[Originally written 12.16.03]
Not that I think I deserve anything at all, seeing as how I am a rotten person who can’t get gifts for people because I am poor. Of course that sort of thing shouldn’t really matter, since the ‘holidays’ are supposed to be about family and togetherness and whatever. However, I have no desire to see my relatives, and I don’t think they even got me presents this year, which is completely fine by me. It would be nice to have gifts for my birthday, but I have no idea if anyone [not related to me] aside from Jon even gives a shit about me. Make no mistake, I am not looking for charity or pity; this is not meant to be a sob story, nor do I want to hear “I’m sorry“. At this point in my life, I have come to terms with the way things are and just deal with them.
Perhaps seeing Jon go thru his private nam with the whole ‘holiday’ situation has made me appreciate what I have had. Really wish we could talk about everything beyond the information that he has given me in years past.
It hurts to see him on so much coke…
Watched a documentary on Coney Island the last time we chilled, as well as one about great old amusement parks that are still around today, one of which is out in Santa Cruz.
Two years ago, Jon and I got on a plane to fly over 3,000 miles and rode the Big Dipper down in Mission Bay. Yes, we spent our money to ride a roller coaster and had the time of our lives. Ever since, we wanted to go back again. We left right in the middle of Winter and arrived in warm weather. Blue skies were abound, we soaked in the beauty of the Pacific Coast Highway and I was excessively giddy about all the palm trees, as I had never seen any in person before.
The point is that I would love to go to Santa Cruz, to ride the other Big Dipper. That also hapens to be the location of one of three carousels left in the world with brass rings. [The other two being at Knobles and Coney Island, respectively.] To bring back one of those brass rings would mean the world to me; call it sentimental value if you want. My plan is to take the same souvenir from the B&B carousel on the Island once the season opens. Then I would have one from each coast.
It doesn’t matter if no one but Jon understands my reasoning behind this, and that is fine because I don’t really expect anyone to. My soul belong in the era when Coney Island experienced its golden age. When Luna’s thousands of incandescent lamps burned brightly at nite and Steeplechase was the fun place to go. When you could take a boat from Newark and arrive at that city of fire, an electric Eden, a kingdom that burned so bright it could be seen for miles. A time when being tattooed or born different was not something to be shunned, ashamed of or looked down upon, but rather used to advantage in advertising a congress of physical oddities that were alive and on display for a nominal fee.
Of course I could go on endlessly, but no one would bother to read. Everyone is so entertained by corporate sponsored theme parks with their hyper speed steel thrill rides. Anything that gets your adrenaline going or makes you want to puke is considered a good time. If it goes upsidedown or spins or over 70 MPH down hills that are taller than buildings, it appeals to your ignorant minds. Fuck theme parks and their thrill rides. Fuck their over-priced admission, food and souvenirs. Fuck Disney. Fuck Six Flags. Fuck Paramount.
None of those places would exist witout Coney Island. Everything you see now was ripped off what was done at the Island, when it was new and people had to rub their eyes and pinch themselves to make sure they weren’t dreaming. When fun only cost a nickel and millions of people converged on the beach and boardwalk on a hot Summer day.
My soul belongs to the sea, and that is all I really want for my birthday. To get on a plane and fly over 3,000 miles again to bring back one of those brass rings.
Nothing would make me happier, but I certainly don’t expect to get what I want.