Dave Returns to Central Jersey (with very little fanfare)

My wife and I packed up our little pad in Ocean Grove this morning-- after another great beach day with friends on Friday-- and we drove back to Central Jersey . . . and we were pleasantly surprised to enter a clean house . . . Ian completed all his chores (he even put up a new magnetic screen on our back porch slider, so our dog can go in and out at will) and so my wife and I were able to get down to the rest of it: we put away all the beach stuff; my wife went down to her garden and planted seeds and harvested vegetables; I went to the gym for the first time in a month; I gave the dog a bath . . . also for the first time in a month; and while I loved living at the beach, it does feel good to be home-- while we definitely do not live in a large house, it seems like a mansion, after existing in a tiny space for a while-- it was also nice to use my big foam roller to sraighten out my back . . . the vacation bed was very mushy and my spine is out of whack . . . this was a fantastic summer (aside from when Ian totalled my wife's car-- but, luckily, I was at the beach with my college buddies for that hydroplaning escapade, and my family didn't tell me what happened until I got home) wherin I spent over a month close to the ocean-- but now it's time for school . . . and a visit to the dermatologist, I took a lot of sun over the last two months.

The Boys of Summer Have Gone

We leave the beach tomorrow, and the reality of work is rearing its ugly head- but Catherine and I had a great Thursday night out: we went to the R Bar for dollar oysters and sat upstairs-- very festive-- and then we saw my buddy bob play music at Mutiney Beach-- he plays bass in a band with an incredible uke player . . . they did reggae versions of several Pink Floyd songs-- and then we had one last sourdough pizza at Talula's; this morning we went stand-up paddleboarding in Manasquan-- we paddled past Fisherman's Cove and across the Glimmer Glass Lake to the train bridge . . . no wind and it was lovely and it really made me want to get another paddleboard-- I think mine deflated in 2019?--  it was a relaxing way to spend our last full morning . . . and I am now about to drag the wagon to the beach for one last beach day of summer-- and there are limited lifeguards because the kids have left for college or started high school sports . . . it's the beginning of the end.

My Dog is NOT a Valiant and Courageous Leader (but she plays one on TV)

This moment on the jetty at the dog beach in Asbury Park is probably the most epic and badass and commanding our pooch Lola has ever been depicted-- she is one regal beagle! she could run for president!-- you should see the other photos I took, they are trash: several of her yawning and the rest she is looking the wrong direction-- but perhaps she knew that this was her last trip to the dog beach for a while, as our beach vacation is winding down, and so she had to produce one singular image so she could remember the good times fondly (and fictitiously, as nothing is more meretricious than a portrait).

Kids . . . They are Full of Germs

I thought I was going to return home today for the first time in over three weeks, to pick up Ian and bring him to the beach-- but he's running a fever and his throat hurts . . . and then my son Alex, who was also supposed to come for a few days with his girlfriend, called me and told me he and Ava are both running fevers and have sore throats and all their friends have strep so they are going to the Healtch Center tomorrow morning to get tested and get some antibiotics-- apparently everyone returned to college with various viruses and germs, and they partied and went to concerts and basement shows and bars and hung out in small apartments and dorm rooms and got each other sick-- so while my wife got up early this morning and brought some stuff home and then headed to her classroom to get it set up (with the help of my cousin Kim) I spent a quiet and contemplative (and slighly hungover) day at the beach . . . I walked the boardwalk and took a bike ride to Jody & Jodee's Fish Market, where they serve all kinds of fish sandwiches-- I had a red snapper sandwich and it was delicious and this place is quite a scene-- it's a bit inland, on Route 35, and while beach clientele come in to buy fresh seafood, the lunch crowd was blue-collar and very salt-of-the-earth and very chatty-- they discussed ghosts and shootings and poltics (both sides are liars) and proper uses for ketchup (NOT on seafood) and everything looked excellent and I will return . . . hopefully, I will return to many of these spots that I discovered on this long vacation . . . and I'm also very thankful that I did not contract any illnesses from the many visitors we had-- because I'm about to wade into a sea of high school students and all the various germs that they harbor.

Last Taco Tuesday!

Next Tuesday is looming in the minds of teachers everywhere . . . first comes Labor Day Weekend, then comes labor-- but there's still some summer left (as Soder explained last night, we still have TWO Thanksgiving breaks worth of summer before school begins) and so we celebrated our last "taco Tuesday" at Barrio Costero-- Styacey, Chantal, Soder, and Terry and his family joined us for the finale-- Catherine and I attended every taco Tuesday in August (and Stacey made it to three of them) and they saved the best for last-- and apparently they have a chef's meeting on Monday about what tacos to serve on Tuesday-- we had, in order: steak, black bean and corn masa, chicken in some kind of birria sauce and last night was pork carnitas-- delicious-- and after tacos we went to the Black Swan to take advantage of all-day happy hour and then we tried to go to Johnny Mac's for free pizza but they wouldn't let Stacey and Chantal in- no ID-- we were like WTF? we're all over forty here-- but no dice-- so we went to the Bond Street bar for a final beverage and a discussion of how weird feet are (and how weird people who are into feet are) and then we wandered the streets of Ocean Grove, looking at the Victorian architecture and the Methodist tent city-- and the next time I will see those folks, our lives will be dictated by bells.

