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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.

Unhappy Old Year

It's been a tough year. My last post was about the murder of a friend's brother. Then there was Superstorm Sandy. It would have been nice if that still held the title of "Biggest Bad Thing That Happened in 2012," but then 20 school children and six adults were slaughtered in Newtown, CT national attention rightly shifted to that horrific event. All mass shootings are sad and horrible, and I'm not saying anything profound by pointing out that the ages of most of the victims made this one feel worse. At least it did to me. I didn't cry in 1999 when the victims were my age. I didn't cry in 2007 when 32 people were killed at Virginia Tech. But I sure as hell cried this time. I know I'm not alone in this, and that's why this will be a watershed event in American history. Things will change. They have to. I don't care what your political opinions are. Things must, and will change.

This was only the second time I can remember crying while driving. The first time was when my mother called to say she was taking our dog for his last walk to the beach before putting him to sleep. I was on my way to work and I reassured her that Winston was suffering and she was doing the right thing. As soon as I hung up- alligator tears. Wet steering wheel.

This time, I was on my way home from work, listening to news reports from Newtown. Just imagining the pain of parents who'd lost their children, thinking about how they probably had their kids' Christmas presents hidden in their attics, and the emptiness that they'll always feel, especially around the holidays, was enough to bring me to tears. Not quite wet steering wheel tears, but silent, stoic tears. Strong men also cry. I'll end this section by wishing, as our whole nation has, that the families who lost their kids can find some shred of comfort to hang on to.



But I was always going to write about the storm, because how could I not?  It's been almost two months since it hit, and by all accounts, the progress at my beloved Jersey Shore has been astounding. More than that, the resolve and the attitude that my friends and family have shown in the face of life-altering circumstances has been inspiring, but not surprising. When shit goes down, you really find out who people are, and my people are awesome.

It was strange watching the events unfold from 3,000 miles away. It went from making good old fashioned storm jokes, to "woah, this is a big one" to "I hope there isn't too much damage" to "holy shit, my quiet little neighborhood is on national TV because it's pretty much been wiped out." It's a helpless feeling.

In the days that followed, after I knew everyone was safe, things started to sink in. It felt like a loss. Like, you're fine for most of the day, then you remember how bad it is and how the people you care about the most are hurting. I thought about how many of the homes and landmarks and the scenery that had been burned into my brain over my whole life, the little things I took comfort in whenever I went home may no longer exist the next time I visit.

I've written before that I don't really know where I'm from because I moved around a bunch growing up. This makes my mother feel guilty. It's ok Mom. But the storm made it abundantly clear that I am from the Shore. It's the place I feel most connected to because it was the constant, no matter what my permanent address may have been over the years.


Another wake up call- My mother asked us to send her a coat because she didn't realize how long she'd have to be away from home and didn't bring a heavy one with her. We made arrangements to send her a coat (along with a bunch of other clothes to be disbursed among our family and friends) but it hit me all of a sudden, "My mother doesn't have the coat she needs right now." That was surreal. I saw some friends comment on Facebook that it was crazy seeing the benefits and fundraisers on TV because they were for US. This happened to US. What a crazy perspective. I don't mean to sound trite, since the residents of Newtown are certainly experiencing this grim reality, but again, it was kind of surreal.

Tomorrow, I fly home for the first time since the storm and everyone has said that pictures won't prepare me for what I'll see. I'm sure they're right. Amazing work has been done, but so much more work remains. But I've never been more excited to go home, and never more anxious either. I think the hugs will be a little tighter this year, the smiles a little wider. There will probably be tears too, but I think they'll be more stoic than alligator. And there will be alcohol. So much sweet alcohol. Can't wait to see everyone. Merry Christmas.

The epitome of "bittersweet," the theme of this trip home.