On Sunshine (Cinemas)

Here in New York, we had about 3 weeks of rain (or so it felt) followed immediately by a heavy haze of humidity.  My hair has never looked worse!  Please send help (in the form of anti-frizz styling products).

Both types of weather - the non-stop rain and the lingering humidity - preclude outdoor activities and seem to call for seeking refuge in the climate-controlled environs of a local movie theater.

In that spirit, my friend Abs and I recently tripped down to the Lower East Side to see Salmon Fishing in Yemen.  It was ok - for a romantic comedy (not my favorite genre).  But the overall movie-going experience was just what Dr. Overcast ordered.

What is it about this particular movie theater down on Houston?  I don't know, but it's one of my favorites in the city.  I can't recall ever having a bad experience here.  I've seen a lot of good films here.  I've never gotten bed-bugs here (an unfortunately real concern with NYC theaters).  It feels a little like a throw-back, not like a cookie-cutter carbon-copy of every other theater.  Plus, once I saw Chris Noth leaning in the doorway.  Also, they have fancy popcorn toppings in the lobby.

So I guess I do have my reasons for favoring this theater.  Some more legitimate than others.

Also, I appreciate any theater that makes going to the movies feel like an experience - a la the "Let's Go to the Movies" scene from Annie.  (You know, the influence of that musical on my life cannot be overstated.)

Another wonderful thing about the trip down to Sunshine?  Spending time in a neighborhood I don't usually frequent.  So good to get out of the rut!  More on that later...

Sunday in the Park, With Snow

Literary Walk is my most favorite, favorite part of the park.  

Just look at those trees!!  Old and gnarly and beautiful in any season.

CJ and Em on our walk to church.

Balto is totes used to this kind of weather.  

I think he thrives on it, being Siberian and all.

*Not pictured: a man practicing his fly-fishing casting with a neon orange line.  Not in or near a lake - just standing on a path in the middle of the park. Says the city of New York: to each his own.

Snowandering

Scenes from Saturday morning errand-running...

Football fever - not cooled by the snow

Air-conditioner repair man gets a day off

Cathedral of St. John the Divine

Columbia University

Nussbaum & Wu: you want their black & white cookies

Riverside Park winter sports

The Hudson River and Jersey, beyond

Frigiderriere

Central Park on Sunday

It was COLD in the city this weekend.  

I suppose I don't have license to complain about the cold, though, as I've already complained far too much about the heat.  So - don't take that as a complaint.  Take it as a statement of fact.  It was COLD.  That's all.

I walked across the park on Sunday afternoon, heading home from Scrabble before heading out again to church.  The park was relatively empty.  Not entirely empty (very few places in the city ever are) but empty relative to its normal weekend busyness.  There were some requisite joggers at the Reservoir, some dogs with their owners and, of course, me.  But few others.

I passed the now-abandoned tennis courts, crunched over what-used-to-be-grass, looked up at naked trees. A couple of them had retained their leaves, but the leaves were mud-brown and appeared frozen.  When the wind blew through them, it sounded like paper rustling or ghosts hissing; there was hardly any movement. 

I felt lucky to live so close, to be able to watch the park cycle through the seasons.  Even in her tundra-like state on Sunday, she was a very pretty park.

*  *  *

Later that evening, in a drafty old church building downtown, the pastor paused mid-sermon.  "I'm sorry for speaking so fast," he apologized, "But I am freezing."

Just stating the facts.

Summer-izing:
The Days of Whine & Insomnia

Somewheres in the West Village

I am not the best version of myself in the summer. 

The heat makes me cranky.

Plus, it makes me a bad eater and a bad sleeper.

The crankiness I remember all the year through, but the changed eating / sleeping patterns I always seem to forget until I'm in the middle of them. 

Tuesday night I ate chips & salsa for dinner (and nothing else, because everything else sounded 'gross').  And then I wasted time until the wee small hours (as disinterested in sleep as I was in food), watching re-runs of Cheers and wondering what was wrong with me, before I finally remembered:

"Oh right. Summer is wrong with me."

It's too hot for sleep, and too hot for food.  But definitely not too hot to whine about it.

On a positive note, we have somehow reached the end of July already.  Summer feels speedy this year, and that's all right with me.

