Organizers were hoping for a few clouds to lure people from the beach to the screen this weekend, as the first annual Downbeach Film Festival, the baby of veteran shore reporter William Sokolic, kicks off with an impressive lineup. Well, looks pretty sunny until Sunday, but on the cool side. So check out their updated schedule information here, my story on the festival is here. Red carpet arrivals (seriously) begin at 7 p.m. at the Margate Performing Arts Center, 7804 Amherst Avenue, tonight followed by The Man From Earth, and an after party at nearby Sofia's. I'm thinking Phoebe in Wonderland at 4 p.m., Saturday, with cool cats Patricia Clarkson, Felicity Huffman and Bill Pullman, and Stuck at 8:30 p.m. Kevin Smith is receiving an award Saturday night at Resorts. Some of the actors, directors and producers will be in town or on the beach, but probably all ending up at Tomatoes for the after-after party. Or maybe Maynards?

Previously, on Downashore:

A warm ocean, at last, lifeguard races tonight, and another Howarth tears it up

I've been spending a lot of time on the Dorset Avenue bridge this last week, mostly waiting for the crew boats to pass underneath. Last week was the final week for this season's chicken dipper program at the Viking Rowing Club, a fine program run by Ray D'Amico, the coach at St. Augustine Prep, which takes kids as young as 10, but probably younger than that even, and has them in eights along the manmade Inside Thoroughfare waterway that bisects the island, stretching from Albany Avenue (the Wonder Bar) past the Dorset Avenue bridge and up toward Troy Avenue. It was a quiet, rare joy to wait on the bridge with the dogs for the boats to pass under, contemplating the implications of the guy who lives in the tiny house with the enormous boat, to hear all the little person chatter in the boats, the arguing, the coxswains asserting themselves, for better or worse, the others in the boat correcting, the faces turned up when someone spotted you, the furtive waves and laughs. Sometimes the ocean gets all the attention at the shore, but I've found the best times can sometimes be found on the more peaceful inside waterways, where lucky homeowners have found themselves a little Venice in Ventnor.

UPDATE: Actually, today, there is NO view from the bridge, which I feel I should disclose even if it interrupts the mood of the above little reverie. It's totally fogged in as of 3:36 p.m., as it was this morning at 7:30 a.m. No view at all, just fog. Actually, that part of its charm, I think. Forget Venice, it's more like San Francisco today.

Previously, on Downashore

Shoobie awards, part 1
60 is the new 70 (Degrees)
Aretha at the last minute
Ventnor Pier: Give access a chance

If there's a nicer time at the beach than dusk, with the ocean turning that deep navy crayola color, the sky flashing orange, people sneaking their dogs on the beach, families who don't want to pay beach fees appearing for an apres-six swim, I haven't felt it. And it truly is a thing to feel. A settled time, a high tide of contentment washing over everybody. This year, a walk or run down the Boardwalk in Ventnor at dusk has an added view: out into the ocean on the newly reopened and refurbished Ventnor Pier. The cost of the new pier, $3.2 million, was a major issue in local elections, but now that it's open, the newly elected officials seem rather pleased with it. And it is lovely. They've said they want it more accessible to non-fishermen, but so far, they seem unsure how to do that. They moved the two locked gates back further on the pier, and the first gate, they seem to want to leave open to spectators at least part of the time.

Right now, it has a handwritten 8 to 4 p.m., which seems kind of stingy:

Why not 8 a.m to 8 p.m. in the summer? Or, closed at dusk. But already, the local custom seems to have been set: leave the gate ajar when you leave. It's truly too nice to not want the next person to see it. That first gate will take you out to the first "T" with benches. Which is nice, but further out, past the gate that says you require a key, is even lovelier:

The key requires a form and $30 for non-fishermen, $90 to fish, for the season, which I guess they have the right to charge, on top of your beach tag, but it sure seems like the kind of amenity that should be open for a twilight walk, regardless of whether you knew enough to cough up the $30. (You can buy the pass on the pier during the day, or at City Hall).

