Oh hello. Been a while since I wrote. I've talked some (good natured) shit to writers on the Internet lately, so now I have to write on the Internet. Whatever it takes, right?
My last post dealt in part, with my anxiety about my first visit home after Hurricane Sandy. How could I not write a follow up?! What's my problem?!
I would compare the experience of seeing my decimated neighborhood to a dream. Not even necessarily a nightmare, but a dream. You know how when you're dreaming and things are crazy, but it seems kinda normal at the time, then you wake up and you're like, "Woah that shit was weird"? It was kind of like that.
What I saw was devastating, but surreal. I was warily accepting of it in a similar way to the dream state I just described. I wasn't emotional, I was just there. Taking it all in.
Almost seven months after the storm and about five months after my visit, my mother is getting close to moving home. The inspectors have inspected and things are looking good, and she's lucky. But even if she and my grandmother moved home tomorrow, the rest of the neighborhood is still pretty much as it was in the days after the storm. The progress has been amazing in some areas, and almost non-existent in others. I'm going home again this summer. It will be a different kind of summer, but the smell of the salty air that has been implanted in the part of my brain that stores smell memories will still be there. I don't know about you but I take comfort in that.
But I can't write about this without mentioning Moore, Oklahoma. I think I speak for everyone from or connected to the Shore when I say I'm viewing the aftermath of the tornadoes in a totally different light than I would have pre-Sandy. Empathy as opposed to sympathy (sympathy is usually bullshit). Having family not far from there made it even more stressful. But let's face it, Oklahoma is worse. Isn't it? Breezy Point and the Shore and Red Hook and The Rockaways had warning, were battered over a matter of hours, and there were very few fatalities.
Moore was leveled in minutes with almost no warning and entire classes of kids were killed. If this were a real blog read by the masses, some shit head would probably say something like, "And those were all rich people's Summer homes in Jersey!" Well, not all of them and also, so what? It still sucks. But yes, Moore is probably worse. And they've got a long road ahead of them. Why do I feel the need to rank the shittiness? I don't know.
So what else? Well I have started the process of changing the surfer tattoo on my back into a golfer tattoo. The problem is, I can't call myself a surfer because I don't surf and I can't call myself a golfer because I suck. But I'm getting better. I'm finally starting to understand the physiology of the swing and I can recognize what my good swing feels like. I've really been obsessed with the game lately. Are there underlying father-issues at work? Oh yes. If you've read my crap before, you know the answer is yes. I don't want this to be a diary, but it usually turns out that way. My next post will be more outward looking. I might talk about hip-hop. There are some spitters coming up these days! And these guys have a great grasp on social media. Sit back and take notes.
No pictures. Just words.