Days Like This

Rooftop in Midtown

Yesterday it rained and snowed and sleeted and hailed and thundered.

I complained about the crazy weather, along with everyone else, because that seemed like the socially acceptable thing to do.  "Can you believe this weather?  It's CRAZY!"

But truth?  I kinda dug it, this last hurrah of winter.  I dug the necessity of a scarf and a hat, a sweater, a warm coat.

Spring is lovely, but it can wait another week or two.  Because the problem with spring is that summer comes chasing immediately after it, and I hate summer. Really, really, I do.  It's a sticky, stinky, oppressive burden to be borne, if you want to know what I think (and I'm assuming you do, as you're reading my blog).

So - with an eye to that scarf-less season stretching ahead - I didn't so much mind yesterday's weather, and I didn't so much mind waking up this morning to see snow on the rooftops across the street.  Winter is still alright with me.  For a couple more weeks at least.

Snow: Still, More, Again

Tromping home through the snow

After work last night, I sat in my apartment listening to thunder, sleet, and snow in succession.  I was supposed to go out for an event with my new Improv group, but "out" sounded nasty and I debated staying "in" instead. Living in the city, though, I don't have a real good "need to stay off the roads" excuse. So on came the boots and off I went.

My teammates and I saw a show, then huddled in the corner of a dive bar just south of Penn Station.  Through the window behind us, we watched as 8th Avenue slowly disappeared under a white blanket.  It kept snowing and we kept ordering rounds of $2.50 PBRs, talking about our high-school selves and our families of origin and other facts you could file in the category "Things You Might Not Know About Me."

It was nearly 2am by the time I got home, and it was nearly 6am when I got up, for my Thursday morning group.  Ouch.  But then I saw an email that group was cancelled, and had a voice-mail saying work was delayed, due to the snow.  So I went back to sleep.

Oh man.  I love going back to sleep, don't you?  It's one of my favorite things.

Other favorite things include full snow days, but The Man at The Firm didn't see fit to give us the whole day to play, just a 1.5 hour delay.  Too bad, but I'll take what I can get.  And what I got was a good night, a slow morning, and that blessed opportunity to go back to sleep (at least for a little while).  Nice.

Giving January What For

In recent conversations with various people, a general theme has emerged: this month kind of sucks.

Can you relate?  Does everything just seem a little bit worse right now?  Is your mood inside as gray as the skies outside?  Do minor setbacks feel like calamities?  Have you been listening to too much Gordon Lightfoot, drinking too much red wine (alone), spending too much time whining, wasting too much energy shaking your fist at weather.com?

If "yes" - then take heart: it's not your fault.  You may be suffering from a medical condition known as January.

I woke up with a BIG case of the Januaries on Saturday. One of those "Everything is terrible!" and "Nothing is going right!" kind of moods that are no fun to experience nor be around.  So I exiled myself to Riverside Park for a long walk.

I wore my running shoes, not realizing that the park was still snow-covered.  Everything is terrible!  Despite my inappropriate footwear, I walked on.  And on.  And on.  I was determined to walk away the mood, so I continued walking up to 123rd Street, to check out a private grave I recently read about...because nothing cures a bad mood like a visit to a grave?? Everything is terrible!

En route to that site, however, I passed a more familiar one: the dog-run at West 105th Street.  I love all dog-runs (watching cute pups play gives a sort of vicarious happiness) but this run is a particular fave: it's where I first fell in love with the city, years and years ago, while visiting a friend before moving here myself.  So on Saturday I stopped, stood in the snow despite my dampening feet, and watched happy dogs run and jump and bark and chase.  It was adorable.

And I felt a little better.  Everything got a little less terrible.  My case of the Januaries went into temporary remission.

It wasn't an ultimate cure, of course.  My Januaries will continue to return, and I will continue to try to beat them back with moments of found-joy, like visits to a dog-run, or movies with friends, or listening to upbeat 80's dance songs instead of melancholy 70's folk songs.

And I encourage you to do the same, because

January: Together We Can Beat This Sucker

S'no Snow

Apparently there is a snow storm heading our way.  Excitable types on Facebook are using the word "blizzard."  Someone said their friend was scheduled to travel tomorrow evening, but their flight was already cancelled.  I looked out the window, but I don't see any snow.  Yet?