Again, didn't seem hard to find someone to let you in, and walking to the very end at dusk was not to be missed:

Great view of the surfers:

Seems like in the summer at least, people should be welcome on the pier at least until dark. (Darkness at the edge of the pier did seem unsafe.) Then send the bicycle cops on the Boardwalk to lock the gate. It's also been striking to look at the pier from the Boardwalk and see so many people walking out to the end, to see movement on such an iconic structure. In the meantime, check it out if you're in Ventnor.
And leave the gate open for the next guy:

UPDATE: Today, at midday, the second gate was locked, so people walking onto the pier without a fishing key could only get halfway. And then peer, pun intended, through the gate at the rest of it. To which I say, why oh why? Especially because the new commissioners promised to make the pier open to all residents, not just the several hundred fishermen. It seems like if you at least have a beach tag, the pier should be open to you. All that money, why not let as many people as possible enjoy?

In today's Inquirer, I make fun of my life as an unlikely Jersey shore local and attempt to explain a few things to shoobie-land, and on philly.com, people are invited to get annoyed with me. Please feel free.
My little piece may be viewed as a companion to piece to the previously posted Ode to Spending Time at the Shore, written from a down for the weekend perspective by one of my cool Philly nabes.
And if you haven't weighed in on the LBI, Hoagies or Subs, Bennies or Shoobies, South Jersey or North? dispute, please do.
There's also the Virginia Beach versus Myrtle Beach versus Jersey Shore conflagration.
And once again, here's my early pick for a summer song, by Brazilian pop group CSS, although it's been around since late Fall, but that still qualifies it for summer of 08 in my book. Contains the excellent lyric: "Music is my Beach House." But what does that mean?

Doesn't look much like beach weather today, but you know it's almost that time again by that old harbinger of summer: The Inquirer's Shore guide. As an added bonus to blog readers, here's an "Ode to Spending Time at the Shore" sent in during the offseason by one of my summer neighbors, the kind of guy who makes where I live seem like a hip suburb of Northern Liberties during certain months of the year. This tribute nicely captures the weirdness of the Jersey shore, where your thoughts can range from awe at the natural beauty to obsession over variances. Thanks for this, see you soon on the block. Come over for a cup of wifi anytime.

Ode to spending time at the shore …

Cruise
Top down, Unload.

Dropping in …
Ventnor pier waves
locals whisper – “he’s going to get hurt (for 25 years plus!)”
Feel, breeze, heat, people, days of old,
argue about zoning,
construction
casino buses pour in …
give the elderly something to do.

Local / out of towners
mixing it up on the streets of Margate …
nice car, who cares Hot Rod,
experience, you know ... the $$$

Miss the friends the years make
forever at a loss
who actually likes us ... tolerates.
Must wait and wait and wait and wait - acceptance
into the club.
as rare as a song bird singing in The City …

Forever the names
and the whispers, oh the whispers … the $$$ …
isolated, remorse, taxed, crowded, shunned …

our door has always been open...

A day after the Day-After-Mother's Day nor'easter, voters in Ventnor did something as rare as that mid-May winter storm: they threw out the entire incumbent slate of Mayor and Commissioners. In an election literally watched from both sides of the Atlantic _ shout out Sal of Ventnor, Isle of Wight, UK _ not to mention boths sides of the Delaware River, longtime local figure Mayor Tim Kreischer, son of longtime local stalwart Pete Kreischer, and his team were overwhelmingly voted out of office after 16 years. The challengers rode a wave of discontent over high taxes and big projects, including the aforementioned dunes that took a beating in this week's storm, the not-quite-yet finished rebuilding of the iconic Ventnor Pier, the pretty and grand new library on Atlantic Avenue, which managed to find a design that while pleasing, doesn't really fit many more books than the old building, but has nice dance studios and an underused second floor. The failed redevelopment by eminent domain of the north end of town didn't help either. And don't get me started about the Peebles that finally took over the Bradley's empty box. Theresa Kelly, Steve Weintrob and John Piatt were the favorites of the second-home crowd (every Philly person on my block had their sign on their lawns), but by the end, they had won over enough locals as well. They cleverly took over the marquee of the old Ventnor movie theater _ a symbol of the failed redevelopment _ with their slogan: Enough is Enough. They have promised to make the fishing pier accessible to more than just the fisherman, and the government more efficient and open. Ok, now can someone please revive the movie theater?

