I Keep On Hoping

I want to taste the saltwater in the wind, have fresh clams at Paul's Daughter or a hot dog (or two) from Nathan's Famous, then throw it all up after riding the Wonder Wheel or the rickety wooden Cyclone, but every time I've been to Coney Island it's packed with white trash families with farmer tans dragging coolers and giant umbrellas, loud boom boxes blaring shitty music and screaming kids hopped up on all the grape soda and McDonald's they devoured on the subway ride from The Bronx, and that is NOT my idea of a good time.  Instead, second cutest Jonas brother Joe Jonas taunted me all summer about eating cake by the ocean while I battled entitled Jewish American princesses and yentas who've never set foot in the gym for a lounge chair on the roof at Equinox.