Inquirer staff photographer Sharon Gekoski-Kimmel (that's her photo above) and reporter Sandy Bauers tell us all about jellyfish in today's paper. Apparently the moon jellies are the ones so ubiquitous on Jersey beaches this time of year. I think I'm the only person in my family who's never been stung by a jellyfish. I hope to keep that string alive for a long time.

Check out Sharon's and Sandy's work here.

Having covered more Labor Days at the Shore than I care to count, I have written the following story at least three times: it's the end of the summer beach season. People are eating lots of foods they can't get at home, because they're packing their cars and heading back to Mount Laurel and Manayunk and Fort Washington. Fudge shops, etc. are very crowded. Merchants proclaiming it was a (insert adjective here) beach season.

So: I'm not sorry I'm combing the Jersey beaches, looking for a story.

However: I am still bummed that I'm stuck at home, working, instead of downashore for one last beach day. (Notice I didn't say one last slice of Mack's pizza, because I make at least one mid-winter pilgrimage to Ocean City for my fix.)

So say goodbye to the ocean for me, anyone who's reading this who still has the luxury of dipping their feet in the ridiculously warm September ocean. Catch you next year.

Here's Jackie Urgo's story on a perfect final Shore weekend.

This past weekend was the kind of weekend at the shore that people try to explain to those who insist the season ends on Labor Day, but probably never quite fully succeed in conveying its graces. On Sunday, a day with a definite autumn chill in the air, but ocean temps still nudging 70, you could see the tableau breaking down into two camps. There were those determined not to give up on summer, out there with their chairs, their bare chests and bathing suits. Then there were those more forward thinking types, with giddy dogs in tow once again, sweatshirts, jeans and sneakers, hoofing along the water's edge. Both camps eyeing the other with somewhat bemused looks. Hey, it takes both kinds, right? Those who cling, those who yearn. Nothing against the beach patrol, but the beauty of the beach in September is in no small part due to the absense of the lifeguard stands marking the beaches, sectioning them off into a false order, swim here, don't swim here. Instead, it's just the coastline. Suddenly Oxford doesn't look so far away from Dorset, it's just over there. Atlantic City sneaks up on you, hard to even tell where it begins. Everyone all spread out, instead of grouped around streets. Less and less official raking of the beach (here we rake sand, not leaves), and so there's even the occasional plastic toy, or carcus, to be found by your exuberant dog, who cannot believe his good fortune to be back on sand, happening upon gorgeous Huskies more wolf than dog. There's a reason lots of people think the shore is never more lovely than during September (though after a snowstorm is its true miracle, I think).

Our beloved Fourth Street Cafe in Ocean City, captured in a rare snowy moment from its illustrious past, is down to just scones and coffee, open only until 1 p.m., and only until the end of the month. Then, it's supposed to be shutting down at that corner for good. Over the summer, the cafe collected hundreds of email addresses of bereft loyalists and even had a tribute to itself in words and artwork, but still seems destined to fade into history, its owners off to California to make their mark in wines. Employees are still dangling the possiblity of a reincarnation at another location, though any place that doesn't look out onto the perennially imperiled and then rescued historic old lifesaving station at 4th and Atlantic surely won't be the same. Until then, goodbye to chicken salad platters and foccacia specials, no wifi or air conditioning, the inimitable buzz from a Mexican chocolate scone. We will keep you posted, and, in the meantime, make our peace with the fine fish and steak taco combo at the Ocean City Surf Cafe, still going strong in a parrothead kind of way on 8th street.

Like its ancestors on the Boardwalk, most famously the Traymore Hotel, pictured here on a postcard in its preimplosion days, the Sands Casino Hotel will soon be reduced to rubble in dramatic fashion. Pinnacle Entertainment, which bought the Sands and the adjacent former site of the Traymore and plans a ginormous resort, announced it will stage the implosion on Oct. 18th at 9:30 p.m., complete with Grucci fireworks. The company is hailing it as the first casino implosion in Atlantic City, which it would be since the others, The Traymore, sadly in 1972, but also the Breakers, the Chalfont Haddon Hall and the St. Charles, were imploded in pre-casino days. The Boardwalk is just not the same without its old beauties, and that includes the Traymore and the Miss America Pageant. The best way to watch the Sands implosion will probably be from the beach, or from a boat. The best way to watch the Traymore implosion would be to grab a few lemons and rent the Louis Malle classic Atlantic City, which shows the implosion in its opening sequence and whose star Susan Sarandon shows how best to use those lemons, then head for the still-thriving Knife and Fork, where Sarandon famously had lunch with Burt Lancaster. Here's a youtube slice of Susan and her lemons.

On Curb Your Enthusiasm the other night, Larry David unveiled his latest irritant: sample abusers. Larry David, meet Mrs. Mento, owner of the (tragically closed for the season) legendary eponymous water ice stand in Ventnor, which this summer put a stop to the free taste. Getting the punch line months before David ("Banana? Tastes like banana!"), Mento's posted several signs this summer with the beautifully harsh poetry of an exasperated looking-to-sell-already longtime water ice vendor: "Lemon (arrow) tastes like lemon. Cherry (arrow) tastes like Cherry. Chocolate (arrow) tastes like chocolate." With sarcasm laced througout like black cherries in the black cherry ice (tastes like black cherries), Mrs. Mento dismissed her sample abusers as "connosiuers" who waste her employees time by, yes, abusing their sample priviledges. No samples for you! Mrs. Mento did add a micro sized 25-cent serving size which approximates a free taste, only not free. There was only a wee bit of grumbling this summer over the end of the free taste, which didn't seem to speed up the line outside any (regulars know you can just duck inside the doorway to an inside counter to get served, anyway.). But thankfully Mrs. Mento, whose enthusiasm is famously curbed when it comes to your cute kids but who never fails to gush over a dog, did not end her tradition of free tastes for pooches: her stash of dog treats remained full until the end.