Anti-Pickpocket Maneuverability and Volunteer Beach Patrolling

You know that feeling the day after you go to an amusement park when you're lying in bed, and you still feel the momentum of the roller coaster as if you are falling down?  That's how I feel right now.  That is how much time I've spent riding the metro lately.

But it's not a "fun" falling feeling.  It doesn't make me want to throw my hands in the air and stick my tongue out at the camera.  It's the feeling like you're typing at your computer and 4 dwarves are holding up the legs of your chair and occasionally rocking it, making you feel like you are going to fall over.

Two days ago (Sunday) I visited the beach, in Spanish "the playa".  My original intention was to get up early Saturday and go, but that did not happen.  It was already late in the day and I figured it would be futile.  Sunday, I once again had a slow start, thinking that I had missed my chance.  Furthermore, the forecast said that rain was on the way.  But seeing as this was my last free day, I bit the bullet and said dammit, I'm going to the beach.


In order for me to get to my destination, Long Beach, I had to take the metro to Penn Station and buy a ticket for the Long Island Railroad.  I have since learned that just because something is called "Railroad" does not necessarily make it any more comfortable or any less pukey-smelling than the Subway.

Penn Station was not what I expected it to look like.  I expected it to look like Grand Central, except with Penn Station Sub locations.  I didn't find subs.  Instead, the tunnels from the metro stop at Penn Station sloped through the cavernous underground and slowly began to morph into something that looked like an airport.

where's the subs?

As often happens, when I was waiting for my train a raggedy-looking man approached me and started by saying, "hey hey, I'm not asking for money..."   I said "Sorry," and walked away.  I felt like crap when I walked away.  I legitimately know by now that it's a bad idea to talk to solicitors, whatever their intentions are, just because you never know what will happen.  I couldn't appreciate that fact before I came here; that you have to have rules for literal survival (sort of like in Zombieland?).   But man, do you feel like crap turning your back on somebody who might just want something to eat.  This sort of thing has happened countless times.  But this one in particular just left me with a pit in my gut.

It's shale gray dark outside and raining, as I type this.  This is what I picture London to look like.  Mid-apocalypse, rainy London.

I had about a half hour to kill before the my train left, so I walked through swarms of people, practicing anti-pickpocket maneuverability, and I also flipped through some magazines.

It was a long, overcast train ride to Long Beach.  But I swear as soon as we reached Long Beach, by some miracle, the SUN appeared!  Long Beach was awesome, and surprisingly homey considering its proximity to the city.  When I got off the train I spotted a Five Guys chain.  Note:  eat at Five Guys later.

from top to bottom:  sky, water, earth.  What else do you need, eh?

I remember being on the beach by myself, and reminding myself about the importance of maintaining an attitude of "child-like wonder" throughout all of my escapades.  Then I realized I was on the beach, and that wouldn't be too hard.

The waves were pretty huge, and I decided to go into the water (despite my initial reaction when I stepped into the waves, which was thinking that 'this undertow is really strong').  In fact, I didn't go in past my waist because 'this undertow is really strong'.  I stood firm and poised, working on my balance in case I ever decided to join a yoga group.  I would show up on the first day of class and do some crazy one-legged pretzel maneuver and everyone would say Wow, this guy has really great balance.  I am impressed.  By his ability.  To balance.

Not only was I testing the fortitude of my own center of gravity, I was testing the integrity of the ocean itself.  I would ensure that it was not too mean to its inhabitants or human visitors.  I was volunteer beach patrolling.

Then an actual member of the beach patrol approached me, scolded me, and told me to stay "between the flags".  Apparently they had already "officially" confirmed that 'this undertow is really strong,' and set up flagged barriers that were entirely visible to everyone, except apparently me.  I was at least 50 yards further from where I should have been.

After I got yelled at I carried my sand-bagged bum shamefully off the beach and decided to reclaim the day via a delicious Five Guys burger.  When my burger arrived in front of my person, I was upset.

Whoever cooks the burgers decided to flatten my patties such that half of my burger was hanging off the bun.  My burger had a meat skirt.  **For all fry cooks reading this who may one day cook me a burger, do NOT give my masculine burger a meat skirt.  I shouldn't have eaten the burger, it wasn't right.  But I had to put it out of its misery, its shame.

On the bright side, I am pretty sure all the sunshine killed the poison ivy I had on my ankles (don't ask me how I got poison ivy in New York City...  the Taylor Swift shoot.  I got poison ivy on the Taylor Swift shoot.)

"oh cool times square! michael, tell us about times square!"

"no."