Well if you were wondering if it is summer in New York
yet. It’s fucking summer. After struggling last weekend to resist the urge to
turn the heat back on after the nighttime temperature plunged back down into
the 40s, this week has been a parallel struggle to not install the air conditioners.
It has been 90 degrees every day for the last three days and now we are
supposed to be grateful that this horrible storm from the Midwest (that dropped
enough twisters to get Dorothy a dozen round trips between Kansas and OZ) will be the
thing that breaks the hot and humid spell that has fallen over the city.
But I can’t complain about the heat (even though that is
exactly what this sounds like) because our winter was so arduously long this
year that anything, even 90 degree highs, are an improvement. I was commiserating
tonight with another New Yorker at a party about the temperature swing but more
importantly, the long winter that made everyone I know question our decision to
live in this urine soaked wonderland.
