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):

Bonus:

And:

I just wasn’t prepared for how REAL things get at the end of this “behind the scenes.” Too much tweakin! Not enough turning the camera off! And who gets to keep the Bedazzler in the break up?

College is so weird.

It’s scary to think that this type of information is available. In fact, a quick search unearthed a 7+ year old blog of mine that even I had forgotten about. Coincidentally, the writing takes place during my move from NJ to Philadelphia. Lots of hip hop talk. I got very mad at Nada Surf not playing “Popular” at a show. I actually liked a girl. I pushed my friends’ bands and actually typed the word “sucka.” And I was really excited about an MP3 CD player (what’s an iPod?).

I did find something I enjoyed, however… I kept a small archive of silly phone calls I received as a customer service representative at the now-defunct MicroWarehouse. It was a computer reseller, one that dealt with selling a lot of mission-critical equipment to a lot of really big companies. But we also sold iMacs to Grandma and laptops to Joe Rich Guy, so it was always great to get whiny complaints from individuals claiming we ruined their lives when a USB cable showed up late. I was even personally accused of destroying Christmas once. Here are three ridiculous calls as I recounted them in 2001:

WHEREHOUSE MUSIC
Me: Thank you for calling MicroWarehouse, this is Brian speaking. May I have your order number please?
Her: I got lost in your menu, I didn’t know what button to press. I wanted to know if you have a store in Toledo.
Me: I’m sorry, ma’am, we’re a catalog company. We don’t have a physical storefront anywhere.
Her: There’s no Wherehouse Music in Toledo?
Me: Ooooooh. Ma’am, this is MicroWarehouse… Wherehouse Music is an entirely differeny company.
Her: But the ad on the radio said to dial this number to find store locations.
Me: This number?
Her: 1-800-WAREHOUSE.
Me: Oh, they spell their name differently. I’d guess it’s supposed to be 1-800-WHEREHOUSE.
Her: (annoyed) Well, THAT’S too many numbers.
Me: Ma’am, 1-800-WAREHOUSE is too many numbers, too.
Her: (pissed) So you can’t tell me where there is a Wherehouse Music in Toledo?
Me: Ma’am, I’ve never been to Toledo in my life.
Her: -CLICK-

SNOW DAY
Me: Thank you for calling MicroWarehouse, this is Brian speaking. May I have your order number please?
Her: I don’t have an order number.
Me: Okay, how may I help you then?
Her: I want to know why I can’t push the little blue buttons to order the movie anymore.
Me: Excuse me?
Her: On the TV. Why can’t I push the blue button to order a movie?
Me: I’m sorry, I don’t understand.
Her: Like, I want to order “Snow Day” and I can’t. What’s going on?
Me: Um…
Her: On pay-per-view.
Me: Um… you might want to contact your cable company for that.
Her: It’s not cable, it’s Direct TV.
Me: Okay, then perhaps try them?
Her: You can’t help me?
Me: Ma’am, I can’t help you. This is MicroWarehouse. We have nothing to do with Direct TV.
Her: Micro what?
Me: We sell computer stuff. I wish I could help you.
Her: But this is the number they gave me.
Me: I’m very sorry, I have no idea who to even send you to.
Her: Oh.
Me: Good luck in finding that, though.
Her: Yeah, thanks.

FLOOPY DRIVE
Her: There is this thing that came in my order and I don’t what it is for.
Me: Okay, what part of the order was it, ma’am?
Her: It says “USB blah blah blah cable…”
Me: Oh, well that USB cable is used to hook up the floppy drive that you ordered to your IMAC.
Her: What is a floopy drive?
Me: You ordered a floppy drive, ma’am.
Her: You mean this thing I’m holding?
Me: Ma’am, I’m not sure what you’re holding…
Her: The “USB VST Floppy Drive with color kit?”
Me: Yes, that’s the floppy drive.
Her: What do I need this for? I don’t know why I have this.
Me: You mean you didn’t order it? You use it so that you can transfer files from floppy disks to your IMAC.
Her: I already have a place to put disks.
Me: You do? On your iMac?
Her: Yes. I open the door and put it in.
Me: A square disk or a CD?
Her: A CD?
Me: A Round disk?
Her: Yes, they’re round.
Me: Well, the floopy drive will let you use the sqaure ones.
Her: Oh, I remember telling the salesperson that I needed that.
Me: Yes, that’s what you need the floppy drive for.
Her: What is a floppy drive? Is it this rectangular thing I’m holding?
Me: Um…
Her: “USB VST Floppy Drive with color kit?” I told the man specifically that I did not need to print in color, why did he sell me this?
Me: Umm…