Dad's in town this weekend which means that the past two days have been a whirlwind of thrift shopping and treasure hunting. My dad is known for his ability to sniff out a bargain - right now he and his wife are wandering around Broadway looking for dropped coins. (You'd be amazed how much money they find during a typical weekend trip. WASH YOUR HANDS, POP!) They're leaving for an eight day cruise to the Virgin Islands and I'm tempted to squeeze myself into their carryons and sneak aboard. I'm desperate to get out of the city. Maybe it's the sudden scorching temps (a harbinger of things to come) but I'd eat my own hair if it meant trip to a tropical isle. I need to see some ocean, stat! Which means that tomorrow I'm planning on dragging the husband down to that grimy strip of corn dogs and commerce for an afternoon of sun and, er, fun? That's right, I'm talking CONEY ISLAND!

I always have such high hopes for Coney Island. In my mind it's retro, it's kitch, full of bobby soxers sipping sodas and happy children waving balloons. But in reality, it's... the word "scuzzy" comes to mind. The last time I was there, the husband and I decided to ride the world famous Wonder Wheel - which, as far as Biggest Mistakes Of My Life go, is up there.

- The fellow operating the ride was approximately 109 years old.

- He had no teeth.

- He was was engaged in a shouting match with another worker about whether or not the man had "stolen his goddamn eggs".

Goooood times.

After we recovered from our ride (can everybody say "terrifying"?) we wandered down to the beach where we encountered several used condoms, a fresh pile of poop, and a pair of children's underwear.

Still, water. Beach. Maybe even funnel cakes. Anything to get out of the city, right?