Clip!

Yey - the piece wasn't killed after all (though it had to be pretty severely cut.)

This is going to be a good Friday, indeed.

Duo Takes Plunge - For Real!

A Queens couple got hitched on the Cyclone yesterday, exchanging vows on the iconic coaster’s first ascent before screaming “I do!” as they plunged 85 feet into holy matrimony.

Teri Alyse Muroff, 38, an artist and business manager, and Robert George Meyer, 39, fellow artist and motorcycle builder, met almost 20 years ago while students at Clinton Hill’s Pratt Institute, although sparks didn’t fly until well after graduation.

“I’m glad that I waited for the right guy,” said Muroff in an antique lace gown that belonged to her grandmother. “We love Coney Island; we’ll ride the Cyclone like 10 times in a summer and we like the symbolism. The roller coaster has ups and downs, like life. Like marriage.”

--Nicole Lyn Pesce

Roller Coaster of Love

This summer I’ve had Coney Island on my mind – whether because Astroland Amusement Park is shutting down (major bummer) or perhaps because I haven’t hit the surf once all summer long (even worse) – so I’ve jumped at any and every possible opportunity to visit that blessed boardwalk for various (tastefully ridiculous) writing assignments.

Exhibit A: Summer Jobs
When we few (we happy few) features writers were asked to perform iconic NYC summer jobs for a lifestyle package, I immediately threw myself on the chopping block, begging to be allowed to sell hot dogs at a Cyclones baseball game.
Great idea, great anecdote; the job was wicked hard. The day was hot, my customers crabby, and I forgot just how badly I’ve gotten at math since promptly forgetting everything about it following the GREs in 2004. But still – totally worth it. My Cyclones baseball cap is perched proudly on my coat hook, and I got yet another ridiculous picture of myself printed in the paper to be added to grandma’s growing scrapbook.

Exhibit B: Octogenarian Daredevils
When the famed Cyclone coaster turned 80 in June, the park hosted a publicity stunt/gala event where not only the descendants of the coaster’s original builders popped out of the woodwork, but two 81-year-old roller coaster enthusiasts gamely strapped themselves in and took a spin on the Granddaddy of Good Times.
The moment I read the press release, I was hooked. A mere 2 days after braving the +hour subway ride from the cheap seats of Manhattan down to the southern tip of Brooklyn, I rushed back to catch these two characters in the act. And the gentlemen in question? Hilarious! I immediately bonded with Ed and Lou, who both served in the South Pacific during World War II (Lou: “The Marines are a department of the Navy – the men’s department!”) and were full of an amazing array of anecdotes. Plus, Lou dancing with the comely Miss Cyclone? Priceless! Especially when she left a vivid fuchsia lipstick mark on his cheek, and his daughter promptly took a photo and threatened to show it to his wife.

Exhibit C: AVP Beach Volleyball Tour
Who’s gonna be there next Thursday morning watching local lovelies trying out to get seeded (hopefully) against the best of the best in beach volleyball? I’ll give you a hint: She has two thumbs pointed at herself right now and LOVES Guinness.

Which brings us to this morning: I cruised down to Coney Island to catch a Queens couple getting hitched on the famed Cyclone. I knew it was going to be a great time the minute the groom rolled up on a Harley Davidson and begin sipping a suspiciously pungent beverage (SEE: Beer) from a red plastic cup, and it only proceeded to get better and better. The happy couple was a lot of fun – the bride referred to her maid of honor as either her “Hench Wench” or, my personal favorite, the “Hitch Bitch.” Everything was laid-back and beachy – from the beautiful golden bouquets of sunflowers and yellow daisies (to the bride’s chagrin, however, the florist had doused the posies with glitter) to the wedding favors – airy white parasols to keep the sun off (the irony being that fellow-assistant Nicole C. and I had spent two days chasing women around Manhattan, trying to find some who were carrying parasols to shade themselves, with limited success … and here on Coney Island I was suddenly surrounded by over a hundred. D’oh.) The groom sported three silver hoops in his ear and a matching one in his nose. The “Hench Wench” flaunted a tattoo, and the bride absently puffed Marlboros in between interviews and dress adjustments. For their honeymoon, the pair is gunning their Harley and going “wherever the bike takes us.” My kind of people.

