the great leslie

Friday was Coney Island day for me and my buddy, John Hume. We met at Nathan's and caught up over hot dogs and cheese fries. We splashed in the waters of the Atlantic, and watched jellyfish that look like breast implants wash up on the sand. We played skee ball, my favorite arcade game, and gave our tickets to a little girl who was cashing in after what looked like a successful day of gaming. 

And, there was the world-famous wooden roller-coaster: the cyclone. I've just celebrated my seventh year in New York, but this was my first cyclone ride. I giggled. I screamed. I have a bruised funny bone from where my arm hit the safety bar again and again as we sped along in the last car of the coaster. It only lasts a minute, but it's an "exhilarating" minute, as John said.

After my cyclone ride, I've been thinking of times when it's okay to scream in public. My friend Martha says she screams at horror movies. I don't go to horror movies, but it's the same concept as the coaster: manufactured fright. That's okay. Occasionally, someone might spot a mouse, or a rat, or a roach, and scream a scream that she (or he) didn't exactly mean to scream, but it came out just the same. And that is okay, too. But, sometimes teenage girls (or 20-somethings that should know better) shriek on the subways and streets, and that is NOT okay, for obvious reasons. You know, crying wolf and all that, not to mention the general annoyance of others. 

But, at Coney Island, we can all scream and screech and giggle. In fact, I think it would be a good idea for everyone.