Avalon...cooler by a mile
Spent this weekend at the shore with the Callahan Tribe, and met such far-flung members as Rico, Dutes, Nini, and the matriarch, Muggs. The Family was fantastic, the daylight hours were hot as a skillet, and the beach was beautiful, and also quite remarkable as the tide continually belched up dense piles upon piles of shells, composed mostly of tiny, still-jointed bivalves that looked like butterflies when the receding waves dragged them back into the water.
Nevertheless, I have henceforth officially given up any glimmer of a hope for New Jersey. Nearly all land surrounding the beach had been hacked into the most efficient possible lots and upon each of these lots were each owner's attempt to build a house more indulgent and grand looking than the rest. They most often fell short. Many apparently believed that merely adding columns would instantly bring an air of class and timelessness to their summer home, while others desperately clung to the "Claude, More Windows" school of architecture. While there were several houses that were really nice, it didn't change the fact that they were crammed into their neighbors armpits on every side.
Our first night there, Toby and I thought it would be fun to go to a cheesy bar. It was not fun. The only game in town was this place called The Princeton, a hollowed out box with a liquor store on the side that played the worst and tinniest house music I have ever heard (I mean ever, and I lived in Spain for 9 months). There was no tap (no fucking tap), leaving Toby and I to choose from Amstel Light, Coors Light, Bud Light, Miller Light, or Corona for six dollars a bottle. The clientele involved several supremely tanned and largely blonde young women drinking vodka and red bull out of plastic cups (and I don't mean solo cups, either, I mean the kind on the side of the water cooler) as well as vast packs of equally tanned young men (it is the beach, after all) wearing various shades of pastels and brown slip on sandals, dancing with each other in the center of the room (horribly) and very obviously scanning every female that walked by them, trying in vain to secure one for themselves. After we finished our $6 Amstel, Toby and I bought a six pack for $5.34 and, minds blown, went home to eat sandwiches. My biggest lament is that I didn't have my camera, as I would have thouroughly documented this experiece.
Nevertheless, I have henceforth officially given up any glimmer of a hope for New Jersey. Nearly all land surrounding the beach had been hacked into the most efficient possible lots and upon each of these lots were each owner's attempt to build a house more indulgent and grand looking than the rest. They most often fell short. Many apparently believed that merely adding columns would instantly bring an air of class and timelessness to their summer home, while others desperately clung to the "Claude, More Windows" school of architecture. While there were several houses that were really nice, it didn't change the fact that they were crammed into their neighbors armpits on every side.
Our first night there, Toby and I thought it would be fun to go to a cheesy bar. It was not fun. The only game in town was this place called The Princeton, a hollowed out box with a liquor store on the side that played the worst and tinniest house music I have ever heard (I mean ever, and I lived in Spain for 9 months). There was no tap (no fucking tap), leaving Toby and I to choose from Amstel Light, Coors Light, Bud Light, Miller Light, or Corona for six dollars a bottle. The clientele involved several supremely tanned and largely blonde young women drinking vodka and red bull out of plastic cups (and I don't mean solo cups, either, I mean the kind on the side of the water cooler) as well as vast packs of equally tanned young men (it is the beach, after all) wearing various shades of pastels and brown slip on sandals, dancing with each other in the center of the room (horribly) and very obviously scanning every female that walked by them, trying in vain to secure one for themselves. After we finished our $6 Amstel, Toby and I bought a six pack for $5.34 and, minds blown, went home to eat sandwiches. My biggest lament is that I didn't have my camera, as I would have thouroughly documented this experiece.