The New York Aquarium.  Especially great for kids, yet fun for even me, who likes children about as much as I enjoy getting a splinter.  I am known to make them cry by glancing in their general direction...but at least I don't make my OWN COUSIN cower, trembling in fear, like my boyfriend does to poor Abigail...whose name, I may add, I had to remind him of.   Anyway, the dolphins, of course, are the highlight.  I think everyone loves them because it always looks like they are smiling, sort of like the dopey guy at work who just ambles along through life no matter how bad the boss may yell at him for screwing up once again.  The seahorses appear pensive -- or incredibly dense.   This all depends on the angle of the glass and how many morning Screwdrivers you have had, according to the slurring lady who gushed over my rough sketch of the Leafy Dragon even though it looked more like the bottom of a shoe.  The crab looks, well, irritated, and the Beluga whale is just fat.

This time around I had the pleasure of attending a calm Sunday morning VIP special breakfast.  When I had initially visited the Aquarium roughly five years ago, I had the misfortune of choosing a Jewish holiday during which every kid with a yarmulke was off from school.  I am nursing stroller sores on my Achilles tendons to this very day.

July 4 Fare.  "Don't miss the boat" ha, ha, ha.  The sailing vessels from around the globe were majestic to glimpse, provided you don't mind being surrounded by gaggles of gawkers who spew bad puns.  The worst I  heard was "You're full of ship."  The boat-watching does, however, tend to get a little slow...just "waiting for your ship to come in."  Even when you start to make it more creative by wondering what the people on the boats had for  breakfast, it tends to get a little bland as they painfully wend their way towards shore.  If you like boats, however, better mark your calendars for the next Op-Sail now.  It's in 2008.

By far, the highlight of my four-day holiday weekend was Nathan's Famous Hotdog Eating Contest -- puke and all.  That competition was a hit as long as you find joy in tolerating hot sun and chunks of half-eaten food stuck to the bottom half of the   contestants' faces.  No, the chap from Brooklyn didn't win, but he placed fifth and I managed to get his  autograph.  He also began to gag after (almost) all 19 of his franks were (almost) consumed.  Others joined in the gag fest, learning quickly to swallow the chunks back down or else get penalized.  UGH.  I had never been to an eating contest yet later learned that it runs in the family.  In fact, my dad won with cake donuts  back in college.  And I now know why he hates blueberries.

Hanging out at the beach is not a bad activity for the lengthy holiday  weekend.   Just make sure you go early to avoid major crowds coupled with major garbage.   Oh yeah, and the hot sun.  Some tips.  Tip one: don't fall prey to the fallacy you are above sunblock 30 just because you got a "base tan" from Sunday's BBQ -- your skin will still sear.   And, tip two:  refrain from wasting all your film on some guy buried up to his neck, a woman resembling the Beluga sunbathing in bright yellow and a clump of Japanese tourist who went in the ocean fully clothed only to come out and roll around in the sand.   No matter how attractive these photos may seem at the time, you will still be mad at yourself when you run out of film JUST IN TIME for Hotdog Eating Contest even though you knew damn well that you only brought the one roll.

The Boardwalk is an experience all its own.  I have seen enough of the Coney Island   Boardwalk in two weeks to last me a lifetime.  Some things change -- the attitudes get  nastier, the cops get more visible, and the  debris becomes much more pronounced.  Avoid a pre-dawn Sunday stroll at all costs.  Some things stay the same, like the guy so fluorescent he glows.  Other things are to be heeded: no biking on the Boardwalk after 10 a.m., kids who try to ride you off the path will fall and not get hurt.  You will fall and get hurt.  Try to avoid making my own mistake of  seeing how fast I can bike the Boardwalk in one fell swoop on a crowded morning, thereby making an old man forever hate bikers everywhere.

The Promenade.  I am referring to the one that runs along the Belt  Parkway, not the one in Brooklyn Heights which I still need to explore.  This particular promenade is ideal for morning biking -- except, of course, on the 4th of July -- and it brings with it an interesting array of things to see.  You get a fine mix of people.  Easy enough to avoid (save for the roller bladers) and enjoyable enough to analyze.   During the holiday weekend, there were also two rats with their heads blown off strewn on the path.   Not only does this make for good writing and drawing material, they break up the mundane pattern of smashed pigeon viewing.  When I mentioned their unfortunate presence to a nearby cop, he speculated that it was either a.) the Department of Sanitation feeding them M80s or b.) kids getting their kicks with BB guns (see comment on splinters).  He also told me he liked my tattoo, showing me his own upper-arm tribal band, and mentioned that, in the past, a fellow officer competed in the Nathan's contest, downing a total of 16 hotdogs.

"Celebrate Brooklyn."  This gala affair is both good and bad.  I mean, this year they inducted Doc from "Love Boat" into the Brooklyn Walk of Fame -- so what can possibly top that at a later date?  The month-or-so long series of concerts -- which are free to the public, unless you don't want to feel like a cheapskate asshole and give them the $3 -- are most definitely worth it.  I say this only after one shot at the deal, getting a chance to hear some blues/rockabilly type music I would never listen to in a million years yet ended up with the CD.  The coronation ceremony on the actual "Welcome Back to Brooklyn" day, however, was a little lengthy and too damn hot.   Working as a reporter for local cable, I was able to nab...or should I say GRAB (and I mean  GRAB...my peers laughed upon seeing the video footage) the King and Queen for a quick interview.  This year's honorees, Jerry Stiller (George's dad from "Seinfeld") and wife Anne Meara (playwright and actress who was on "Archie Bunker's Place" in the past), made a stellar couple to represent Brooklyn.  And, although he kept fidgeting with it, Jerry told me the crown didn't itch.

Street Fairs.  Must avoid...especially when on a bike.  Unless, of course, you are my  boyfriend who has a very humorous tale about cycling through the center of 18th Avenue one fateful day....

Flea Markets.   83rd and Bay Parkway, Bensonhurst.  This church holds a staple market throughout the summer, chock full of staple junk.  Cheap hair accessories.  Designer kids clothing.  A purple dress I will never wear and knew I would never wear but it was a bargain.

Ocean Avenue and Voorhies, Sheepshead Bay.  At this church fair I purchased a $5 piggy bank which I was able to talk down to $3 after explaining to the guy I'd have no money left to put in it if I gave him the asking price.  When I got home, the stopper rotted off.  Also found a $2 brass ashtray/incense holder imported from Israel.

18th Avenue and 82nd Street, Bensonhurst.  Here I bought a glow in the dark ghost that no longer glows after years of festering in a smoke-filled house.  Really have to quit.

St. Finbar, Bath Avenue and Bay 22nd Street, Bensonhurst.  This is the mother lode of all flea markets; the mention of its name makes me giddy with anticipation.  At this church you can find basically anything you are looking for...good and cheap, too.   Items include colored paper and envelopes sold in bulk, grab bags of trinkets at whatever price you can haggle down to, a black choker I actually DO wear, books when the book lady isn't feeling lazy, a $5 mood ring, vinyl platform boots (for once I used my head at a flea mart and didn't buy size nine).  Held periodically throughout the summer, this one is a must see.  You don't even have to rush there to hit the bargains since there is always more than enough to go around.

So, regardless of myth and whatever line your travel agent may try to feed you, you don't even have to leave Brooklyn for plenty of summer fun.   Although I am sure I would not have minded writing all about what Paris has to offer...

Read Ryn's poem about Summer Fun, "An Aftermath."