Come Dancing: Part II

• Lori Palminteri
• Uncategorized
• July 26, 2024

The city is only great in the Spring and the Fall. Summer is far too hot. It smells like piss in the streets and if you take the subway anywhere, you’re bound to show up drenched in sweat. I have, on more than one occasion, brought a second set of clothes in a backpack so I could change upon arrival. Because I do a lot of cardio, I sweat more than other people. This is actually a good thing for your body, but also annoying. There are prices to pay for these abs:

The winter in New York is terrible all around, so much so, I dream of being a wanderer, from place to place. Summer, though, on Long Island is the best. It’s hard to catch me in the city or home in Queens in the summer months. My stomping grounds will forever be the south shore of Long Island, where summers of my youth remain my favorite memories. Between my siblings, aunts or cousins and friends, I have a rotation of places I call ‘my summer homes’ and frequent the beach far more than the average person, as evidenced by my bronzed skin and blond hair.

One of my best friends has teenagers and sometimes she likes me to stay at her house so the teenagers don’t drink. She has a stupendous salt water pool that the kids hardly use. Teenagers truly do not know what’s good. Ironically, while she’s afraid the kids will imbibe in alcohol, when I’m there, I’m the one floating around the pool drinking her beer and reading a book. It’s glorious.

A couple of my closest friends have boats, so I’m fortunate enough to hop on board and head out on the Great South Bay. This year, the water has been mostly clear. Just the other day I was in the ocean and could see my (super sexy) feet about four feet down. Right next to me, a school of stripped bass, about two feet long (that’s some good eating) swam right next to me. I also saw a young thresher shark chasing prey. Oh, the ocean is the place for me.

That’s where I was last weekend, like most weekends. It came to my attention that The Dirty Heads and Slightly Stoopid were playing at Jones Beach. Slightly Stoopid is a reggae rock band I’ve seen at least a few times. They’re always fun. Even my parents like Slightly Stoopid.

When I first started listening to them, early high school, I guess, I remember being our van heading to the beach with my parents and siblings. I had the album, ‘Closer to the Sun,’ on CD. I had (actually still do) a pretty vast CD collection. My mom is the one who introduced me to Sublime, like she introduced me to most of the music I loved when I was young. Unlike most kids and their parents, there were little quarrels about what to play in the car that we can all listen to, since we all liked to jam out. Anyway, they had taken to Slightly Stoopid, which we especially liked listening to before surfing. On that album there is a song called, ’Till It Gets Wet.’ The lyrics being, “I don’t want that pussy till that shit gets wet.” When it came on, my brother and I looked at each other and held in our laughter. It wasn’t until the second verse where my parents were like, “WHAT ARE SAYING.” Then we burst into laughter. From then on, we just skipped that song if we were all listening together.

I found out some of my friends already had tickets to the show. I hit up my best mate, Jimmy, to see if he wanted to get some cheap seats (about $30) and go. It didn’t take much convincing, as Jimmy loves to dance at concerts as much as I do. My mate Dean (owner of Odd Rock, for all your backpack and surf bag needs, click here) was taking his pops with him. Dean’s dad, Rick, is somewhat of a local Long Island legend. I grew up with Dean and have known his whole family since forever.

Jimmy and I hitched a ride with Dean and Rick. Top down in the Jeep cruising over Ocean Parkway. Rick was sporting his usual shorteralls. These are overalls cut into shorts. He has a long white beard and looks like a sea captain. Dean, his son, has long blond hair, a true surfer dude. Besides my brother, he’s the best surfer I know. I’ve long envied both him and my brother’s abilities in the water.

Dean and Rick have tickets to pit standing. Rick insists Jimmy and I try to get in the VIP section with them, showing us the cash he has to bribe the security guards. Jimmy is not comfortable with the idea, a self proclaimed rule follower. “Rules are more like guidelines,” I say, quoting one of my favorite characters, Captain Barbossa from ‘Pirates of the Caribbean.’

On our way into the venue, we have to pee. Jimmy and I were pregaming (naturally). The line for the women’s restroom was long, whereas there was no line for the mens bathroom. I decide, ‘fuck it, I identify as a man right now.’ Though I’m hard pressed to pass for a man. I’m wearing short ripped jean shorts, a tight crop top, and I’ve long hair. Rick throws his arm around me, covering me, “let’s go.”

We storm into the bathroom. Rick kicks open a stall. It’s mess. So he kicks open the next one. It’s decent. He shoves me into the stall. I do my business and when I get out, all the dudes in the bathroom are like, “what the hell? What is she doing in here?”

“I identify as a man! I’m a man, I tell you,” I yell as I run out of the bathroom. Then, as soon as I was free of the restroom, I declared I was a woman again. Jimmy came out after and said I caused quite the debate in the men’s bathroom. Everyone was talking about the girl and the shorteralls man. Jimmy said it was quite funny, and most of them agreed they’d do the same thing.

Jimmy and I didn’t end up bribing our way into the VIP section, but we did find our other friends and joined them, which was much closer than our nose bleed seats. They were with their neighbors who are also super cool, and we all danced to the music as the sun went down. Summer nights don’t get much better than that. Old friends, funky music, strong drinks, skinny joints and grooving back and forth, back and forth, like the moonlight dances on the water.