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    Showing posts with label The Beach. Show all posts
    Showing posts with label The Beach. Show all posts

  1. BEACH!!!!

    Saturday, July 6, 2013


    By Lisa Harmon
     
    I spent today at the beach. It got me thinking - I can't believe all the stuff we used to take with us to the beach when we were kids! My brother and I would have to carry the giant cooler – it was about three feet long, twenty-five pounds and it was METAL. Yes, metal. Now cars aren't even made of metal. Back then, we used to use metal to hold our sandwiches!!!

    Pop always had his backgammon board. All the old geezers would play backgammon and pinochle. They sat at tables under umbrellas – primo spots they never had to leave because their wives would bring them iced tea and sandwiches. About once a day they'd go in the water (probably to pee) and then their voluminous grandpa-type back hair would be all matted down. And we kids used to make them laugh so we could see their giant bellies rolling.

    Then there were all the snacks and food, it never ended. We had sandwiches, fruit, cookies, chips, you name it. Gram was in charge of food and snacks and the giant thermos of iced tea with the spigot that lasted all of us all day long. Ahhhh, nothing like that iced tea powder – we grew up on that! I don't care what fancy teas we may drink now, nothing beats that junk powder we drank by the gallon as kids.

    While the geezers all played games, the old ladies ran around feeding everyone and who knows what else they did? At least my Gram was American! There was one crazy old lady who used to bring pots of pilaf to the beach! Pilaf! On the beach! Puhlease, you can't eat a sandwich???? One time someone had McDonald's! I got so excited! I thought, oooh someone walked over to Mickey D's. Maybe I can have a hamburger! Well it turns out, nobody had McDonald's. One of those frugal (crazy) old Armenian ladies saved the Styrofoam burger boxes (they used to be Styrofoam – look it up) and used them to bring her own sandwiches to the beach. Bummer!

    The beach is where we spent every summer. As soon as school let out, we'd rent rooms and stay till school started up again. My grandparents, and my brother and me. On Friday nights Mom would come out and stay with us the whole weekend. That was the best. We were always so happy to see her on the weekends.

    On the way home we always stopped at Nathan's. Now it's a Dunkin Donuts. Back then it was a Nathan's. It was also a Wetsons and a Roy Rogers since the Nathan's days. Everyone ordered all kinds of stuff at Nathan's but I always ordered the same thing – onion chips. They were so good! Kind of like a blooming onion but separated, like onion petals. No sauce either. Just yummy onion chips.

    These things seemed silly back then but those were the best times of my life. I think I would love to be that kid, eating my onion chips in the back of Pop's Chevy Impala, arguing with my brother and driving my poor grandparents crazy. What wouldn't I give for another day at the beach with my family? I might even carry the cooler without complaining.


    Posted by Anonymous at 3:00 AM | Labels: , | 2 comments | |

  2. Dive Right In!

    Friday, April 12, 2013


    By Lisa Harmon

    I used to like to go camping. Even I can't believe that. I can hardly imagine sleeping outside and using a pit toilet. I chalk it up to naivete, extreme boredom and a lack of funds.

    We used to go to this campsite in Pennsylvania. It was called Promised Land State Park. I've seen the Promised Land. There is no plumbing.

    On one trip, someone brought their friend from work. When we finally got there, we'd been in the car a long time, and we were hot and sweaty. The tires had barely stopped when the doors flew open, we bolted for the lake and jumped in.

    The guy I didn't know, my friend's sister's co-worker, couldn't swim. He dove right into the water with everyone else but immediately began sputtering around. A couple of guys took him by his arms and brought him back to shore where he sat catching his breath while we all tried to make the best of it and forget how he's ruining our camping trip already.

    The first time I went swimming in a lake, I swam a ridiculous distance and ended up in the center. I turned around and saw how far I was from shore. It was far. I was exhausted. I didn't know how I would get back. My friends on the beach were so far away I'd have had to scream at them, and those dopes would think I was fooling around anyway.

    Later I found out that saltwater is much more buoyant than fresh water. Since I grew up going to Rockaway Beach (of the famed Ramones tune), I was used to salt water.

    We went to Rockaway Beach every summer and swam every day. We all loved the beach. I had a healthy respect for the ocean. The ocean can change in an instant, and one time, it did.
     

     
     
    My general rule was not go out further than my toes touching the bottom. We were swimming pretty close to those giant, treacherous jetties. Suddenly, the lifeguard started calling us in. We weren't doing anything and I didn't know why he was calling us in, but it was definitely us he was calling. I looked at my friend, he looked at me, and we started swimming in.
     
     

    Right then a wave hit. It seemed like a normal wave, but when I tried to touch my toes down again, I couldn't reach. The ground was gone. Completely, totally, way gone. The water must have been twice as deep as it had been just a couple of seconds before.
     