>Last night, Cookie Till, owner of Steve and Cookies By the Bay, took her application for a weekly farmers market in the parking lot of her Margate restaurant and won approval. This followed a contentious but awfully entertaining dispute with Howard Seiden, owner of Casel's supermarket, who opposed the plan, saying the farmers would unfairly compete with his and other stores in town. The market will operate Thursdays from 9 a.m. to 1 p.m. from late June through early August. Martin DeAngelis reports that Seiden's attorney, Richard King, predicted a slippery slope from tomatoes and lettuce to velvet Elvis. Till's approval is for one year.

An early sign of summer at the shore, every year, is the crop of new restaurants. We keep driving by Ventnor's newest offering, the as-yet-named pizza place on Dorset Avenue, a few blocks on the left before you get to the bridge. At one point, the red-shingled building had a sign that said Pizza Mia. Cool, we thought. A few weeks later, that was replaced by a fancier scripted sign that said "The Red Room Cafe." Um, not so much. Now, there's no sign. Word on the street is that the new owners, who have done a major renovation job including street scaping and new trees in preparation for this spring's opening, originally wanted to call the place, simply, SLICE. That, we like very much. Hope you also serve good JAVA.
UPDATE: What do I know, anyway. Pizza Mia/Slice/Red Room Cafe has opened its doors as the Red Room Cafe with some good local buzz, a pretty mocha and tan awning, a chic decor, gourmet pizzas and sidewalk tables. It's joined on that block of Dorset, just past Monmouth as you're headed toward the beach, by the relocated Rain Florist. Imagine that, you've got your flowers, your wine, your dinner all in one block, plus Custard's a short walk away for desert. All that's missing is a cool coffee shop in Sue Van Duyne's old pottery store. Takers anyone?
SECOND UPDATE: Ok, last Friday? A 45-minute wait for a table at the brilliantly-named red Room Cafe, unless you had a reservation. Unheard of for a new restaurant pre-Memorial Day! The buzz on the food continues to be strong. Plus, the owner will walk down the block to get you a bottle of wine from the liquor store, which itself caved to peer pressure and painted its exterior and stays open until 11 p.m. And now there's an actual possibly true rumor of a cafe/bakery coming to Sue Van Duyne's old pottery shop. Again, until I buy my first latte on Dorset Avenue, I won't believe it.
Meanwhile, in the little spot on Ventnor Avenue next to Cleo's that used to hold the excellent Manna and before that LoBianco's (Manna has since moved to LoBianco's spot at Jerome and Ventnor in Margate), new owners are opening up a restaurant this month called Gertrude's.

That spot has been a winner for years, let's hope it continues.
UPDATE: Gertrude's is open, and was also nicely buzzing with people last week, all of whom seemed to be Margate lawyers who knew each other. Was like walking into someone else's dinner party.

The massive pier reconstruction has begun in Ventnor, a controversial project that may had the incidental effect of galvanizing an opposition movement among second-homers in this town. In any case, new pilings are being installed, and the pier's floor/roof/cover (a designation that depends on whether your perspective is fisherman walking out on the pier, beach trekker passing underneath or slacker poking around at the sand in the shade) ripped off. It's starting to look a little like Stonehenge out there:

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.

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).

Hi, folks. Sorry for the lull in postings - we've had lots of vacations among the Downashore team. I'm back from Seattle myself, which for all its water is pretty far removed from a Shore trip.

