5
Jul
I grew up in Lakehurst, NJ, a town that has only two claims to fame: 1) it is where the Hindenburg crashed in 1937 and 2) it is about 10 miles from Seaside Heights.
The latter was more significant to me, of course, because it had arcades and girls wearing bathing suits. It had my favorite ride (the Poltergeist), a game of chance at which you could win cassette tapes from bands like Shudder to Think and Elastica, and it had slices of pizza the size of my torso for $1.25 (soda included). But there’s a reason my beach is often referred to as Sleazeside – it exists as a wretched intersection of local white trash and vacationing New Yorkers. The air is thick with machismo and hair gel fumes. And a sideways glance will get you a Churro shoved up your ass.
But I miss it. The NJ beach culture is weird and terrible, but it’s also uniquely a part of my experience and the hours upon hours I spent in Seaside Heights, sitting on the beach with friends, discussing our rapidly approaching futures, playing volleyball, having first kisses, etc. would have been totally different anywhere else. There’s nothing like it here (where summer means you can wear a sweatshirt and pants at the beach instead of a coat and gloves) and that’s a bit of a bummer.
So why this sudden longing for Sleazeside? Courtesy of my buddy Tedford, a video of Seaside Heights in 1993 (I was 15):
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2 Responses to “Seaside Heights, 1993”
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While I tend to hate most things about New Jersey, I know what you mean about Seaside. I didn’t go all that much, but there’s something about it.
And yes, our first kiss there was quite precious.
If only i could still get away with wearing my frayed cut-offs and netted tee…those were the days.
Peace.