Don’t Use Political Terms for Directions
Wherein I learn about shoplifting and suntan bottles lie.
I remember a time in high school where I took a trip to the beach. Growing up on Long Island, the beach was always accessible within about thirty to forty minutes of driving, which meant I almost never meant. The same way I’ve never been to the top of the Statue of Liberty, something nearly every Manhattan tourist schedules. Sure I went to the beach a few times with parents when younger, but I just didn’t in my high school and junior high years. Perhaps I ran with too pasty-faced a crowd that sun worshipping was never a suggested topic. Maybe they traded in their offerings to Apollo for those to Dionysus – I know later on this was definitely true.
On this day, I went to the beach by myself. It was a hot Sunday afternoon in August. By hot, I mean the heat and sunlight could sear the flesh off an unfurred animal within minutes, leaving mere bones, as if attacked by some crowd of solar piranhas. Yes, worse places have worse summers. But in New York, August is some hellish month where both heat and humidity assail you and you wish that you can pull off your own skin to be cooler. Woe to those who need to use subways in August. Read the rest of this entry »
