Wednesday, August 6, 2014

West Haven, Conn.

The coastline of Connecticut has the misfortune of being totally obstructed by this large land mass known as Long Island. Standing on the beach in this state, you cannot see it, for it's too far out. But out there it is, and its very presence is the reason you hear about people vacationing at the Jersey Shore, or the Outter Banks of North Carolina, or the pristine sands of Florida - but never Connecticut.

The behemoth that exists somewhere out there on the horizon, for lack of a better word, kinda fucks us over. For what you see in this very picture is not ocean water, no, it is still and dirty water, not unlike that of a giant lake. The weather yesterday when I snapped this photo was sunny and cloudless, so the water definitely appears blue. But make no mistake, it is not. It is brown, polluted, muddy, and gross. It is, what they call, a Sound.

So gross, in fact, that when I told a cute lifeguard chick I wasn't from around here, and was wondering if it was to dirty to go in (more so just an excuse to talk to her, obviously) she replied, no, it's fine to jump on in, for there was no "pollution advisory" today. Or at least she was pretty sure there wasn't.

Needless to say, I wasn't encouraged.

Places like California and Australia have shark warnings. Lifeguards in Jersey warn swimmers about strong currents. But pollution advisories? You know what I'm about to say, right.

Only. In. Connecticut.

But a beach, after all is said and done, no doubt, is still a beach.

And this one happens to be 10 minutes from my apartment.

Ah, the perpetual bittersweetness of living here.

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