Posts Tagged "beach"
We may be only “offically” 3 days into spring, but considering things were seeming rather spring-like back in February, I’ve already got summer on my mind. Plus, after a sweaty slappy session late last evening in the steamy night air, I felt like I had been transported to June. What will happen to East Coast skaters when we can’t boast our resilience to long, harsh winters anymore? Um… well, we probably won’t lose as many tricks and sprain ankles as often in the spring, for starters. I can live with that, I guess.
In any case, the calendar might say “March”, but it seems like it really means “Daytona Beach.”
Not a bad deal.
You gotta be quick when a flock of pigeons abruptly decides to make its noble ascent to better french-fry grazing pastures. Trust your instincts, and click the fucking button already. Unfortunately, I seem to have instinctually dismembered one of the street dove’s wings, and by the time I could recompose the shot, them mother fuckers were gone. But I guess the imperfect framing injects some welcome spontaneity to the shot… at least, that’s what I’m telling myself. Just another moment in the life of a habitual moment-catcher, what can I say?
In celebration of this week’s apparent incredible weather, I figured I’d post some long unpublished photos from my winter-getaway trip to Florida just about a year ago. This year, I figured, why go to Florida, when Florida will come to you in the third week of March? I mean, never mind the fact that most of New York City will probably be underwater in 100 years and, like, the apocalypse will be upon us and shit; I’m just trying to enjoy it while it lasts.
You know - Mondays, whether you’re in Florida or New York City or some far flung corner of the universe - really aren’t all that bad when it’s 66 degrees and you don’t have to go in to the office…
At long last, here is the final batch of photos from my long and drawn-out North Beach series. But I may never see Lake Michigan again, and taking photographs is a good way to back up your mind’s eye.
The amount of random shit you find on a beach is astounding. Well, “random” might not be the best word… considering the vast majority of the litter is alcohol containers. And when you think about it, this abandoned corsage probably isn’t all that random either. These photos were taken in September, so it could very well be some of the wreckage left behind by some post-Homecoming-dance carousing. Which certainly would explain all the bottles of Smirnoff Ice.
Speaking of astounding — water. As usual. Astounding that the same water that existed on the earth millions of years ago is the water we’re drinking today. Astounding that much of the universe’s water was produced as a byproduct of star formation, and by logical conclusion, that means that we’re made up of star shit. And astounding how some bloodless executive at a soft drink company board meeting figured out they can make obscene profits from soda without any of the flavor or carbonation, indeed, from the same substance that covers over 70% of the entire planet: water.
As promised (or perhaps threatened), and in continuing celebration of this ridiculously cold season, here are more wintry photos from Chicago’s North Beach.
Sometimes getting a nice shot has less to do with actual skill or experience, and considerably more to do with sheer luck and how quickly you can click the shutter. For example…
In warmer months, North Beach is one of the Windy City’s preeminent illegal public drinking spaces. Although, if you said it was peerless, people might get confused
Speaking of peers, sort of… I’m not entirely sure what the story is behind these cables, but they seem to form in a grid within the entire pier — I imagine to strengthen the concrete and keep it from gradually crumbling into the lake. Somehow I think these ones aren’t quite doing their job.
Mmm-hmm! Just look at that product placement. Advertisers, what are you waiting for? There’s another eager corporate shill right here, waiting for your loving arms.
Back when I lived in Chicago, I’d often pass North Beach on the highway between downtown and my neighborhood, which was farther north. That seemingly endless row of scattered pilings always caught my eye. Due almost entirely to laziness, despite my constant intentions, in two years I never made it down there to take pictures. So finally, with the moving van’s proverbial gun to my head, I paid North Beach a visit.
The beach’s proximity to downtown Chicago makes it a complete frenzy in the summer, but that’s only about 5% of the year there, and the rest of the time it looks sad and desolate — just how I like it.
Sure, those pilings photograph well, but they’re actually there to keep the lake from consuming the beach — a body of water the size of Lake Michigan has a big appetite. There is a strip of sheet steel running between the pilings under the water, which, aside from making swimming there extra deadly, also keeps all the sand from being washed out into the lake.
North Beach is huge — I underestimated its size when accounting for time and found myself rushing against the waning daylight to see everything. Nonetheless, I managed to take somewhere around a billion pictures before the light and the cold won out.
So, needless to say, there’s more where that came from.
Considering my new apartment is more of a dungeon than a castle in the sky, and the fact that the bite of autumn is starting to gnaw at my chilled extremities, I find myself a bit nostalgic for warmer, sunnier days at my almost beachfront property in Chicago.
Now, don’t get me wrong here — New York is great for very many things (namely getting into trouble), but feeling at peace with nature is definitely not one of them. Lake Michigan beats the East River, but it could have been a close fight back when the Brooklyn Bridge had a waterfall attached to it.
A couple weeks ago, the beach was a fucking dragonfly mating ground. Now, I don’t know what happens to all the newborn dragonfly babies when the dog days of summer turn into legitimate fall temperatures in about five seconds flat like they have here in Chicago. To be honest, worrying about their continued survival is probably not going to be keeping me up at night. Them shits is kinda gross, especially when they be all humping each other and shit.
