Coney Island Beach
Tuesday, May 31, 2005
A Beautiful Day in NY
The weather has been just perfect the past several days – sunny and 70’s. It really doesn’t get any better than this. Most shop doors are open, and restaurant tables have spilled onto sidewalks everywhere - kind of like the way the women have spilled out of their low-cut tops everywhere. My word! Who needs a “gentleman’s club” in NY? You can get the same view on the street.
Anyway, tonight I needed some fresh air, so I took a walk at 8:15, just as the sun was setting. The sunset was breath-taking – a huge deep-red ball sitting atop the end of 50th Street. I wanted to stand in the middle of the street and just stare at it but didn’t want to risk getting hit by a taxi.
Speaking of getting hit by a car, the law stating that pedestrians have the right of way is not adhered to in NYC. In Seattle, yes. I’ve seen cars slow down for some idiot crossing a Seattle street nowhere near a crosswalk. To me, that’s carrying politeness to the extreme. But here in Manhattan there is no such thing as polite driving. Don’t even consider it. You have to learn defensive walking if you want to live to tell about your NY experience. When walking down a NY street, just think of yourself as being “on point,” like in a military patrol, and you should survive.
Last week a local news station aired a segment about five different people getting hit by cars. One poor guy was interviewed from his hospital bed. And believe me, he LOOKED like he’d been hit by a car. This guy was trying to hail a taxi on the edge of a street in midtown around 10pm when a taxi hit him at full speed and never even stopped. The victim suffered compound fractures in his left leg. All of his left ribs were broken. And his head looked like one big black and purple bruise spotted with bloody contusions. When interviewed, he still had windshield glass in some of his wounds. I couldn’t believe the news program would show someone in that condition, but they did. At least the guy lived.
The fact is, there are 10 hit-and-runs a day in Manhattan. Yes, ten. At the time that news show aired, there’d been 17 deaths so far this year. Those numbers are astronomical. I mean, with traffic always jammed up everywhere in the city, how does a driver get away from the scene of the crime? The furthest he can get is the next intersection. If it’s a taxi, I can understand that. All taxis look alike in Manhattan – same make and model car. I can see the perpetrator blending in. But TEN hit-and-runs a day? That’s insane. And that doesn’t even count the hit-and-stays.
Even in Seattle I would look both ways before crossing. But here in NYC, where a couple weeks ago I almost got run over by a speeding bicyclist going in the wrong direction on one-way street, I look all FOUR ways before crossing. That’s walking defensively.
Sunday was another beautiful day. I took the D train all the way to Coney Island. I’d never been, and the new fancy Stillwell St. subway station had just opened up at Coney Island. The trip took an hour but was neat because this particular subway went over the Manhattan bridge – instead of under water – and stayed above ground all the way through Brooklyn. I’m not used to being in a subway that travels above ground. With daylight streaming through the graffiti-scratched windows, it’s a whole different experience.
It was a lovely day for the beach, and obviously several thousand other people felt the same way. I took my Teva sandals off and walked in the sand. The soothing feeling of warm sand between my toes was something I hadn’t experienced in a long, long time. And I think it had been about 18 years since I’d touched my toes in the Atlantic. The water was freezing, but there were kids and one or two adults in the water.
I’ve never seen such a diverse group of people on a beach in all my life. Let me tell you, Coney Island is not where you go to find the beautiful people. This isn’t Kirkland, Washington. (As my old friend Patti’s boyfriend once said to my size-10 friend, “You’re not skinny enough to live in Kirkland.”) This is Coney Island, where there is no restriction on body size for bikini-wearing women, and no age limit for Speedo-sporting men.
I walked on the boardwalk and around the new Key Span baseball stadium, which displays a touching 9/11 memorial on one exterior wall, commemorating Brooklyn firefighters who gave their lives trying to save others. I walked up the sidewalk on the main drag after that, which was packed with people eating hot dogs and ice cream cones. I bought a corn-on-the-cob, sat down to eat, then headed home on the N train – which moved a lot faster than the D.
So, in other words, now I can say that I’ve been to Coney Island. And I see no need to do it again.
Anyway, tonight I needed some fresh air, so I took a walk at 8:15, just as the sun was setting. The sunset was breath-taking – a huge deep-red ball sitting atop the end of 50th Street. I wanted to stand in the middle of the street and just stare at it but didn’t want to risk getting hit by a taxi.
Speaking of getting hit by a car, the law stating that pedestrians have the right of way is not adhered to in NYC. In Seattle, yes. I’ve seen cars slow down for some idiot crossing a Seattle street nowhere near a crosswalk. To me, that’s carrying politeness to the extreme. But here in Manhattan there is no such thing as polite driving. Don’t even consider it. You have to learn defensive walking if you want to live to tell about your NY experience. When walking down a NY street, just think of yourself as being “on point,” like in a military patrol, and you should survive.