Genius New Game to Accompany Wordle!

I am sure many of you-- as I do-- start your day by playing "Wordle," but "Wordle" needs a sister game, a game that comes out at 9 PM every evening, and this game should be called "What the Fuck was Wordle?" and to achieve it in one guess, you have to remember what the fuck Wordle was without any prompting-- and then-- if you can't recall what the fuck Wordle was-- there should be prompts, like my wife did for me last night, when I decided that I must have forgotten to do Wordle (I had not forgotten, I just had true Wordle amnesia) and she said, "this thing is in horror movies" and I was like: "ghost, creep, foggy, scare" and then she said, "it's alive but not an animal" and I said: "fungi?" and then she said, "it's very small" and I said: "spore," which was correct-- but I still had to check Wordle to see if that was really the word because I did not remember guessing it . . . so you're welcome, New York Times!

Doggelganger

I am currently reading Tana French's murder mystery The Likeness-- which begins with Detective Cassie Maddox encountering a murder victim that looks exactly like her and has also assumed her undercover identity from years previous . . . it's super-creepy-- and then this morning, when my wife and I were walking the Asbury Boardwalk with her family, we stumbled upon this mural which is a likeness of our dog Lola: we're going to have to get her over there and take a photo with her in front of it, but it's definitely her doggelganger . . . pretty weird (and I thought of the word "doggelganger" on my own, when I typed the word "doppelganger" it came to me but of course the internet already thought of it . . . stupid fucking internet).

 

Salt Life Continues

While my wife has driven back home a few times-- to tend her garden and do laundry and run some errands-- I have not left the beach in three weeks, so this is the longest amount of time I've spent outside of Highland Park since our cross-country trip many years ago . . . it's going to be strange to return home in a week and reoccupy my usual haunts and spaces, and I think I will appreciate everything more (as long as the weather doesn't turn hot and humid, if the weather turns hot and humid I'm going to be very angry).

Dueling Cheesesteaks (and other gastronomic notes)

Some notes on food and drink in the Asbury Park/Ocean Grove/Bradley Beach area:

1) the cheesesteak at the hipster sandwich joint The Speakeatery is better than the cheesesteak from Palmer's Quality Meats in Neptune City, although both these cheesesteaks are exceptional (and both contain chopped-up hot cherry peppers) the Speakeatery version is more steak-like, featuring chopped top round, while the Palmer's Meats version is more like a think-sliced Philly version . . . and I want to try more things from both these places;

2) The Asbury Park Distilling Co has happy hour-- 10-dollar highballs-- and the aquavit is very tasty, just a hint of licorice/anise flavor;

3) The R Bar has jazz and dollar oysters on Thursday night, and it's quite the hipster joint-- the drinks are excellent, and the bartender is very very attractive;

4) the deal at Johnny Mac's House of Spirits is that if you order drinks you are entitled to one free mini-pizza-- but if it's crowded, then you have to wait in line to get your pizza, so take advantage of this deal early-- and they also have ping-pong, skeeball, and cornhole;

5) the mussels in coconut curry are excellent at Catbird in Asbury, as is the sourdough crust pizza-- the size and taste is similar to Talula's . . . but Catbird is BYOB, so though it's a bit pricey, you can save some of your dough and that way, when the bill comes,  you won't be sour.

Tana vs. Tony

I'm proud to say-- mainly because of the lousy weather due to tropical storm Erin-- that, despite being on vacation, I knocked out another episode of We Defy Augury . . . "Tana vs. Tony: How to Solve a Murder Mystery" features my thoughts (loosely) inspired by Tana French's "Dublin Murder Squad" series and Anthony Horowitz's "Magpie/Moonflower/Marble Hall Murders" series . . . but the episode is more about the two types of mystery novels, those in a series, where you know the detective and his or her methods-- and those stories that feature a new and unique perspective for each case . . . and, be forewarned: you will be quizzed.

Mystery Cookie

I surreptitiously took a bite of a cookie I discovered on the counter, assuming it was of the chocolate chip variety-- that's what it looked like-- but its taste confounded me, so I stopped eating it . . . and then I later discovered (from my wife) that it was a lemon blueberry cookie-- those weren't sour chocolate chips, they were blueberries!

Henry Rollins Would Go Swimming

During our vacation, I thought we had encountered all the different beach warning flags: green, yellow, and red . . . but today Ocean Grove had up BLACK flags-- rise above!-- and these flags indicate that if you go swimming you will DIE . . . very punk rock.

It's a Rush, Rediscovering Rush

It wasn't until I was 52 years old that I started to dig the pop fusion facility of Steely Dan, and now I am pleased to report that— in my 56th year— I am finally delving into another band I neglected in my youth: Rush-- I am listening to all the Rush albums . . . and truly enjoying them—I always liked the music of Rush, but I could never tolerate Geddy Lee's voice; that was a dealbreaker for me— but perhaps salt life here at the beach has mellowed my judgment, or maybe my ears are getting older and less sensitive— who fucking knows— but the other thing I have learned here at the beach is that when you go running on the sand on a windy day, you need to wear big-ass old-school over-the-ears noise-canceling headphones—and then you can really enjoy your Canadian prog rock, despite the angry ocean.

