[Originally written on this date in 2004]
Went out to dinner with Jon on Friday because he had enjoyed my company so much the other day he insisted that I deserved a nice evening out. Thus began what would be the first of many unusual conversations. We hit up one of the many places where we are well-known, as we enjoy supporting local businesses, which is certainly appreciated. Jon called in our order so we wouldn’t have to wait for our food, and asked the guy to throw something together for him. Sometimes it is good to be the King, or his Queen in my case.
As we sat down in the living room to enjoy the food, we covered a wide range of subjects from the way we remember easter as kids [as both our nationalities have deep rooted traditions] and how different it is now, to his grandfather’s funeral where three widows came out of the woodwork, much to the surprise of the grieving relatives who were also in attendance. That opened up an interesting can of worms on relationships in general. He commented on the old-school thought that a man could easily have a wife and a girlfriend without stirring up controversy since it was a common practice. Of course I had to jump in and say that if men can fuck around on their women, why shouldn’t women be able to do the same without being called sluts?
Jon remarked that love is just all a big hustle in the end when you think about it. Men will lie and bullshit to get laid and drop you like a bad habit. He then goes on to say “Women are more intelligent than men. Men are stupid and only think they know what they want. It takes intelligence to be truly dirty.” Which was in reference to the topic of who has a more active imagination when it comes to sexual fantasies. It was all in good fun though, and I enjoy that we can have civilized conversations where we can express our opinions in an adult manner, then get high and laugh about it!
The remainder of the evening was spent watching Deadwood, and I must say that HBO has really been putting out some damn good shows as of late. Very much appreciate the actor who portays Wild Bill, and the man himself is just incredibly fascinating. Seems as though I am hooked on another series.
While applying the last few bits of my face on Saturday afternoon in the kitchen, we had even more interesting conversation. It began with talk of visiting diners and Weird NJ sites that stemmed into the location of Joey Ramone’s grave in Lyndhurst. Then I received a mini musical history lesson in the evolution of surf to punk that started with Joey’s interest in Dick Dale, who was preceeded by the Ventures, etc. Jon even agreed that the simple beats in most surf music slowly made their way into early NYC punk beats. Which evolved into one of those impromptu jam sessions where we are ‘playing drums’ on random items.
Eventually we pulled ourselves together, stopped for some provisions and then were on our way to Coney Island. The traffic was pretty bad, but it usually is. We had surf tunes and pistachios so we didn’t really care. It was fun throwing the shells out the windows and listening to them pop and crunch under the tires of passing cars. An hour or so later, we arrived at the amusement area and attempted to find decent parking. Convinced him to just suck it up and pay the eight bucks to stick the Chevy in the lot next to the Parachute Jump.
Nothing compares to the sights and sounds of Coney Island. Just being on those boards again was enough to bring back the smile that seems to have been missing in action lately. There were not a lot of people but just enough for a decent-sized crowd. Wasting no time, I treated us to the first two rides on the Cyclone. Jerry was happy to see us, as always. Ancient wood freshly coated with paint and greased-up tracks passed beneath the heavy train. The lift chain carried it up the hill, and we waved to the smiling faces below. At the top of the hill, right before the train gets sucked down, you have an unobstructed view of the sandy beach and sparkling water that spans into infinity.
Then you see the first drop.
Down you go, hands high in the air, screaming with excitement. The train lopes around the first turn, so you can get a good look at the next drop before you go down it. More screams and hands grabing air as you go up and down and up around the second turn before dropping down again. Over another hill then up around the third turn. Down and up and down and up around the fourth turn. The adrenaline has pretty much absorbed into the body at this point. Down and up over the last hill, where if you let go and pick your feet up, you can experience a true floating feeling before looping around into the station. We paid for the first two rides and got the third free which is pretty awesome. By the time we got off, we were riding high on adrenaline and had spaghetti legs.
Was slightly disappointed with the museum, and realize we probably should have stopped to see the sideshow instead. However, we were just in the right mood for dinner, so we bought some more pistachios and headed down Cropsey to La Casa Bella, where Diana greeted us at the door. Once again, the food there was simply divine and it is still one of the best places I have eaten. That was the end of our visit and while it was only a small one this time around, it was also the first of many to come.
The remainder of the evening was spent watching five hours of Chappelle’s Show, and failing to tape most of them due to a malfunctioning VCR, before passing out.
After our fun-filled Saturday, we did not feel like doing much Sunday due to the dreary weather. No family functions or baskets of joy chock full o’ candy or marshmallows for us.
We proceeded to get ready to smoke but had no papers. What followed was a good ten minutes of Jon searching his room in search of said papers, and I have no idea how he always loses them. Personally, I would have a specific place for such things so I knew where they were every time I wanted them. He also forgot to buy a new lighter, and I only had my Zippo but it would have to do. Eventually he just gave up and joined me in smoking a pipe while inhaling fumes from the Zippo [to which he confessed sniffing when he was teen] and enjoying Six Feet Under followed by yet another great episode of the Sopranos.
Also had him tape Deadwood for me because apparently I am an old lady who cannot stay awake long enough to actually watch it. Though I am not usually one for westerns, I really do dig this one. It is probably due to the fact that Wild Bill has such a prominent role. That man is incredibly fascinating, and the character himself is so intense that I am eager to see what happens next. Thus ended the Sunday Nite Ritual.