Yeah, sure, they eat flies and bees so that’s cool I guess, but back to that “gross” thing…
Most of a dragonfly’s life is spent in the nymph form, beneath the water’s surface, using extendable jaws to catch other invertebrates or even vertebrates such as tadpoles and fish. They breathe through gills in their rectum, and can rapidly propel themselves by suddenly expelling water through the anus.
Fart propulsion. Dragonflies are the most immature of the insects, of this I am sure. They’re also incredibly difficult to get a good photo of when they’re flying all around your head — looking for a good place to lay their eggs, no doubt.
Random last photo, I know, but I needed one more vertical shot with similar colors and hey, who doesn’t love those golden arches, amiright? I mean, besides people who dislike heart disease and colon cancer, but they’re fucking dweebs!
In the past few days, the weather has taken a turn from sunny and sweltering to cloudy and sticky, so here are a few leftovers from Monday’s photo post, along with some other assorted odds and ends, that more closely fit the “gray” theme the atmosphere seems so fond of in these parts.
Technically, those three are more brown than gray, but if the drabs can’t stick together, what else do they even have? And what would the weather be if we couldn’t complain about it all the time? Um, I mean, aside from “good.”
Is it any sort of coincidence that depictions of futuristic dystopias in film are often portrayed with a gloomy, desaturated color palette, with sparse color gleaming through the haze? Blade Runner, Minority Report, and The Matrix, Alien and Terminator series all feature a great number of scenes washed in dismal gray. Now, of course it’s intentional — gray was officially chosen as the representative color of all apocalyptic visions of the future when The Committee For The Advancement of Dreary Dystopian Dreamworlds voted on it in 1983, after science fiction aficionados and doomsayers alike bemoaned the presence of too many warm hues in Ridley Scott’s aforementioned replicant love story. Try to keep up, people.
Anyway, I really ought to keep my mouth shut when it comes to all things meteorological considering how many months every year I get sentenced to exile in a frozen tundra, like in Aladdin when Jafar gets the genie powers and gives Price Ali the ol’ heave-ho. In light of my future in below freezing temperatures, cloudy and sticky is good… cloudy and sticky is real good.
There are few things I require to be happy with my living situation. They are, in order, a western view of the sky for optimal sunset-gazing, proximity to a major body of water
for purposes of disposing the bodies, a nearby area of smooth pavement for convenient flatground skating, little alcoves with ice dispensers like they have in hotels on every floor of the apartment building just ’cause those things are more fun than getting ice from your own refrigerator, a pool on the roof next to a helicopter pad, and a helicopter to land on the helicopter pad.
Right now I’ve got the top three, so things aren’t too bad. And Lake Michigan is a much nicer place to be close to when the temperature is consistently above freezing.
It sure is beautiful now… but just wait for the tar balls to start showing up.
I don’t have a clue what these “frames” are for. They’re scattered all over the concrete beach surrounding Lake Michigan. Maybe it’s just some preemptive earthquake safety measure. Not that Chicago is a hot bed of tectonic activity, but if it were, we’d be set. It pays to think ahead. “Welcome to Chicago: there’s always a doorway to cower under nearby” … I like it, it has a welcoming kind of vibe to it.
People still jump off the pier, anyway. Which I guess is safer than going head first, but it’s not like getting a jagged rock up your ass crack is exactly a preferable scenario. Personally, I just don’t think people are scared enough by rocks. Maybe like, “submerged lasers” or “submerged giant man-eating venus fly traps” would be more effective. Just throwing suggestions out there, that’s all.
Ah, Summer, by far the fairest of the seasons. Well… not really. That description fits Spring better, if you want to get into technicalities… but you know what — fuck those. Technicalities aside, what I should have said anyway is that Summer is by far the best season. And if you disagree, you can go eat a sandwich. MADE OUT OF KNUCKLES
And wouldn’t you rather be eating a mutagen bar, anyway?
There are people out there in this wild world who actually say crazy things like, “I enjoy the change of seasons.” And they’re not saying it purely from a sense of premature nostalgia for a future climate ravaged by greenhouse gasses, dying oceans, deforestation, solar flares, nuclear war, run-on sentences, whatever. This is surprising to me, because the other three seasons only serve as a reminder of why Summer is so goddamned good. I have a good memory. If you don’t, try taking some Ginkgo biloba1.
And then there are people who don’t like Summer at all. I don’t trust these people. Frankly, they’re mildly worrisome. If you don’t find some sense of magic, as horrifically sappy as that sounds, in the sun and sweat of a real Summer, I have another suggestion for you. Put a magnet to the base of your neck, it will fix your problems. And mine — one less robot in the world.
1Dedleg LLC is not a certified medical doctor, nor does he own one of those awful “Trust Me, I’m a Doctor” t-shirts. He is also not a limited liability company. But he is pretty good at Mario Kart when he’s drunk.
So, it’s Memorial Day. Which means you’re probably outside, enjoying the weather on your day off and not wasting your time reading blogs. After all, it’s Un-American to not spend Memorial Day drinking all day, getting heat exhaustion, and passing out around 8 at night. And it’s also Un-American to waste time on the Internet when you’re not getting paid to do so by your meaningless corporate job.
But, if you don’t live in America, feel free to spend the day indoors, being lazy and disgusting… you know, like typical Americans.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, there’s a beach and a future with skin cancer calling my name. Dedleg will return tomorrow, a redder, hungoverer man.