     

    I'd never experienced anything like that so I shifted into high gear and swam to shore after taking one last look to see Jimmy was still behind me.
     

    After the rescue at the lake, when everyone had settled down, they asked the embarrassed coworker “Why did you jump in the lake if you can't swim?” Good thing our parents weren't there because this would have proved their theory that the answer to the question “If all your friends went and jumped in a lake would you do it too?” is a resounding “Yes!” Finally they'd have undeniable proof that teenagers are that stupid.

    But I knew why he did it. It's not because we were stupid (we were) but because he thought he could swim. It never occurred to him that he couldn't swim. It never occurred to me either. A little bit of ignorance sure makes for a lot of confidence. I want to go back to those times – pre-adulthood, and pre-hurricane Sandy, to when Rockaway was still they way it was when I was a kid. I'd like to go back to the way I felt back then – alive, and excited and engaged. I want to jump in with no doubts, and live life with total confidence. I want to dive right in and make the most of every moment.

    What's the worst that can happen? I mean, its not like I'm going to drown or anything, right?

    Posted by She So Funny at 9:41 PM | Labels: , , | 4 comments | |

  3. Daytona Bike Week!

    Saturday, March 2, 2013

    By Lisa Harmon

    Part of generating material is having adventures. I can't sit in a vacuum and write jokes. Winter is a time when I get stale and I need to get out there and get the juices flowing.

    I know the perfect place for this! Daytona Bike Week! It is timed to get all us bike-starved riders down to sunny Florida so we can get in some real riding. The organizers are well aware that most of us haven't ridden, or haven’t ridden much, and we're dying to burn rubber!
     
     

    Right here is a good spot to let you know I don't have my own bike. I ride on the back, where its FUN. If I had my own bike, I'd probably be pushing up daisies by now. I just feel I'm a little too spastic to ride a motorcycle here in New York. Maybe I'll get my own bike when I retire to some place with a slightly lower rage-factor.
     
     

    My first Daytona was in 2003. The Super and I were only dating. The first day, we got caught in the rain. We pulled up to a t-shirt stall. Two t-shirts for $25.00. The biker woman with the t-shirts says to me “I'll measure your old man, and make sure he gets a good fit.” (We're talking cheap t-shirts here folks.) I said “What about me?” She waves her hand at me dismissively. “You're an extra-large.” My husband certainly has a way with the ladies! I brought up the outstanding level of service he received. He replied that next he would be buying pants.

    The next day we met a lovely (lovely = buzzed) Danish couple at the pool at our hotel. We were talking about all the great activities of bike week when the subject of cole-slaw wrestling came up. Yes, gals, they have cole-slaw wrestling! At a place called the Cabbage Patch you can live your childhood dream of wrestling another woman in a vat of shredded cabbage. Pinch me! It turns out the Danish woman had done it (did I say they were buzzed?). But it was her husband who provided this informative tidbit - “She was finding coleslaw all over, for weeks, no matter how many showers she took. For weeks.” Ick.

    Oh there's so much to do and see in Daytona! It was at Bike Week that I found out about Doggles. Yes, Doggles. I thought I could handle the Doggles. I thought, cool, Doggles. Goggles for your dog. I can handle that. But I can't! I. CAN'T. HANDLE. THE. DOGGLES. Ever since I saw the Doggles, I have this vision of Bailey with Doggles, a leather helmet and of course, a long white silk scarf. Why is Bailey dressed like that? Because I'm taking him around Daytona in a big side car. That's why. This is my fantasy and I blame it entirely on Doggles. Doggles. Goggles for your dog. If any bikers are reading this they're thinking yeah, OK a sidecar, but what bike? That's the sixty-four thousand dollar question! I'd have to say I'm leaning toward Triumph. They've got the best road clothes and besides that, Fonzie rode one.
     
     
     
     
     
     

    I was at Bike Week the first time I saw a Smart Car. I thought they were centerpieces for the buffet table. I brought one home.



    And it was at Bike Week that I saw a seventy year old woman with a shaved hooch walking up and down the parking lot with nothing under her white leather chaps except her white leather hoo-ha.

    Down by Daytona Speedway is where most of the demo rides take place. Demo rides are a fun way to accidentally spend fifteen or twenty grand. When we test drove the Honda VTX 1300, six months later it was in our garage.
     
     

    Another time Honda did a demo ride with Goldwings and some little 250 scooter. By the time we got to pick our bike, all the Goldwings were taken. We hopped on this little scooter and went on the ride. They took us on the highway. We couldn't break 45 MPH. We were way over the weight capacity on that poor little scooter! We where the laughing stock of International Speedway Boulevard. Finally the demo ride escort gave us his 650 scooter so we could get keep up with everybody else. Later we were telling a couple of people about it and they said “Oh we saw you!” Because I'm cool, that's why.