In any case, our own Amy Rosenberg today writes about a Ventnor woman whose spirit lives on through her blog. Jennifer Cakert died last year at age 26, and her mom takes comfort in the thriving online community that keeps her alive.

Read the full story.

Margate's been in the spotlight recently - and not a welcome spotlight, given that the camera crews have been swirling since a British tourist was stabbed to death there last weekend. Today, Inquirer columnist Dan Rubin turns his attentions to the Shore burg. Specifically, he looks at Maynard's, an old-school bar that stands amid tony restaurants and shops, a holdout from a different time. (Yes, the man who was killed in Margate drank there the night he died, and no, there was no trouble at the bar.)

Read the full story.

So...you may be wondering, what does 100 degrees feel like? Thick, palpable, can't breath heat. Intensive care unit heat. Living at the shore in an old house without air conditioning, you quickly learn the basics, like, the house guests will arrive during the hottest day of the summer.
Also this:
Land breeze, bad.
Sea breeze, good.
Land breeze: flies, hot air, heat, existential dread.
Sea breeze: cool, flies go back to the bay where they belong. Optimistic sense of own survival returns.
Ceiling fans and air vents just don't work like they used to, I guess. The wall units are effective only until the old wiring blows their fuses. The tried and true freezing cold shower right before bed time trick you learned as a child helps. The ocean, fortunately a perfect 77 degrees to go with the perfect 100 recorded at A.C. International (in fairness about 10 miles inland), is filled with swimmers long after the lifguards go home at 6 p.m. (Some years, this kind of heat is also accompanied by a humorless, freezing ocean due to an upwelling effect that pleases nobody but the ice cream vendors.) Giving up your one air conditioned room to your child seems like the ultimate sacrifice. You vow to upgrade before next summer, but then, like a miracle, something in the air shifts. Literally. if you're outside at the shore, or even sometimes if you're inside, you can feel the moment it does. The breeze is suddenly cool again, coming from the ocean, from the east, from that unbroken horizon of coolness and water! Rejoice! The wicked land breeze from the west is dead. This morning, I felt a shift around 3 a.m., I think. The air, no longer coagulating around the eyes and throat. It is ... circulating.

This is a Margate Bridge pass (as captured on iphotobooth, anyway). Feel free to get to know it. If purchased, it will a) get you a cheaper toll rate to get over that quirky privately owned bridge and causeway that connects what we locals call (and I'm not proud of this) "off-shore" (and everyone else calls home) with Jerome Avenue in Margate, and b) will help speed things along for the rest of us, thank you very much. Wave to the ospreys nesting on the Longport side as you drive in.
Now, in the interest of full-disclosure, I will admit to this: During my
reverse-shoobie trips into Philadelphia (Does this makes me a, say, floopie because I'm wearing flip flops into town?), I have been known to absentmindedly wave a Margate Bridge Pass at the EZ Pass detector to try to get over the Ben Franklin Bridge. It doesn't work. I'm not sure what you would call a shore local who tries to gain entree to Philadelphia with a Margate bridge pass (please be nice), but doofus is probably a good start. Too much sun, maybe. See, it works both ways.

Police divers in Ventnor, N.J., recovered the body of a Sicklerville man early this morning, the Inquirer reports.

Investigators say Ventnor Police received a 911 call just after midnight, saying that a man was diving into the water at Princeton Avenue and the Bay, and that he was not resurfacing.

Search and rescue teams found the body of Jeremy Williams, 24, of Sicklerville.

Police are investigating the events leading up to William's death.