Then the ceremony itself was very charming. We promenaded up to the loading area, where the couple took the first car, the minister the second, and various members of the family and wedding party also filled up the ride. The flower girl tossed red and orange rose petals at completely random intervals while the photographers from different media outlets elbowed each other out of the way, fighting for the best shot – and completely overwhelming the actual wedding photographer, who threw a hissy fit in the middle of the exchange of vows. Classic!

The ride took off to whoops and cheers from the 100 friends and family remaining on the ground (plus the media, roller coaster operators and curious bystanders.) On the ascent to the top of that first, 85-foot drop, the minister (a coaster connoisseur himself – he’s been a member of the American Coaster Enthusiasts since the 70s) repeated the vows, and on the screaming ride down the couple shouted “I do!” and rolled back to the loading platform at the end of the ride to a round of applause, the air filled with bird seed and bubbles.

It was really something special.

Then they exchanged rings, kissed as husband and wife, and the groom popped out of the car to stomp on the glass (a touch of Judaism to the nondenominational festivities) before they piled back on with different riders and took another spin.

On their return, the newlyweds decided to take one more turn … and suddenly I found their family and friends waving at me and insisting I go for a ride.

No. Way.

I’m not afraid of roller coasters per se, but the Cyclone is intimidating. It’s so loud! And rickety. Besides, I reasoned, I was on the clock. No time for such shenanigans.

Although …

*This is Astroland Amusement Park’s last summer … the Cyclone supposedly will remain untouched, but it won’t be the same … I’ve been intending to come here all summer long, but even while working jobs here previously, I just hadn’t found the time. The Cyclone closes for the season on September 9. It’s already August 16. No time like the present?

*Professor Blood always told us, “You can’t write about the supper unless you eat the meal.” How could I, in good faith, recount the experience accurately unless I took a turn myself?

*I believe it’s $6 to ride the Cyclone. Here, I’d be getting the experience for free. That $6 can now buy 24 beers during Pat O’Brien’s Friday night happy hour, six cups of coffee from my favorite street vendor, or a matinee movie ticket (almost).

Then one of the bride’s relatives, an elderly gent from Florida, called me, quote, “a chickenshit.”

So that settled that.

I clambered on board, my heart pounding as I was locked & loaded into the car. With a jerk, the train started moving forward, and we pulled out of the loading hutch and climbed oh, so, excruciatingly, slowly up that first ascent. As we climbed, I could see all of Coney Island spread out before me – the greasy concession stands and the free fall and the ferris wheel and the boardwalk with the above ground subway tracks behind and the sun trying to peer from between the hazy clouds. It was glorious. It was a view I had never seen before, a view every New Yorker should glimpse at least once this summer before it’s gone for good.

I inhaled that tangy salty air, closed my eyes …

And then opened them as we suddenly plunged 85 feet, and my stomach completely dropped and for a moment, as we went almost completely vertically downward, I was convinced I’d made a grave mistake and so endeth the short yet amusing life of Nicole Lyn Pesce.

Then we raced back up and around and up and down again, and I found myself pumping my fists in the air and screaming and laughing and having the time of my life.

Disembarked on weak knees and merrily shook the bride and groom’s hands once again. “Thank you!” I told them. “That was great! Thanks so much for sharing your special day!”

They grinned and rode off on their Harley, and I climbed happily back to the subway and spent the 40-minute ride to the newsroom composing my story and reliving the 90-second ride that I’ll never forget.

Sometimes, seriously, I’m convinced I have the greatest job ever. Even though the story got killed because of breaking news, the experience was 100% worth it.

And you can believe I’ll be back on Coney Island again before September 9th.

Summer Lovin'

My buddy Beth and I were strolling through Central Park this past Memorial Day, equipped with a couple of books and beach towels, trying to find some shelter from the sweltering heat.

While looking for That Perfect Shady Spot, we passed a vacationing family of about a dozen or so chattering loudly with broad, Midwestern accents, and unfortunately donned in matching "I <3 New York" t-shirts. Blah.

If their appearance wasn't enough to clue you in to the fact that they were outsiders, one cheerful lass ignorantly bellowed, "I just love summer in the city!"

I scowled.

Ridiculous.