Weapons is the Bomb

There have been some good movies out lately: I like Weapons-- the new Zach Cregger film (he also directed the horror flick Barbarians) even more than Sinners and Mickey 17-- which were both fantastic . . . Weapons is Pulp Fiction meets It and it is perfectly paced; makes as much logical sense as a horror movie can make; does not treat its characters cavalierly-- as many a horror film is wont to do, especially if you're on the chopping block; and features a compelling opening mystery and a wonderful closing scene (where it looks like the child actors are having a total blast) so this one is worth seeing at the movies-- despite the record number of coming attractions (some of which looked decent, a new Ethan Coen film and a new Paul Thomas Anderson film).

Meta-Debate Tempered by Alcohol

You don't want to go down this road with your wife: arguing about who is more argumentative (although the Bradley Beach bar crawl with the Dom and Michelle Moccio is mollifying the debate-- we went to The Little Dog Brewery (Gretchen is the first female brewmaster/brewery owner in New Jersey and she is very nice and knowledgeable and her beer is amazing) and Wheelhouse Distilling (a cute young newly married couple-- a fireman and an accountant-- own this with another couple . . . best mixed drink I've had in a long time: in-house spicy watermelon mixer and their bourbon-- delicious) and then we went to the Bradley Brew Project and I drank a very hazy pale ale called "Unicorn Girls."

We Defy Augury: Ocean Grove Edition

My new episode of We Defy Augury-- "Bungle in the Jungle, Salt Life at the Beach"-- is (loosely) inspired by the Charles Portis novel Gringos and my time living in Ocean Grove . . . and I sincerely appreciate all my listeners, and trust me, you will receive a very special prize if you make it all the way through.

Only in Jerzee: The Theme Continues

Yesterday, I went to play pickleball at Wardell Park-- it's a fifteen-minute drive from the beach and a well-organized, busy place, but the skill levels of the players are a bit random: some decent players, some old folks, and some wild cards . . . but there was one solid player I had some good games with the other day and he grabbed my paddle and put me in his group and then when we went out on the court and I assumed we were splitting up because we were the best players but he had other ideas-- so this guy, a big Mediterranean-looking dude, he said to me, "over here shradool" or something like that-- it was one of those made up Sicilian words that my father always used as a catch-all-- and this guy looked a bit like my dad (thirty years ago) so that was something and then I realized that he just wanted to mercilessly crush everyone and that's why he adopted me as a partner and the game started and we were playing an athletic lefty who I had played before-- a decent player but mainly a banger-- and my partner leaned over to me and said, "all this guy does is smash the ball, so don't return his serve like a pussy" and I was like: "okay" because who wants to hit a return of serve like a pussy?

Five Minute Tour of the Jerzee Shore

Yesterday, I was sitting on the beach with Stacey and my wife and I had to pee and I didin't feel like going in the water because it was fairly chilly down on the beach-- and so I headed up to the boardwalk to the public bathroom and this five-minute trip embodied the Jersey Shore experience: when I first passed the foot rinsing station at the edge of the boardwalk, a beautiful, slender lady in a revealing bikini was washing the sand off her long tan legs and I was like, "the Jersey Shore is the best . . . " and then I walked up the steps to the boardwalk and I was confronted with another scantily clad lady, but this was quite a contrast-- she was skinny and gnarled and leathery, her wrinkles had wrinkles-- she was perhaps 87 (or 47 but spent WAY too much time in the sun) and I was like, "the Jersey Shore . . . oh the humanity!" and then I went to the bathroom and when I returned, a middle-aged woman was struggling to turn on the foot-rinsing sprayer and she asked for help and I told her she was pressing the wrong thing and she had to press the little knob above the sprayer and then the guy behind me said, "YAH GOTTA LEAN ON IT LIKE IT OWES YA MONEY" and I was like "yes! you could only hear a sentence like that, off-the-cuff, in perfect context, at the Jersey Shore" and now I really want to toss out that phrase in the right situation (a door that's jammed because of humidity? a stubborn beach chair?) but I'm not sure if I'm Jersey enough to pull it off.

Bunnies on a Trampoline Portend Doom

Daniel Boorstin was worried about "pseudo-events" and manipulative imagery back in 1962 and expressed this in his classic treatise The Image, but things have gotten far worse and far more absurd than he could imagine-- if you can't trust security cam footage of joyful bunnies jumping on a trampoline, then there is no image you can trust-- which will perhaps move people back towards reading books?-- books can be fictitious, fabricated, and meretricious as well, but you have more time to parse the logic and research the examples and maybe the book is published by an organization you trust?-- who fucking knows, but we are headed into fuzzy and ambiguous times.

 

Broken Harbor Breaks Bad

Tana French's novel, Broken Harbor, is a crime procedural wrapped inside a portrait of insanity balanced atop a real estate crisis —and it's hard to remember when the real estate bubble popped, because it has reinflated, but it was less than two decades ago.