No, he's really not worried about skin cancer. The Inquirer's Amy Rosenberg tells the tale of Bruno Battaglia, a 59-year-old unabashed sun worshipper who sits on Ventnor's Newport Avenue beach for eight hours at a stretch, every day. Battaglia is, Amy tells us, "the Jersey Shore's ultimate beach bum, a dude with a California mentality and Peter Frampton hair, who toughs it out in Ventnor because, well, that's where his mom lives." Read the full story here.
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Mrs. Leahy returned to Ventnor this week, along with 30 of her nearest and dearest. But instead of staying at the shore home her family built and owned for 75 years, the family stayed across the street, renting the sprawling gray house owned by the Dominican Nuns of Blauvelt, N.Y. (To see why the nuns are now landlords, click here.) Twelve years ago, as taxes rose, new construction blocked their views, and the older generation that united them all had passed along, Mrs. Leahy and her two siblings reluctantly sold the house they loved _ and kept immaculate, summer after summer, from the third floor dormer to the basement, where the lifeguards would come to shower. But as is so often the case with these family heirlooms, the sale, which made sense for all the right reasons, financial and practical, still left a hole in the family's heart _ and summers _ that was not easily filled. And so, twelve years later, Mrs. Leahy is again presiding over dinners for 30 served in a big pan, margaritas on the porch and, no doubt, keeping the nuns' house immaculate. (The new, or no longer that new, owners of her old house have never been able to match the spic and shine of the previous owners, and face it, the geraniums just never bloomed as big.) She declined an offer to go through the house again, though in truth, much of it is still as they left it. But others in the family poked around, approved of the newly paved driveway and the rosebushes out front, as they tried to recreate the old sense of family togetherness and contentedness that is a shore house's true gift. From the view across the street, it seems clear they succeeded. And so we say, welcome back to Dorset Avenue, Mrs. Leahy and family. Come back anytime.

So where can you see fireworks on the Fourth of July at the shore? Philly.com has compiled a list for you:

Atlantic City: Fireworks after the Atlantic City Surf baseball game, which begins at 7:05.

Cape May: Fireworks shot off on a barge on the ocean, visible from the beach, no charge. For tickets to an All-American picnic to be held on the lawn of historic Congress Hall, held before the show, contact Congress Hall at 888-944-1816. Tickets $20.

Lower Township: Fireworks at the Cape May Ferry Terminal Grounds, 9:30 p.m., with live music, and food available for purchase beginning at 7:30.

Ocean City: Fireworks after a kite-flying contest and other entertainment, beginning at 9 p.m., at Carey Stadium, 6th Street off the Boardwalk.

Sea Isle City: Fireworks at 9 p.m., JFK Boulevard and the beach.

Stone Harbor: Fireworks and band concert at the 80th Street Fields, 9 p.m.

Wildwood: Fireworks at 10 p.m., Boardwalk at Pine Avenue.

Ventnor: Fireworks at 9 p.m., raindate Saturday July 7.

For a list of fireworks displays scheduled throughout the region, see our Fourth of July guide.

America's favorite oversized wooden elephant by the sea is going through what seems to be seasonal trauma here in Margate. Last summer, the problems were deeply rooted, psychological ("was Lucy really a boy?), financial (should the city seize control from the Lucy Committee?) and, most dramatically, cosmic (her famous howdah, the thing that sits on top of her back, struck by lightning!).
This summer, the old lug looks kind of dapper from ground level, see above, with some fancy new nail polish, no idea what the J stands for, but on top, things are a little, shall we say, open-ended. Lucy has temporarily lost the roof of her howdah. It now sits on the ground, with all its rot exposed like, say, a workman's belly on a hot day.

This is Tom Haight, an employee of MB Markland contractors, who this morning was selflessly ignoring the lure of the 70-degree water, and repairing rotted wood that was found after the howdah was removed. The lightning bolt struck Lucy's crescent and star (leading, perhaps, to this year's Lucy existential question: is Lucy a Muslim?) and blew apart the wood, but contractors found massive rotting of wood and steel throughout the structure. They are now basically rebuilding the fiberglass and wood. Haight, whose last job was an actual house, though he's also worked on dog houses, noted the unusual nature of the work. "Whoever built this thing was crazy," he explained.
Here's another look.