Last week a local news station aired a segment about five different people getting hit by cars. One poor guy was interviewed from his hospital bed. And believe me, he LOOKED like he’d been hit by a car. This guy was trying to hail a taxi on the edge of a street in midtown around 10pm when a taxi hit him at full speed and never even stopped. The victim suffered compound fractures in his left leg. All of his left ribs were broken. And his head looked like one big black and purple bruise spotted with bloody contusions. When interviewed, he still had windshield glass in some of his wounds. I couldn’t believe the news program would show someone in that condition, but they did. At least the guy lived.
The fact is, there are 10 hit-and-runs a day in Manhattan. Yes, ten. At the time that news show aired, there’d been 17 deaths so far this year. Those numbers are astronomical. I mean, with traffic always jammed up everywhere in the city, how does a driver get away from the scene of the crime? The furthest he can get is the next intersection. If it’s a taxi, I can understand that. All taxis look alike in Manhattan – same make and model car. I can see the perpetrator blending in. But TEN hit-and-runs a day? That’s insane. And that doesn’t even count the hit-and-stays.
Even in Seattle I would look both ways before crossing. But here in NYC, where a couple weeks ago I almost got run over by a speeding bicyclist going in the wrong direction on one-way street, I look all FOUR ways before crossing. That’s walking defensively.
Sunday was another beautiful day. I took the D train all the way to Coney Island. I’d never been, and the new fancy Stillwell St. subway station had just opened up at Coney Island. The trip took an hour but was neat because this particular subway went over the Manhattan bridge – instead of under water – and stayed above ground all the way through Brooklyn. I’m not used to being in a subway that travels above ground. With daylight streaming through the graffiti-scratched windows, it’s a whole different experience.
It was a lovely day for the beach, and obviously several thousand other people felt the same way. I took my Teva sandals off and walked in the sand. The soothing feeling of warm sand between my toes was something I hadn’t experienced in a long, long time. And I think it had been about 18 years since I’d touched my toes in the Atlantic. The water was freezing, but there were kids and one or two adults in the water.
I’ve never seen such a diverse group of people on a beach in all my life. Let me tell you, Coney Island is not where you go to find the beautiful people. This isn’t Kirkland, Washington. (As my old friend Patti’s boyfriend once said to my size-10 friend, “You’re not skinny enough to live in Kirkland.”) This is Coney Island, where there is no restriction on body size for bikini-wearing women, and no age limit for Speedo-sporting men.
I walked on the boardwalk and around the new Key Span baseball stadium, which displays a touching 9/11 memorial on one exterior wall, commemorating Brooklyn firefighters who gave their lives trying to save others. I walked up the sidewalk on the main drag after that, which was packed with people eating hot dogs and ice cream cones. I bought a corn-on-the-cob, sat down to eat, then headed home on the N train – which moved a lot faster than the D.
So, in other words, now I can say that I’ve been to Coney Island. And I see no need to do it again.
Saturday, May 28, 2005
Sailors, Sailors Everywhere!
Note: Today’s blog is dedicated to my parents, Barbara and Gene, who are celebrating their 50th wedding anniversary today, and to all the men and women who have served our country.
It’s Fleet Week in New York City. The John F. Kennedy pulled in to pier 88 a few days ago and unleashed its 5,000 sailors and Marines in their crisp uniforms onto the streets of Manhattan.
It was a perfect day to go to the piers – sunny, breezy, and about 80 degrees. I walked down 8th Avenue, turned right on 46th Street, and walked toward the piers where I hoped to tour the Intrepid Sea, Air & Space Museum. NYPD’s finest was out in full force. I walked down to 42nd Street, which is where the police directed crowds to go in order to cross the street. As I got close to the monstrous U.S.S. Intrepid, I met a nice native New York couple who confessed this was their first visit to the Intrepid. The white-haired husband seemed almost ashamed when he told me, in his NY accent, “I’ve lived here 84 years and this is my first time over here.” When I told them I moved here from Seattle, I got the usual reaction, “Wow – that’s quite a change!” When they asked me if I like NY I told them, “I love New York – nicest people in the world.” It really is true.
We realized that we were standing at the end of a long line to board the ship, so we moved on. I wanted to tour the JFK, but the line was even longer to board the 23-story high carrier known as “Big John” to its inhabitants. I headed home.
After dinner I took a walk up 50th Street to Madison Ave., hoping to visit the Counter Spy Shop, but I had the wrong cross street, so I headed north on Madison. I stopped in at the lofty Sony building, and turned left on 59th to walk along the south side of Central Park. Lots of people out!
