more punch than hawaiian

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I rode my bike out to the beach at the Rockaways again, for the second weekend in a row, to take advantage of the warmth, while it holds out.  This time, Jenn came along as well, and I brought a new Olympus Stylus 550WP waterproof camera (inexpensive point and shoot) to document and store away the summer for upcoming months, when the only people going in the water are the Polar Bear Club at Coney Island.

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• We saw a handful of tall bikes chained to the fence along the Fort Tilden area, always a welcome sight.

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I couldn’t seem to get enough gratuitous water shots, partially inspired by fellow Brooklyner, Elizabeth Weinberg’s, recent ocean shots.

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As the evening began to set in, the biting flies got even worse.  There were swarms of dragonflies to take on the smaller flies, but it didn’t stop them from landing on us at the shore by the dozens. The rain the previous day may have caused the populations to be extra high.  They don’t leave welts like mosquitoes, but there is still a slight sting, and they keep swarming, seemingly possess an immunity to bug spray.

ThisCityi$Mine turns four years old today.

To celebrate, here are a few random moments from a few years ago:

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Staten Island, 2005.

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Boston, 2006. Big Joseph and Val making their way through one of the bigger blizzards to hit Boston in recent years.

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RJD2 plays the Guggenheim in the Upper East Side, 2006.

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A lone dog in Colonia, Uruguay, 2006.

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Breakneck Ridge, NY, 2007.

we may need to redraw the map

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Fort Tilden is a 50-minute bike ride from my apartment in Brooklyn, and is located on the Atlantic Ocean.  It is one of my favorite places in the New York City area.  I have still only explored a small fraction of the land out there.

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The shower facilities could possibly use a contemporary remodeling.

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Moments almost feel like you’re on the set for a spaghetti western in the 1960s.

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Ben, contemplating his upcoming move to the Los Angeles area, on his roof, here in South Slope, Brooklyn.  A handful of my friends are packing up and moving to the other coast.

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A successful (albeit, rushed) harvest from Hans’ rooftop garden.  We used some of these ingredients on some homemade pizzas that evening.

a beachy kick in the pants

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Clay.

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Hillary.

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Little family amusement parks come and go in tourist-driven areas.  This highly-visible corner spot has been on sale for a while, with a rusty roller coaster, overgrown go-kart race tracks, some small pavilions, dried-up fountains, and empty ticket booths.

• I’ve been spending the week down at the Outer Banks, off the coast of North Carolina, in a rental cottage with my family and significant others.  Fantastic cooking, and the attractions are largely bikeable (within a few miles, and all flat terrain).  I should add that my brother brought 5 bikes: a Raleigh tandem, a Takara road bike, a Schwinn cruiser, a Gary Fisher mountain bike, and a Bianchi track bike.  Combined with a Schwinn cruiser already at the cottage, the whole gang has been able to ride at the same time.  Practically critical mass style.

• Thus far there’s been one hospital visit (for a possible Lyme disease tick bite looking pretty rough), a trip to a dead-animal ridden, deserted beach (near Bodie Island), a visit to Jockey’s Ridge, and a lot of ocean time.

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Beach cottage architecture in North Carolina is definitely different than New England and the northeast.

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Wrestling glasses can hold quite large mixed drinks.

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$86 buys two dozen blue crabs (only male are eaten by law, and they’re referred to as “Jimmy #1”) and several pounds of snow crab legs, including spices (a local blend, similar to Old Bay) and steaming.

topless paradise and pulp


Jarvis Cocker
rocked our socks off at the Williamsburg Hall of Music last night.  He put on a ridiculously energetic and charismatic show with a handful of encores, finally closing with his take on a 1986 deep house track, which seemed to keep the crowd satisfied (despite not hearing any Pulp, as to be expected).  Thanks to Jenn for the surprise birthday present (the tickets)!


Highlights included Jarvis giving a glass of whiskey to someone in the front row after they accidentally spilled their drink on the stage, and someone gave him flowers during one of the encores.  His stories and anecdotes between songs were very, very funny.


He’s still got it (and yes, that’s a braided belt).


A car parked outside of Duff’s in Williamsburg, Brooklyn.

• I met up briefly with Chris Reid and Sara Waters last week, who were in town to see Chatham County Line and an upstate music festival, on their annual girls-only trip.  They were in great spirits, but the hang out time was a little limited due to tons of office work.  Jenn and I grabbed a quick drink at a surprisingly full Home Sweet Home that seemed to be having sorta a Bauhaus-ish, dark-keyboard night.

Ici’s brunch over in Fort Greene/Clinton Hill is decent.  The staff is at least super nice.  Six of us (Big Nasty, D.Lish, Mehgan, Jenn, Moses, and I) had an extra long meal to discuss upcoming stuff in BK.


A few tags in Williamsburg.  Click here for a larger version.  There’s a Colt and a Miss 17, but I’m not too keen as to the others.

Bonita (that place on Bedford that has the “Comida Tipicos Mexicana” or something on the windows) has quite good sangria pitchers for $24, for what it’s worth.  The only problem is you need at least one per two people to get the night started right.


Jenn and I embarked on a 35 mile trek (round trip) to Fort Tilden at the end of Long Island, near Far Rockaway.  This is a pit-stop at a snack truck on the bike path, in between Sheepshead Bay and the Floyd Bennett Fields.  Jenn’s Miyata (right) is in beach mode: towel and Krypto lock on the rear rack, and flip-flops, purse, water, and helmet up front.  My bike on the left was a little less burdened, I instead opted to load down the bag on my back.


Fort Tilden has abandoned buildings to explore.  The beach felt remote enough for a handful of the twenty-something girls nearby us to run around topless all day (like jumping jacks and stuff).  No complaints.  At all.

• Later in the day, on the return trip, we had a bizarre craving for a chain Americana restaurant, so we locked our bikes up again and ate at the Applebees at Sheepshead Bay.  Turns out, the junk is good and gully: while enjoying a Bourbon Street Steak, an afternoon fist fight erupted out in the parking lot, and everyone in the restaurant ran to the windows to see the fists flying.  Food and entertainment.