    Of course the main attraction at any Bike Week anywhere is always the riding. That's what the Super and I are there to do. We put in a lot of miles and we love every minute of it. There's a ride called the Loop that takes you through a secluded wooded area. The tree branches cross overhead with beautiful Spanish moss hanging down. Spanish moss is probably my favorite thing about the south (after deep-fried everything). It makes everything look dreamy and surreal. Riding through that winding loop sometimes you can catch a large white bird. It is tall and thin and I think its a crane. He stands so still in the water I'm never sure if he's real or not.

    A1A is great riding too. For long stretches you can see the beautiful white sand beaches. The water is so blue it is incredible. It is hard to believe this blue water is the same dark green ocean we have at our beaches. The color combination is incredible. I love the beach. I have yet to go swimming here. It never seems to be warm enough. But I bring my bathing suit every year, because I'm an optimist!
     
     

    Each year we make new friends, even if its just for the week. And even though there are thousands of people at Daytona Bike week, sometimes we even run into people we've met there before. No one recognizes you by your name in Daytona. You mention your name, and they try to place you...it doesn't come to mind. Here it comes: “What do you ride?” “A Harley FatBoy Lo.” “OH! I remember you! That's a pretty bike. That's a pretty bike!”




    Posted by Anonymous at 3:00 AM | Labels: , , , , , | 6 comments | |















  4. Forgive my being Tardy to the (blog) Party and Greetings from Asbury Park!  As promised, today’s blog is brought to you by... The Beach.

    Some shore memory (thanks for the suggestion from my bff, Darryl Graham):


    Getting lost

    Always involved my parents buying me an abnormally large  ice-cream cone ... that I really didn’t need what with a FUPA and Chitties (chubby child bosoms) at 7 years-old.  I’d stare, lovingly at the colossal heap of custard, bewitched by the rainbow sprinkles, as it oozed down my fist, into the cracks of my sausage-link fingers.  I’d look up from my frozen lover, eyes glazed over, and suddenly notice that my parents were nowhere to be found.  These yearly occurrences always resulted in my standing like a deer in the headlights, snapping my Dorothy Hammil hair styled head from side to side looking for a familiar face, not caring that the mountain of custard love had plopped to the ground, into my sandals, just about to burst out crying, and then seeing my family, watching from a distance laughing at me.  At this point, I’d burst into tears,  fake-limping toward them, telling them that I’d twisted my ankle, hoping they’d never be able to forgive themselves for laughing at this poor, gravely injured child.

    My brother would laugh and say, “Shut up, Samooontha” a name that would make me cry harder, thus exaggerating the limp, “We were watching you the whole time.”

    To which I’d wail, “I’m huuuuuuuuurrrrrrrrttttt!!!”

    "Do you want another cone," my mother would ask?  And I'd skip and pirouette gleefully over to the custard stand.

    Stubbing My Toes

    Another yearly event.  My best friend, Marygrace, can attest to the fact that nary a summer would go by without me having bloody toes with chunks of boardwalk embedded in the bottoms of my feet.  Every summer, just as we’d step foot on the boardwalk, Mayr would call out her yearly warning, “Maybe you should wear SHOO...”  Too late.

    This summer, no different.  Seems some things never change.





    Sand in the Crotch of My Bathing Suit

    Guys, you have mesh.  Count your damned blessings.  Let me explain.  We lady-folk have a little pocket sewn into the crotch of our bathing suits.  It serves no purpose other than to gather sand in a very inappropriate area to make us feel as if we’ve just shit our pants.  Once said sensation is evident, we cannot relax until we go into a nearby restroom, peel the suit off, dump the hard-packed, log-shaped lump of sand either onto the bathroom floor or into the boardwalk bathroom and confirm that it is not, in fact, a turd.  It's been a problem for me for as long as I can remember.

    Speedos (thanks for the suggestion from my bff, Genevieve Hall)

    Never gets old.  Why?  Guys?  Why?   We weren’t on the beach for 3 minutes yesterday and we heard the kids start whispering to each other.  “Did you see that guy in the brown bathing suit?  His junk was almost hanging out of the bottom of his suit.  Ssssshhhh.  There he is.  Look.  Look!”  Sure enough, there he was.  A large, hulking man of hot chocolate love... he looked like the guy from Green Mile, minus the protruding lower lip and retardation (jury’s still out of the latter)... in a Speedo.  Two words.  Not Jewish. 




    I have to go now.  It’s time for me to decide whether I should put on make-up for sitting on the beach.  I need to get the make-up that the synchronized swimmers used.  They look like swimming mimes.  










    They look like blow-up dolls (little known fact:  Hitler is credited with the invention of the blow-up doll...don’t ask how I know that).





    How on earth do they keep that make-up from running?  Doesn’t matter if Maybelline says her mascara is water-proof. I look like Tammy Faye after I get out of the ocean.









    Happy Summer Everyone!


    Posted by She So Funny at 7:48 AM | Labels: , , , , | 4 comments | |