and again spotted the Hungry March Band towards the water's edge. They were surrounded by a crowd and as we grew closer, we noticed the crowd was undulating in jumping jacks, and most people were in their swimming trunks. I gasped excitedly."Do you guys know what this is?" I exclaimed. "It's the Polar Bear Club!!!" I had, just a few hours previous, been talking about another notch on my list, Become A Polar Bear. This is a club, made up 95% of hairy old men, who dive into the frigid winter ocean during the months between October and April. I have always wanted to do it, thinking it such a crazy adventure, but assumed I would wait until next January 1st (the best day to do it). However, we had unwittingly happened upon their second-to-last event of the season. We watched in awe as, in unison, they charged the ocean, splashing, hooting and hollering along the way.
Everyone was fascinated.
I saw a pair of young ladies out there who seemed to be not in their swimming suits but their plain old underwear. I thought, Hey. I'M wearing underwear. Maybe I should do it! Internally, I got whiny and fraidy-cattish and thought, Well, if I'd known I would have brought my swimsuit. Maybe next time. Blah Blah Excuses excuses. Then I thought, No! You know, I could go to work tomorrow and say "I saw the Polar Bears, and I was gonna do it and then I didn't" or you could go into work and say, "I jumped into the ocean and thought I was gonna die!" So I chose the latter. I tried in vain to convince Kerri to go in with me. I thought, I need at least one person to hoot and holler with me! But as I was doing so, Shannon was noticing that Jennifer was peeking at her own undies to see if they were acceptable for the public to see. Shannon yanked me aside and whispered loudly and excitedly, "ASK JENNIFER, SHE'LL DO IT, ASK JENNIFER!" So I looked at Jen, put my hands squarely on her shoulders and said, "Jennifer. Will you do this with me?" She smiled and said, "Yeah, I'll do it!" She had barely said "Yeah..." and my coat was off. We got down to our skivvies and ran out to the sea, screaming like little kids on a sugar rush. The old men (and few old ladies), cheered us on. We got in and tailing the adrenaline rush was the sharp pang of the icy water. It. Was. COLD. I didn't clearly understand the concept of it until I felt like pins and needles were piercing my skin and my lungs felt halved in size. It was honestly hard to breathe. This was around the time that the notion of hypothermia came clearly into view. We agreed that we shouldn't stay in too long, seeing as we hadn't done the jumping jacks and all. We got our proverbial groove on and hopped out, never before having been so grateful that our clothes were dry. After redressing, some old Polar Bears came up to us and thanked us for making their day. "Beware," they said, "this is what happens to you after being a Polar Bear!"
Bald and hairy. Awesome.Thank you, Coney Island...
... for helping make my dreams come true.
P.S. - Later that day I gave Jennifer my latest work of brilliant genius, a variation on the painting I made for Kerri, which Jen had "commissioned" me to make. Here's the outcome:
I like it. It's red.
posted by jenna at 3:31 PM
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