Perseids

The Perseids meteor shower happens every August.  And I don’t know why it took me to move to Queens to suddenly have this incredibly strong urge to see it.  No matter.  I could drive to the beach and see it.  I wouldn’t get home later than any normal night I’m out doing comedy.  Of course, this year there were two issues: Cloud coverage and Super Moon.  Cloud coverage, obviously, is going to make it hard to see the sky.  And Super Moon was shining so bright, making the usual black canvas of the night sky brighter, hence more difficult to see meteors.  The best viewing day would be Tuesday, but it was going to rain Tuesday.  So it was Monday or nothing.

The whole day at work, I was excited to go to the beach and witness the show from outer space.  I did an early open mic, then headed back to Astoria, looking up at the sky, dismayed by the cloud coverage.  When I got home, I was having doubts we would see anything.  I started looking at radar maps and googling the Perseids shower.  Once I was in my cozy little apartment, a part of me just wanted to stay in and watch House of Cards on Netflix.

I wanted to see the shower.  I really fucking wanted to see it.  But I didn’t want to drive an hour to look at clouds.  My best friend on Long Island said he would meet me.  I told him I was having second thoughts, and in his usual laid back manner, he told me to keep me posted on what I wanted to do.  There I was, sitting in my apartment, torn between enjoying the comfort of my home and leaving it.  It’s rare I’m home early.  Usually, I’m out the door at 8am and don’t come back till midnight.  So, I adore nights when I’m in early and I can do some writing and watch a movie.

I sat on my comfy chair and asked myself, “do I want to watch something, or experience something.”  That was enough.  I grabbed a blanket and bottle of iced tea, and I was out the door, in my car, headed towards the beach as the sunset turned the sky above Astoria to cotton-candy blue/pink swirl.

Because it appeared Jones Beach was closed, we met at one of my favorite beaches, Gilgo.  We set up my blanket, got a little high, and looked up to the night sky.  Super Moon was smiling down on us, it’s face seemed happy, and a little surprised that we showed up, like Georges Melies intended it to be.  I was already happy to be there.  I never regret going to the beach.  Using my star gazing ap, we identified constellations created by storytellers years before.

If you stared at a single star long enough, you could feel the Earth moving.  Of course, that could be from the weed too.  The only other two people on the beach were two teens.  White kids, no doubt from the south shore, saying “nigga” all the time, because they think it makes them sound cool or tough.  We couldn’t keep from laughing at them, as their dialogue clashed with the romantic setting.

We weren’t sure if we would see anything, then, there one was.  Quick, but bright and beautiful.  We high-fived.  Success.  Worth the trip.  Worth the gas.  Worth the late night home.  Worth my whole life.

We saw a couple more, then headed in opposite directions to our homes.  I’d be lying if I said I didn’t have a stupid grin on my face, singing along to some good tunes on my way back home.

Unless I’m working in the city, it’s pretty much a no brainer that I’m going to go to Long Island for the weekend.  It’s the summer. I want to go to the beach.  The weekend came, and it’s the second weekend in a row without waves.  Mother Ocean was not delivering.  But I had run into a friend I hadn’t seen in some time who offered to teach me how to windsurf, and so, I thought I’d take him up on his generous offer.  I mean, who doesn’t want to take windsurfing lessons from a hot life guard?

I have learned that windsurfing is hard as shit.  I expected it to be.  It’s so different than surfing.  You have to hoist up a sail, balance on a board, while trying to control the sail.  But just hoisting the sail up was a struggle.  The first couple times I got the sail up, I concentrated on the sail, trying to control it.  But the wind won.  The wind always won.  Then, the instructor/my friend/the stud said, “Don’t focus on the sail.  Focus on the horizon.”  It was perfect.  A perfect moment in my life, too perfect, that if it happened in a movie, I would have gagged on my popcorn.  As if he could have known anything about my life, or current state of mind… he was giving me both windsurfing lessons, and life lessons.

That’s what I did.  The pulled the sail up.  Positioned my feet.  Held the boom, and focused on the horizon.  Then I sailed.  I windsurfed, gliding (slowly) across the bay.  Soon after I was knocked over by a wave.  But I was able to do it again, and again.  Yet, another one of those perfect moments, focusing on the horizon.