Ruminations from the Asbury Park Beach


The following is published around every July 4th


I took the family (or they took me) to the Asbury Park beach this weekend.

For those who do not know of it, it is a historically rich seaside city on the Jersey shore.  Its heyday clearly occurred in the first half of last century and by the 1970s, I recall it, as a very young child being taken there by my grandparents and parents, as being virtually dead, at least by the boardwalk.  The Great Society had taken its toll.

But about 10 or so years ago a transformation occurred.  Businesses moved in because, in part, the city government became more friendly (less hostile) to them.  Liberals could take note from such example as they constantly wield the populist sledgehammer against this country’s wealth-creators.

The beach is brimming with people of all walks of life.  And the influx of the alternative-lifestyle (read: gay) community deserves great credit for the transformation that seemed decades away, if at all.

Here are some “beachside observations”:

  • Why are gay men more affectionate to each other than heterosexual couples?
  • I have no problem with the fact that for some women, I cannot compete for their affections like other women can.  I do, though, feel extremely threatened when such women can throw a football far better than I could ever dream of.
  • While slouched and slovenly in my beach chair, a solid 30 pounds overweight and not caring about such, I realized, and pointed out to my wife, that many gay men have everything that a heterosexual woman would want in a man: sensitivity, good grooming, and good looks.  Yet they lack that one critical ingredient: interest in females.  God truly does have a sense of humor, or at least a sense of irony.
  • Was Judy Garland gay?
  • As a big Civil War fan, I can appreciate the reverence for Confederate General Thomas Jackson (perhaps America’s greatest General), but I didn’t realize there were so many followers of his in Asbury Park as evidenced by their “Stonewall” t-shirts.  Perhaps we, as a society, are more connected to history than I thought.
  • Sitting on the beach…closing my eyes…I hear Paul Lynde on Hollywood Squares (a comedian and show I greatly enjoyed watching).
  • Why is the Greek way even considered by anyone? Their fiscal house is a mess! Who would want to emulate that?
  • I think I saw Ellen Degeneres on the beach….2 dozen times.  Or was that Rachel Maddow?
  • I saw some stunningly attractive blondes in (barely) swim wear and I will never understand why they choose to dye their roots dark.Image result for fat guy on beach
I.M. Windee at the beach….in a few years


  • When I was in college, sitting on the beach meant drinking beers, thinking about where I would eat for dinner, and perhaps try to meet someone of the female gland. Now married with kids, sitting on the beach means chasing my kids to make sure they’re safe, praying I will survive the indigestion festival known as the “family dinner,” and hoping I can slip away to bed before my familial captors find out.
  • My 12-year-old son was going to place a jelly-fish back into the water when the impassioned pleas from a lady stopped him. After all, she argued, being stung by such was worse than the worst sunburn. Fair enough. But I couldn’t help but thinking as we walked away: 1 down, 999,999 to go for this beach. While the longest journey does begin with a single step (or in this case, jellyfish), not only do I think this woman’s journey will not end but I don’t think it will even effectively begin.
  • I truly believe that most lifeguards become drill-sergeants.
  • Thanks to my wife, my family will likely not die from skin disease because of her diligent application of suntan lotion. However, we will likely succumb to aerosol vapor disease and blindness as she saturates us with the stuff to the point we are gasping and it is pouring from our faces.
  • 2 beers and the sun is bliss; 6 beers and the sun is a coma.
  • My 12-year-old son picks up small crabs in the jetties on the beach with utterly no fear of being pinched by their claws, as he was. If I had one placed in my hand, as he wanted to do, I would be screaming hysterically and pass out like Pee Wee Herman carrying the snakes out of the pet store on fire in his first movie.
  • A silhouette of me trekking across the beach carrying coolers, chairs, umbrellas and towels (while the family is skipping care-free with nothing) gives an aura of both the majesty and moral imperative of Moses along with the servitude of a Grand Canyon pack mule.
  • Yes kids, I’m a “bad daddy”: I won’t be your human surfboard.
  • 10 beers and the sun is the morgue (from what I can guess).

Perhaps it’s best that the beach season is only 3 months a year: at middle-age with a family, I don’t think I could handle any longer.

-I.M. Windee

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