There's a minnow mystery at the Jersey Shore, the Press of Atlantic City reports. “I have no minnows. The guys who catch them for a living don't know why,” said Tony Eaton, of Captain Andy's in Margate. Some bait shops figure the water is still too cold or the problem is the recent full moon, which drives minnows up into the tidal grasses to breed.
Read the full story.

Edwin Tuttle gave the world many gifts _ just ask people at the Pennsylvania Ballet _ but none more beautiful than the little beachfront lot across the street from his shore house in Ventnor that he turned into a free standing patio two decades ago and then left alone. The former head of Pennwalt Corp. preserved this lot at Sacramento and the Boardwalk to preserve his own view, naturally, but also that of his neighbors. He brought in a statue of a nymph, a replica of one in Pompeii, which he replaced with another replica when the first one was stolen. He put in circular patterned pavers like it was a piazza in Florence and chairs and benches and a pavilion that, truth be told, nobody really ever sat in it. Maybe one time, they had a barbecue. The garden was valued for what it wasn't. It wasn't another big house at the shore. It didn't block anything. It wasn't for sale. It wasn't available. It wasn't fenced in, just a little gate around it. When he died last year, he left the lot to his neighbor directly across the street from him, whose house borders the lot, another act of generosity in a lifetime full of them. But taxes on the lot are $26,000 and the neighbor, an 80-year-old widow, can't afford them. By selling the lot, which has an asking price of about $1 million, she will be able to live out her life in the two story bungalow the Wades have lived in since the early 60s. She thinks Edwin Tuttle meant for that to be the case. "It's been lovely for everyone," she said last night, as dusk fell on a perfectly lovely evening along the Boardwalk. She didn't want her full name used. "I am just not able to keep it." Here's another photo.

And now, for a little local perspective…That was a doozy of a holiday weekend, its effects still lingering down here in Ventnor, a weekend that jolted the locals right out of their smug little off-season bliss.
Even after all these years, it’s still a shock to see your Philly peeps descending on your town, bringing fancy cars and haircuts and college t-shirts and the assumption that nobody actually lives at the shore. Usually, the Memorial Day weather mocks all of you, but not this year. In a dozen years of living at the shore, I cannot remember when summer threw down its gauntlet so dramatically.
Of course, like a true local, I was nowhere to be found, having bolted for a family event in Boston, leaving the beach, as someone suggested to me, to the amateurs. Returning to town on Monday evening was like walking through a political convention floor after the candidate has accepted the nomination. The town was spent. People were suddenly tan and in a mid-summer slurry cheer. Guy the ice cream man who lives near me reported perfect ice cream weather: hot air, cold water.
Best story I heard: The woman on one beach in Ventnor who had to go to the bathroom and so she got in her car, drove over the Dorset Avenue bridge headed for her home in the Heights, was promptly stopped by the Ventnor police and given a $46 ticket for not wearing a seatbelt. Harsh.
The woman who walked our dogs while we were away reported being cursed out by beach goers walking in the middle of the street. It is a street, guys. Please curb your children.
Anyway, if this weather keeps up, should be an interesting season, though nothing perhaps could top last summer for weirdness, at least at one beach at the shore, (whose location shall remain undisclosed, to protect the allegedly overzealously prosecuted but mercifully sentenced), where a friendly gent on house arrest was able to set up his chair on the sand close enough to his beachfront house so that he and his ankle bracelet were still in compliance. Must have left a uniquely Jersey tan line.

From Belmar to Cape May, shore towns and organizations will honor the memory of those Americans who have died in military service to our country. A list of services scheduled for Saturday and Monday follows.

Jersey Shore communities have a whole bunch of crazy rules about what you can and can't do on the beach, the Associated Press reports. Did you know you can't draw dirty pictures in the sands of Belmar, or ride a camel on the beach in Wildwood? And keep your ruler ready if your kids are digging in the sand on Long Beach Island.
Read the full story.