Is no place safe from the yunnies? Here they are, stepping out of their new, butter-yellow, luxury oceanfront condo for a walk down Rockaway Beach. The gals hold on to their jaunty straw hats while the fellas look forward to shedding their Dockers and enjoying some fellatio under the boardwalk. Ah, dreams of summer in the midst of winter's grip.
Belle Shores: Live in a tacky wedding cake for $439,900!
But what's this? Is it possible Rockaway's glut of condos isn't selling? Here they're offering tax abatements and free common charges. Maybe there is hope.
Maybe it's Rockaway's resistance to glamor that keeps the yunnies from flocking en masse. It's way, way out there. And in winter it's a rough place to be. The streets are desolate except for a few schizophrenics muttering on the corners and drunks wobbling their way down Beach 116th. The bars are rough, too.
Remnants from the Irish Riviera days, there's the Tap & Grill clam bar, PJ Curran's, and Rogers Irish Tavern, which was established in 1919. Of course, like most Irish bars, they only look mean from the outside. But don't tell the yunnies that, they might take Curran's "Chardonnay Way" sign seriously.
And we wouldn't want this melancholy little tobacconist/ice cream counter, that still has the swivel stools but may or may not have actual fountain service, to turn into a Cold Stone Creamery.
Here's to Rockaway--keeping it real.