By the sea, by the beautiful sea: A photo essay

Sister #2 came to town for a five-day visit. I like when my family visits. There's no stress! I get along with all my siblings extraordinarily well, but I suspect the fact I've lived 500 miles away from them for the better part of the past 25 years might have something to do with it. I'm certain they'd be less tolerant of my foibles if I lived just down the street.

If you don't mind my saying so, Mrs. Wife and I are most excellent hosts. And that's no idol brag. Ask around. Tomorrow, I'll hit her over the head with the Kandinsky exhibit at the Guggenheim, but over the weekend it was all-Jersey, all the time.

Moments after her arrival we whisked her away to the Bruce Springsteen concert at Giants Stadium. This was the last concert at Giants Stadium before the wrecking ball transforms it into a parking lot, so the show had some historical heft to it. As I mentioned in previous posts, Mrs. Wife is related to the Springsteen clan, so we were gifted some great seats and briefly chatted with family members before the show in an access-restricted area.

I'm not the biggest Bruce fan in the world but you've got to admire the guy's work ethic. He just turned 60 and still pumps out a highly-entertaining three-hour show. He played, appropriate enough, a cover of The Rolling Stones' Last Time. Also, bizarrely, a cover of You Sexy Thing by Hot Chocolate. Hearing Bruce sing My Hometown and Jersey Girl (a Tom Waits song!) in New Jersey almost makes moving here seem like less of an ordeal.

Photo: Todd Heisler/The New York Times

We took Sister the Second to Seaside Heights. It's a bucolic Jersey Shore beach town that has all the necessary accouterments, namely, a boardwalk, an amusement park and pork roll and cheese sandwiches. The Daughters have been going to places like this for so long that I don't think they realize how special they are.


This carousel is from 1918 and still has its original Wurlitzer organ. 3-Year Old Daughter doesn't care a whit about any of that historical significance stuff.


I, once again, was forced to teach 7-Year Old a valuable bumper car road rage lesson.


Both Daughters are deadly accurate with a skee-ball. It's talent they inherited from their mother, who I seriously don't remember ever beating. It's her game. Well...one of them.


For family lurkers, here is daughter and Mrs. Wife, strolling on a sun-drenched, sea breeze swept boardwalk.