ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED BY THE SOMERS RECORD (08-30-18)
Fire Island is one of the three barrier islands that run parallel to the southern Long Island shore. Our friends Jenn and Jeff have been going there since childhood, and they arranged an awesome summer rental right on the ocean. We were about 75 feet from the water, so you didn't even need directions to the beach. If you did, for once it wasn't the beach's fault.
We were in the Davis Park area, and there are no cars there, not even any bicycles. Most people arrive by ferry, so you can only bring what you can haul with you. We packed as if we might be cast away on an uncharted desert isle after a three-hour tour. I've been on several three-hour tours, and after spending that much time with me, the casting away idea has come up fairly often. In case we got marooned I thought it might be a good idea to bring a professor with us, like on Gilligan's Island, someone who could fashion a transistor radio out of some sticks and berries. The only professor I know is an English professor who wouldn't know how to correctly harness the hydroelectric power from freely flowing cocktails, but could save my life if a participle was dangling right over my head. Instead we just brought a handcart full of provisions, mostly Coors Light. I know what you're going to say: Coors Light? Why, that's not an IPA. If there is a Movie Star or somebody named Mary Ann on this island, don't expect to impress them with that.
In case I needed to impress them, I brought an actual transistor radio. I like to listen to the ballgame at the beach. You probably think that the last transistor radio transisted its last broadcast decades ago, but you'd be wrong. Somewhere in the Pacific Rim is a country whose name I can't pronounce that is on the cutting edge of vintage technology. I hear that they're inventing an 8-track cassette player for your car. I can't wait!
When we got to the beach there was a guy digging a huge hole in the sand. It wasn't a hole so much as an excavation, and this guy was digging for hours. I never found out what the hole was for, and I had a funny thought that he had a supervisor at work who didn't care for him too much. I would have gone over there to ask him if he had a variance for this project, if I hadn't seen the shallow grave scene in "Casino" so many times. You can survive a lot longer in life by doing the exact opposite of anything Joe Pesci does in a movie.
The water was fantastic- perfect temperature, fairly calm, waves not too big and not breaking too close or too far. I'm not a bad swimmer, but my style is just a hybrid of backstrokes designed to keep my sunglasses from falling off. That way I can check out the scenery while I keep an eye out for sharks. A shark doesn't really want to eat a human- humans are chewy, bland and you might have to spit out a belly-button ring. My friend's kid Harrison said that what they really want to eat is a seal, so don't act like a seal. He's right, and you have nobody to blame but yourself if you balance a ball on your nose and a shark attacks you while you're still in the parking lot.
In the evening we played wiffle-ball on the beach, since no one had thought to bring any bowling shoes. I suggested that we situate the field so that that big hole was between third base and home, to make the game more interesting and to prevent anyone from scoring on a throwing error. When the game broke up we sang songs on the deck as the sun went down. All of a sudden bolts of lightning blazed across the water, and the few remaining swimmers hit the beach. My mother told me never be in the water during a thunderstorm, but I never saw one mother fish tell all the little fishlings to get out of the ocean during the storm, so how dangerous could it be?
After a long day at the beach, I could understand why Jenn and Jeff have such wonderful memories of the place. As I drifted off to sleep I could hear the sound of the waves lapping at the shore, and it reminded me of my own childhood. We never lived near the sea, but if you didn't jiggle the handle on the toilet you could hear the tide rolling in all night long.
Fire Island is one of the three barrier islands that run parallel to the southern Long Island shore. Our friends Jenn and Jeff have been going there since childhood, and they arranged an awesome summer rental right on the ocean. We were about 75 feet from the water, so you didn't even need directions to the beach. If you did, for once it wasn't the beach's fault.
We were in the Davis Park area, and there are no cars there, not even any bicycles. Most people arrive by ferry, so you can only bring what you can haul with you. We packed as if we might be cast away on an uncharted desert isle after a three-hour tour. I've been on several three-hour tours, and after spending that much time with me, the casting away idea has come up fairly often. In case we got marooned I thought it might be a good idea to bring a professor with us, like on Gilligan's Island, someone who could fashion a transistor radio out of some sticks and berries. The only professor I know is an English professor who wouldn't know how to correctly harness the hydroelectric power from freely flowing cocktails, but could save my life if a participle was dangling right over my head. Instead we just brought a handcart full of provisions, mostly Coors Light. I know what you're going to say: Coors Light? Why, that's not an IPA. If there is a Movie Star or somebody named Mary Ann on this island, don't expect to impress them with that.
In case I needed to impress them, I brought an actual transistor radio. I like to listen to the ballgame at the beach. You probably think that the last transistor radio transisted its last broadcast decades ago, but you'd be wrong. Somewhere in the Pacific Rim is a country whose name I can't pronounce that is on the cutting edge of vintage technology. I hear that they're inventing an 8-track cassette player for your car. I can't wait!
When we got to the beach there was a guy digging a huge hole in the sand. It wasn't a hole so much as an excavation, and this guy was digging for hours. I never found out what the hole was for, and I had a funny thought that he had a supervisor at work who didn't care for him too much. I would have gone over there to ask him if he had a variance for this project, if I hadn't seen the shallow grave scene in "Casino" so many times. You can survive a lot longer in life by doing the exact opposite of anything Joe Pesci does in a movie.
The water was fantastic- perfect temperature, fairly calm, waves not too big and not breaking too close or too far. I'm not a bad swimmer, but my style is just a hybrid of backstrokes designed to keep my sunglasses from falling off. That way I can check out the scenery while I keep an eye out for sharks. A shark doesn't really want to eat a human- humans are chewy, bland and you might have to spit out a belly-button ring. My friend's kid Harrison said that what they really want to eat is a seal, so don't act like a seal. He's right, and you have nobody to blame but yourself if you balance a ball on your nose and a shark attacks you while you're still in the parking lot.
In the evening we played wiffle-ball on the beach, since no one had thought to bring any bowling shoes. I suggested that we situate the field so that that big hole was between third base and home, to make the game more interesting and to prevent anyone from scoring on a throwing error. When the game broke up we sang songs on the deck as the sun went down. All of a sudden bolts of lightning blazed across the water, and the few remaining swimmers hit the beach. My mother told me never be in the water during a thunderstorm, but I never saw one mother fish tell all the little fishlings to get out of the ocean during the storm, so how dangerous could it be?
After a long day at the beach, I could understand why Jenn and Jeff have such wonderful memories of the place. As I drifted off to sleep I could hear the sound of the waves lapping at the shore, and it reminded me of my own childhood. We never lived near the sea, but if you didn't jiggle the handle on the toilet you could hear the tide rolling in all night long.
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