NOTES IN REGARD TO SUMMER
Last week we asked you to take a second and tell us what you've been up to this summer. Here are a few of the notes that came along.
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So, I'm sitting outside at Worldwide Plaza with a friend, enjoying the sun. A sweaty, overweight middle-aged man wearing shorts and a t-shirt walks by, tossing out a hello as he does. We ignore him not being ladies inclined towards discourse with strangers - and continue our chat. A few minutes later, the man is back, smoking a cigarette and asking us if we know of any places nearby to purchase a bathing suit. He explains that he's just joined the health club there and that, while the club sells bathing suits, they're a little expensive so he's looking for one somewhere else. We think about it and I finally remember a Gap not too far away at 57th and 8th. He looks dubious.
"We're at 50th?"
"Yeah, and this is 8th right here," I say.
He still isn't sure and a long, awkward, shuffling pause ensues. Finally, summoning my most cheerful yet no-nonsense persona, I clap my hands chop-chop style and point the way: "It's seven short blocks. You just joined a gym! It'll be good for you!" I smile. He looks defeated, and none too happy about it. He hunches and turns to walk away, pausing after a couple of steps to grumble over his shoulder at me, "I had a wife like you."
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This summer (mere days ago!) another intra-Brooklyn move. U-haul only had a 1- PM Saturday so the crew and I dive straight into the sopping heat. For some reason I'm wearing blue jeans. In June, a friend of mine had mentioned how heavy denim gets in the heat. "Sure can't wear jeans in the summer," she said. I had never thought about that before. I was raised to believe you could always wear jeans. When Mom got her PhD in clinical psych (the year I was born) she asked Grampa for a blue briefcase -- "to match my Levi's." The joke is that good psychologists should really not wear blue jeans to sessions. They're supposed to wear tuxedos. She learned eventually.
Here I am! All that sweating during the move felt cleansing! Scrambling up the stairwell was like being born! To someone standing on her head! Wearing blue jeans!
Here in the new apartment, we have the Internet too. The joke is that I'm continuing to waste my life.
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On my fire escape in conversation for hours with someone half a world away in Michigan.
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My shirt sticks to my back and I feel as if at any moment death will hit me in the form of heat suffocation. New York kills me in August. But I love the smell of garbage and the sound of rats laughing. Keeps all those suckers who make NYC weak, out of my way. The video peep booths are always nice and cool with purring air conditioning. I love my local Paki friends who sell me Vitamin Water and exchange bills for tokens so I can watch hot porn in a climate controlled environment.
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