I talked to a nice guy and his handsome 14-year-old son. The father was pushing his 2-year-old in a stroller, and I guess he caught me peeking at the kid’s cute outfit – he was covered head to toe in bright green – rain slicker, rain boots, rain hat, and matching umbrella. His father asked me what I thought he was. “A frog?” I said. “That’s right!” We talked and walked all the way to Columbia Circle where I took a picture of little Anthony the Frog before parting company.
I ducked inside the Time Warner building just in time to miss a downpour. On display on all three floors were several familiar real sets from popular TV shows – including Central Perk and Monica’s living room from Friends, the chair and the famous foosball table from Joey’s apartment, a dress worn by Phoebe Buffay, and the Monk’s Café set from Seinfeld.
I was excited to see the metal police lockers from my favorite cop show Third Watch, along with Sully’s badge, Carlos’s paramedic uniform, and Sasha Monroe’s cop uniform. One display case held a Friends Emmy award, and others held outfits worn by Patricia Heaton and Ray Ramano on Everybody Loves Raymond.
Also on display was a pair of Carrie Bradshaw’s high-heeled shoes from Sex and the City. Man, Sarah Jessica must be short. Those heels were at least 4 inches. Just yesterday I was trying to figure out how Carrie Bradshaw was able to afford a NY apartment, Fendi handbags, designer clothes, and dozens of $400 shoes on a columnist’s salary. I guess that’s why we watch TV – to escape in such fantasy.
In any case, I had a fun day, as did millions of tourists in the city. Here are some photos. Have a good Memorial Day weekend, everyone!
It’s Fleet Week in New York City. The John F. Kennedy pulled in to pier 88 a few days ago and unleashed its 5,000 sailors and Marines in their crisp uniforms onto the streets of Manhattan.
It was a perfect day to go to the piers – sunny, breezy, and about 80 degrees. I walked down 8th Avenue, turned right on 46th Street, and walked toward the piers where I hoped to tour the Intrepid Sea, Air & Space Museum. NYPD’s finest was out in full force. I walked down to 42nd Street, which is where the police directed crowds to go in order to cross the street. As I got close to the monstrous U.S.S. Intrepid, I met a nice native New York couple who confessed this was their first visit to the Intrepid. The white-haired husband seemed almost ashamed when he told me, in his NY accent, “I’ve lived here 84 years and this is my first time over here.” When I told them I moved here from Seattle, I got the usual reaction, “Wow – that’s quite a change!” When they asked me if I like NY I told them, “I love New York – nicest people in the world.” It really is true.
We realized that we were standing at the end of a long line to board the ship, so we moved on. I wanted to tour the JFK, but the line was even longer to board the 23-story high carrier known as “Big John” to its inhabitants. I headed home.
After dinner I took a walk up 50th Street to Madison Ave., hoping to visit the Counter Spy Shop, but I had the wrong cross street, so I headed north on Madison. I stopped in at the lofty Sony building, and turned left on 59th to walk along the south side of Central Park. Lots of people out!
I talked to a nice guy and his handsome 14-year-old son. The father was pushing his 2-year-old in a stroller, and I guess he caught me peeking at the kid’s cute outfit – he was covered head to toe in bright green – rain slicker, rain boots, rain hat, and matching umbrella. His father asked me what I thought he was. “A frog?” I said. “That’s right!” We talked and walked all the way to Columbia Circle where I took a picture of little Anthony the Frog before parting company.
I ducked inside the Time Warner building just in time to miss a downpour. On display on all three floors were several familiar real sets from popular TV shows – including Central Perk and Monica’s living room from Friends, the chair and the famous foosball table from Joey’s apartment, a dress worn by Phoebe Buffay, and the Monk’s Café set from Seinfeld.
I was excited to see the metal police lockers from my favorite cop show Third Watch, along with Sully’s badge, Carlos’s paramedic uniform, and Sasha Monroe’s cop uniform. One display case held a Friends Emmy award, and others held outfits worn by Patricia Heaton and Ray Ramano on Everybody Loves Raymond.
Also on display was a pair of Carrie Bradshaw’s high-heeled shoes from Sex and the City. Man, Sarah Jessica must be short. Those heels were at least 4 inches. Just yesterday I was trying to figure out how Carrie Bradshaw was able to afford a NY apartment, Fendi handbags, designer clothes, and dozens of $400 shoes on a columnist’s salary. I guess that’s why we watch TV – to escape in such fantasy.
In any case, I had a fun day, as did millions of tourists in the city. Here are some photos. Have a good Memorial Day weekend, everyone!
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