V2 N16

Page 46 Exit Zero
August 27, 2004
Caroline
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www.touchandgomassage.com
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b/w jackson & decatur cape may nj 08204
WALKING AROUND
Ä Continued from Page 44
For those of you reading and thinking that The Clam Bake is
nothing more that a drunken frat party, that’s not the case. First
off, we are all too old to pledge a fraternity. Hell, we can’t even
make a pledge to Public Television. Secondly, even though we are
all over 21 (some us way over) the point was never to get loaded.
And when, if ever, someone may be slightly inebriated, we take
car keys and there is always a couch on which to crash. If I’m there
whipping up some Cape May Seaweed, a light frothy drink as my
friend Scott would say, many a car key is taken. Now I could write
about the drink called Cape May Seaweed, but there are so many
stories that coincide with it, I’d have to write about it separately.
And anyone who has sipped this nectar will tell you that I speak
the truth.
The point of the clam bake, at least in my opinion, is that it’s
become a modern-day equivalent of the Victorian party. People
show up with food to add to the table, wine to add to the bar, and
their opinions to add to the conversations. Where else in South
Jersey could you walk into a room and hear three discussion
being held with intensity. One about local or national politics, the
second about philosophy, art and the designated hitter in baseball,
and the third about who was better at at the helm of the U.S.S.
Enterprise, Capt. Kirk or Piccard? (Guess which I was involved
in?) Do you know anywhere else where people are invited to a
party, with no obligations whatsoever, then see the spread that
is being presented and run out to Wawa to pick up some Tasty
Cakes?
I have seen local politicians
talk with local merchants about
the future of Cape May and not
end up in a yelling match. I have
seen actors from the East Lynne
Company walk up to Michael
and tell him how thankful and
surprised they were that the head
of another theatre company has
opened his doors and his kitchen
to them. (“Hey we’re all in this
boat together,” Michael would
say) I have heard musicians, after
playing “Miss American Pie” for the thousandth time, say that
they have a new song that they wanted to try out, and after the
first few bars, listened how the room went slowly silent as the
troubadour showed us a part of his soul in song. And I have heard
the gracious, genuine applause as the note peals off into space and
a group of people have been moved. I have been to some clam
bakes that have rocked the foundations of heaven and I have been
to some that were calm and filled with discussions that would
have rivaled the Algonquin Round Table. Okay, and I’ve also been
to some that tried to fly and landed like a rock. But people still
come back the next week.
As for myself, I am writing this because I haven’t been to
many of the clam bakes this year, due to other obligations. But the
ones that I have gone to have been a blast. In fact it was at a clam
bake that I met a guy named Jack Wright. You may recognize his
name. He is the editor/publisher of the very weekly publication
that you’re reading. So if it wasn’t for the clam bake, there would
be a good chance that you would be reading some one else’s article
while you’re lying on the beach. So if you are wandering about
Cape May on a Saturday night and you hear a group of people
laughing louder than they ever did before, come over and knock
on the door. Chances are someone will answer with a smile and