Monday, October 12, 2015

Culture Corner 10/12

Good morning everyone! As I write this, it's Tuesday morning; my shoes are full of sand, my clothes are soaked in the coffee I couldn't get to drink, I'm running on three hours of sleep, and I'm delighted. One caveat before I begin: there are tangential thoughts ahead. Many of them. We still cool? Good; let's get started!

So at 5am this morning I headed out the door in more layers than anyone can know what to do with. The moon, if anyone cares to note, was utterly majestic; it's a crescent right now and Flatbush was so dead that you could actually see a constellation right near it. And where was I bound before the sunrise on a Tuesday? Well. Originally, my plan had been to do some mildly disallowed urban exploring of an abandoned movie theatre a few miles away. And then. And then I discovered the sad truth: that building, though abandoned, has quite a bit of security around it. So I had to form a contingency plan, and fast. So after googling for ten minutes straight, I resolved that I'd give Dead Horse Bay a shot, though now people are allowed to enter the park. 

As I walked down Flatbush and approached Bay Parkway, a wave of memory washed over me. The last time I had been down that far on Flatbush had been when Kyle's mom drove me and him back from Thanksgiving. And that got me thinking of how she had invited me over for Thanksgiving, and how I spent last Christmas with her and she had bought me presents so I would have stuff to open alongside the family. And in the classic manner with which the mind works, I began thinking about the parents in general who have gone above and beyond in the treatment of their children's friends. Everyone seems to have at least one set of parents they refer to as their "second mother and father" or something of the like - parents of their best friends who have taken them under wing - and I just want to give a quick shout-out to say these parents are amazing. Think: no pregnant woman or future father goes to a nine-month "How to Parent" school; they have to figure it out as they go. And to then ace parenting well enough that they extend their empathy and kindness to children that aren't even theirs - this is incredible. Hey, parents; thanks.

Moving on and back to dead horses. I finally got to the area google maps told me the park was located in, and there was nothing there. I was still on a long stretch of highway. But then. But then I saw a beaten down path, no doubt made by delinquent teenagers. This was my best bet, I figured, and so I took off. Pro tip: always trust dumb teenagers; they've probably grown up in the area, and so they know where to plow down paths that won't be detected by the authorities. 

It felt like a horror movie in the best way!
After about ten minutes, I stumbled upon a clearing. And then I felt terrified; there was a camp set up, one that was obviously not just teens pitching a tent in the middle of the woods. There were clothes hung up on branches, and I tried to get close enough to get some swell pictures. And that's how I woke the person inside the tent and abandoned that venture. Sorry guys, I'm no adventure photographer; I'm a young woman in the middle of the woods and no one knew even within a five mile radius where I was. So these are the only pictures I have.

It felt like a horror movie in the worst way!
 I backed away and started creeping in the direction I had come from. Horror movie 101 pro tip: If you stumble upon something/one terrifying in the woods, don't run; the thing/person undoubtedly knows those woods better than you ever will, and so if you alert them to your presence, they will catch you as you get ridiculously lost and they will go all horror movie on you. So I didn't start running until I was on a clearer path, and then you better believe I fled.

Back on the highway, I kept walking. The sun was rising; seeing as how my morning had gone thus far, I should have turned back. And then:
This path was much more defined, and took me on a winding route through pseudo woods. I was fairly certain I had somehow gone awry and would soon stumble upon Narnia or some other non-Dead-Horse-Bay entity. I turned one corner and saw the sun rising over the water and I couldn't help but squeal aloud. Now, I'm not a very nostalgic person, but the one thing I really miss sometimes is the sea. I grew up in a little beach town and took for granted my proximity to the water. Now, it's sometimes all that makes me feel sane. A terrible sailor myself, I've spent so much of my time on sailboats commanded by others that I'll crave that rocking back-and-forth. Anyway. To this day, being by a shore - or better, being out on the water - calms me.
At first, I found the beach itself underwhelming. I had heard that it was strewn with 1950's memorabilia, old glass bottles and nifty stuff of the like. But really, there were just shards of old glass once-bottles that cracked underfoot. But the air was quiet and dead and I could hear the sound of glass tumbling against glass in water, which sounds but exactly like a bunch of wind chimes. That made my morning worthwhile. And, admittedly, there were a few unbroken bottles that were pretty cool to look at.

But the main attraction was, for me, the destroyed boats scattered along the beach. There weren't an overwhelming amount, maybe three or four. But I love shipwrecks and wreckage and this really piqued my interest.
Isn't it steller?
And I'll give one last picture to remind you of how beautiful it is sometimes to make a bunch of bad decisions and end up sifting through a broken boat, fighting the ever-growing urge to pee.

Have a great day, y'all. Sorry for so many damn words.

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