On the edge

It's late and I'm so tired. But I wanted to say hi. I wanted to clear my head before bed (and rhyme one more time). A less glamorous
part of my job is the data entry aspect, particularly when you save
it for midnight on a Thursday. And (this is personal in a weird way), I
just ended the worst case of PMS I've ever had--and Gaea Bless the
Girlfriend for putting up with me! (Please feel free to send her your empathy.) This morning, when I was bitchy and edgy and still
coffee-less, she said, "Jasmin, nothing is WRONG," to which I did a
scan of everything and ultimately agreed--nothing was wrong except my
self-perception and the balance of my hormones.

The other day, we visited Coney Island--or rather, what once was Coney Island. What ultimately got us there, not surprisingly,
was a rumor that Nathan's sells soy dogs. Sadly, it is only a rumor,
and alas, the two of us munched on fries and lemonade (like, unbelievably good, by the way). We then walked past big Walmart signs on abaonded torn-down mini-golf courses (apparently, Walmartopia is soon to invade "The New Coney
Island" too) and onto the Boardwalk, which was abandoned except for a
few scattered Punky Brewster
types. We walked on the sand and it was astonishing to remember that
even though we were staring at the Atlantic Ocean, we were in New York
City, only 45-minutes from Soho. Lack of soy dogs hardly seemed like a
disappointment anymore.

Still, I'm a bit concerned about the future of Coney Island, which is looking bleak and/or Disney-fied. My mother was born on Coney Island. My grandmother spent a large part of her life there, and in
fact used to ride bikes alongside Marilyn Monroe. Grandma's photo albums are busting with black and white pictures of thousands of families spread across the clean sand and into the water. My mother used to think that sand was an ingredient in
fruit, because sandy apples were her summer beach snack.

M and I opted instead for CANDY apples from Williams Candy Store, the
kind with the coconut on it. Afterwards I dragged her into the empty
arcade determined to win something in that machine that tries to grab a
stuffed animal. M rolled her eyes, I put in my quarters . Then the
machine broke. I didn't even get my turn. Dammit. Nor did I complain. I
figured I was somehow contributing to the future of Coney Island, or something like that.

We actually had a blast. It was a cold wintry January day and we just jumped onto the D train and took it to the end. When we stood
gazing upon the Atlantic Ocean and listening to the singing seagulls (who are likely
also sad about the soy dog rumor being false), I recalled a trip we took
last summer to San Francisco, where I truly did leave my heart. On a trip to visit our buddies at VegNews, we stopped to watch the surfers on the Pacific, where I (fleetingly) considered swimming to Hawaii.

I can't imagine not living on a coast. Even my apartment is on the river (kind of...you have to tilt your head to see it, but it's there, I swear). It makes me
feel safe to be on the edge. Makes me feel like I can get away if I
have to.

Article of the day: Closing the Barn Door After the Cows Have Gotten Out (NY Times)