clouds in my coffee
Dear New York City:What the fuck is your fucking problem?
I've just returned from my weekly walk to the bank. My hands are blue and numb. My nose is running. My ears frozen. It's goddamned 50 degrees today and blowing rain. Again.
50! Do you hear me? 50! As in, "Book 'em, Dano." Five-Oh.
In case you didn't notice, it's May. Damn near June. This weekend is Memorial Day, which for the rest of the sane world means hot dogs cooked on an outdoor grill, box-cut swimsuits and sand in your ass crack. Here, apparently, it means another weekend huddled in my apartment for warmth, ordering Thai take-out and watching "Deadwood" On Demand.
Now, I've been reasonable so far. I knew NYC wasn't a tropical paradise when I moved here, but I've sucked it up and dealt with it. Even when it rained buckets on my birthday weekend. Thanks a lot for that, by the way.
Then, a couple weeks back, you made me think that things had changed. The sun broke through the haze. All along 8th Avenue, folks were smiling and happy. Mohawked gay boys held hands outside the Big Cup. Throngs of foul-mouthed teenagers gathered in clumps along 16th Street. They were happy. We all were smiling. We were so stupid.
Not so today. Chelsea is a gray and wet wasteland. The folks who are out on the street look like a people who have been conquered in war. I can imagine that Parisians looked like this when Nazi tanks rolled down the Champs-Elysee. Disgusted. Despirited. But mostly, pissed off.
Even the Starbucks on 19th Street is oddly despondent today. I ducked in there out of the whipping wind, my Banana Republic umbrella thrashing so hard that I was afraid the metal hook would gouge an eye out. My favorite barista, a
It's not supposed to be like this. What did we do to deserve this?
3 Comments:
its *not* suppose to be that way...but you boys have had a really cool spring...trust me...once the sun does come out, nyc will put atlanta to shame with its heat.
get that lil' window unit ready! :)
**The clouds part momentarily. A golden ray of sunshine, like a delicate saffron color finger slowly reaching down to caress your pale, rain-slapped face, before evaporating into a thunderous boom of lightning, hail, rain and grizzled, leather daddies!**
FOOLISH MORTAL! THOU DARST TO SPEAK TO ME?! I am NEW YORK CITY. I Shalt DESTROY THY INSOLENCE (and thy tan) with rain and shitty weather... and, thou'll be sorry, eh... uh, YOU THINK THOU HAST IT BAD? Thinketh thee of Seattle! Foolish Seattle, it rains there too!!! It rains alot! All the time!
Uhmm, tread carefully lest thee never enjoy a sunny moment again!! Hmm... Oh yeah - and mayst thy subway trains be late and filled with sticky peasants and mayst thy Fresh Direct veggies arrive with too many beets and arugula. BEETS AND ARUGULA!!! BWAHAHA I SHALL BREAK YOU!
*genuflecting before the power and the glory*
(Incidentally, as you posted of Martha Wainwright, recently, her show at the EARL, last night, was fantastic. Yet empty. Isn't she selling out entire venues in, like, Glastonbury?
Post a Comment
<< Home