I love Manhattan; I tend to hate it during the summer months. It's not just hot, it's sickeningly humid. Therefore, those charming city smells that we take for granted the rest of the year are now stewing and more pungent than ever. You get dripped on from air conditioning units jutting out of windows and from pipes ripe with condensation when you're underground. The subway platforms are merciless; all the hard work you put into applying your makeup, straightening your hair or ironing your blouse in the morning dissolves into a sweaty, wrinkled mess. And people on the street get even grumpier, if possible. Not to mention the place is packed with tourists pontificating on how SWELL everything is while they're massing in the middle of the sidewalk, during rush hour, and getting in my way. Which normally I can shrug off, but seeing as how it's so hot, now even my fuse is as short as a Jersey girl's skirt.

Cut to two months later, however, and I have to admit: I'm having an absolute ball here, this summer. Maybe it's because this year I'm blessed with relative job security, and I happen to have finally come to a plateau where I actually like my apartment and my roommates (though I will forever desire better digs) and my family seems to be doing well. I haven't been running, I'm afraid, but I've been outdoors as much as I can, and it feels really good. I've started reading again, I've started writing again, and things just seem to be falling into place. And whereas I'm always the type of person who is going to be stressed, this summer I have actually relented enough to allow myself to take a deep breath and look around at all the opportunities available to me:

--Jackie, Beth and I discovered the free kayaking sessions in Riverside Park on the Hudson, and have passed a couple of very pleasant Saturdays paddling out on the water, racing each other, or just drifting and chatting while surveying the Upper West Side away from the din of traffic. Bonus: getting completely drenched and having to run into the Gap, still dripping and smelling of the Hudson, and pulling clean clothes off the clearance rack, buying them and then wearing them out of the store so that we're "presentable" when we go to brunch. Class!

--I'm completely enamored with Central Park - it's so easy to wander through there every weekend, and discover something new each time: A rocky outcropping you never noticed before that's perfect for perching on with a good book; an empty stretch of grass where you can sunbathe without feeling self conscious; a sandy, fishbowl-shaped depression where local clubs play ultimate frisbee and pickup soccer matches. Just, greatness. And it's free.

--Jackie, Beth and I (again, ha - that's the Tri-Borough Trio for you) ducked out of work early last Wednesday, hit up Whole Foods (a.k.a. "Whole Paycheck") for supplies, and had an impromptu picnic on the park's Great Lawn while the sun set. We smuggled in a couple bottles of Chimay, which we swilled out of paper cups, and dined on an olive loaf with with spinach asparagus dip, cheese and salami, grapes and sushi, while dishing on Life, The Universe, Everything, and it was glorious. We topped off with soft-serve cones with sprinkles from Mister Softee. Hello, summer.

--Roommate Monica and I have frequently sliced up a lime for our Coronas and gone out on our roof, where we likewise watch the sun set over Spanish Harlem and enjoy a fresh-air respite from our muggy apartment. And from on-high, SpaHa actually looks rather pretty.

--Walking home from the park a few weeks ago, I came across a neighborhood softball game playing out on the asphalt surface of a local elementary school basketball court. Spectators were crowded around the perimeter, their fingers poking through the chain link fence, screaming at the players in different Spanish dialects while families barbecued on hibachis and merengue blared from the speakers of parked cars. I loved it. I stayed there watching for a good 20 minutes by myself, marveling at the community spirit and wishing I was a part of it, too. Even after I got home and curled up with a book on the couch, I could still hear faint echoes of the shouting and the music wafting over from three blocks away.

--Better yet, I dubbed around East Village with a very pleasant new friend (I've ganked his description, but it's a good one). I hadn't realized just how much I'd missed Village bar crawls until last night, and fortunately, the company I was keeping made the experience even more enjoyable than I'd remembered. There's plenty of Irish pubs for the picking, including McSorley's (my favorite) and Lilly Coogan's (a hidden gem). I now harbor a double-desire to run again (I'm really not sure why) and to revisit my favorite watering holes that I took for granted two years ago when I was living in the Village but too miserable to enjoy it because I was freaking out about finding an apartment, finding a job, and finishing grad school (in that order.)

Also, I look forward to retracing some of those routes with said-new friend. It's nice to have an excuse to dab on some mascara again.

So here we are, August 5th, with just about a month to go before Fall's frenetic pace picks up again. At the risk of sounding like a tourist cheeseball myself, here's to stripping off my pride and soaking up what the city has to offer while I still can.

To save face, however, I will avoid wearing any "I <3 New York" shirts or straw hats.

(Note: Please disregard my Profile pic. Clearly, I put the "hip" in "hypocrite.")