Coney Island Hustle Bustle

We did everything we set out to do. We ate hot dogs at Nathan's, balancing drinks and cameras and fries and dogs dripping with sauteed onions. We rode the Cyclone, Coney Island's wooden roller coaster, om it's 78th birthday. It was born 54 years before myself, on June 26, 1927. According to the park's website, Emilio Franco, a mute since birth, regained his voice on the Cyclone, uttering his first words ever -- "I feel sick"!, which probably tells you how exciting it is better than I can. We also rode the Wonder Wheel, which is sort of like a ferris wheel, but with a bunch of cabs on swinging tracks that make you feel deliciously like you're going to slide off into the air tumble to your sandy death. We played Skeeball and the ten of us collectively earned enough tickets to get a harmonica that doesn't work. We watched Brooklyn's low-rate farm team ruin the Aberdeen Ironbirds 11 to nothing (and Frankie the hotdog won the condiment race). We got drunk on the beach. Determined to live the birthday to it's full potential, I jumped into the dirtiest section of ocean known to man, and came out the other end sick. Now I'm coughing and dripping and sweating, but it was worth it. Really, really, incredibly, totally 24 times over worth it.


Coney Island and it's teeming thousands from the top of the Wonder Wheel.


The Coney Island Death Tower-- Originally built to train troops for WWII, and converted in a terrifically dangerous civilian amusement in the 40s. Now it's just a landmark for taking lovey photos under.


Goodnight, world.

24

It's about the 7th time in the last 8 years that I've been away from home on my birthday, and it still has the same sting. It's generally made up for by the fact of being with friends that are as close as family. We're in New York still, with my dear friend Andy, and today we're celebrating at Coney Island. I'm going on a rollercoaster, eating hotdogs, swimming in some kitchen-sink ocean water, and watching a ballgame (the Brooklyn Cyclones--the Mets' single A farm team). It's amateur hour! But what could be more fun? It's my happy birthday!

Departure!

It has officially begun. Saturday, June 18 marked our triumphant departure from Washington, DC, and the beginning of the first leg of our trip (short and stumpy though this leg be). We arrived in Charlottesville, Virginia a mere two hours after leaving DC, and have been living in cushy luxury with John’s parents ever since. Despite the fact that this may represent elements of anticlimax, rest assured that we were both so dog tired after all the preparations for leaving that we’re pretty happy to be eating steaks and sleeping in beds and gathering our energies for what is coming – New York City and Montreal. Father's Day was relaxed and good and fatherly--thank you to the Dads and sort-of Dads in both our lives. We also want to thank out wonderful friends who sent us out of DC in style--with a fancy brunch and a bottle of champagne to christen the rig. Despite the fact that it felt oddly like an ethnic wedding celebration (circular dancing was involved), we appreciate the well wishing and well wish that we could have brought you all along. (See picture below--skip it if "eeewwwww, that's grosssssss" is still in your vocabulary.)

Eventually—we promise—we’ll get off the East Coast and out of our parents' homes.