On the Jersey Shore, Cries of ‘Where is the Government?’
The Jersey Shore has fared its share of bad weather. As the Los Angeles Times points out this morning (in a piece well worth the read), there was the winter storm of 1846 that wrecked nine ships (still known as the Day of Terror). There was the 1962 nor’easter, which washed a Navy destroyer ashore. And, of course, there was Irene, the first time on record a hurricane had hit the region.
But Sandy, with its innocent name and violent force, remains unlike anything residents here have seen. It sent a roller coaster into the ocean in Seaside Heights. It wrecked part of the famed boardwalk in Atlantic City. And in the Barrier Islands, some residents now face a forced evacuation that could last eight months. Gas and sewer lines remain unrepaired.
When Hurricane Sandy, with her innocent name, plunged New York City into infinite darkness, officials warned New Yorkers to be prepared: Stay inside. Stock up on tuna. Do whatever it took to feed yourself when the bodegas shut down. But in the city that never sleeps, there are certain things held to be self evident — even in a hurricane. One of them is that you’ll always be able to get a slice of pizza.
Having breakfast with Kreayshawn is a little like taking your rambunctious niece out while her parents are away. She orders bacon with a side of “pee and poo.” She wants a pancake with a sad face on it. She needs orange juice, milk, chocolate milk, water, and coffee. Her posse includes Lady Tragik, her friend and collaborator, Isabel, her roommate and sometimes assistant (whose Twitter profile simply says, “sweet hawaiian ganga baby”) and a shaggy haired pre-teen named Baby Scumbag, whom Kreayshawn claims is “her son.” Read More
It was a gusty autumn evening in 1977, and David Ablon — long-haired, fresh-faced, and in his second year of art school — was speeding down an empty highway road in upstate New York. Hands gripping the steering wheel of his blue Chevy Bel Air, Ablon slowed as he passed a small building with a big orange sign that read Wellsville Motel. Each neon letter shone bright against the grey sky, but the last L didn’t. Staring at it, David had a thought, and pulled in.
The motel’s owner was baffled. This young kid wanted to fix his broken L? Well, why not. David took the letter down and sped back to his college’s neon studio. Read More
No, really: ask James Deen. This Friday, Sept. (that would be August) 17, James Deen will be sitting down with Storyboard correspondent Amanda Hess for a Q&A. Got a burning question you’ve always longed to ask him? Want to tell us why you love him so? Hit us up. We’ll compile the most thoughtful questions and bring them to the man himself.
UPDATE: The askbox is now closed! Thanks for all your questions!