The Firm just sent around its standard "Weather Advisory" email, instructing us on how to handle any changes to normal office operations that may occur as a result of said storm/blizzard.  Co-workers are asking, "Are you ready for the snow?"  I smile and say something benign like, "I hope so!" but really I'm thinking, "WHAT SNOW!?"

When it comes to snow, I refuse to get my hopes up.  I'll believe it when I see it. 

Could this be because I have so little faith in meteorologists, having been lied to many times before when it comes to weather?

Is it because I grew up in an area where we don't get much snow, where the threat of a little white stuff throws people into a panic, where local news reports of impending storms are given dooms-day weight, and where we stock up on milk, bread and toilet paper until the store shelves are bare, and then - inevitably - wake to find streets dry and clear, and trudge off to school/work after all?

Am I just conditioned to be disappointed by snow?  By it not showing up when I want it to, or expect it to?

Or is this a deeper hope issue (should I even go there?) and does my believe-it-when-I-see-it attitude extend beyond precipitation?  Am I so afraid of disappointment that I've given up hoping entirely - for the big things and the little things, alike?

Nah.  Let's blame it on lying meteorologists and leave it at that.


Postscript, 1/12/11: We got some snow, but not a lot and certainly not a blizzard.  I was right!!  However, there is little joy in that right-ness, because I'm writing this from a cubicle in midtown rather than a snow fort in Central Park.

Coloring

At a playing field on Canal Street

It's muggy tonight.  And temperatures are supposed to reach the upper-80's on Friday.  Summer's last stand.

But slowly, slowly I see the leaves change colors.

Repent, Summer!  Your end is near.

Hi Fall, you blazin' beauty!  I'm glad to see you again.

The Price We Pay

Autumn in New York is my favorite. Winter isn't so bad. And Spring is lovely.

But in order to arrive at these fair seasons, we first have to survive Summer.

It's been brutal, lately. It has settled into the concrete. Recent rainstorms haven't done much to clear the air, which is thick and unmoving. The city feels gross, everything is sticky, and it smells. You become convinced the subway platforms are the very gates of Hell. You quite willingly pay $13 to watch a movie - ANY movie - if it means you can sit in an air-conditioned room for a few hours.

I realized that I am now happy when I walk through the doors of my office (as opposed to resigned & reluctant) because of that sweet, sweet AC that greets me every morning. Strange. Unsettling.

I found hope, though - a glimmer of hope - in an unlikely place: The GAP. Walking into their store on 42nd Street the other day, I noticed that floral sundresses and pastel tees had been replaced by navy button-downs, mustard yellow cardigans. Jeans, not shorts, were occupying the key display areas. It's the beginning of the Fall collection!

Now, I know it's still July, and I know we still have a long way to go before cardigan season. But I glimpsed the future at the GAP, and it was good.  A welcome reminder that autumn will come again.

Summer is nasty, but it's only a season. This heat, this humidity, this too shall pass. And in the meantime I keep telling myself that it's just the price we have to pay for the rest of the year.

Despite the Heat It'll Be All Right

Church doors on E. 22nd Street

It was hot (h-o-t) at church on Sunday. Well, it was hot everywhere in the city, but it seemed especially so in the un-airconditioned auditorium where my church meets. As I had to be there early (to help set up) and stay a little bit afterwards (to help break down), it made for a very sticky 2.5 hours. I picked a seat strategically near a fan and sipped on iced coffee during the sermon. I have summer strategies, you see.

During the passing of the peace (mid-service) I stood in a group of four, as we talked idly about the heat and fanned ourselves with our church bulletins. I always feel very “southern lady” when I fan myself with a church bulletin.

And I am always reminded of that line from To Kill A Mockingbird, comparing southern ladies in the summer to “soft teacakes with frostings of sweat and sweet talcum.” I don’t know what it is about that line, but it’s been lodged in my brain since seventh-grade English class. I guess it just paints a good and true picture. (Also, I love alliteration.)

Towards the end of the service it was time to take communion, so I peeled myself off my chair and went forward to help serve. Our church is small, so I know a fair percentage of peoples' names. As people came forward, I extended the communion cup towards them, personalizing the offering when I could: "Lou, the blood of Christ, shed for you." and "Sue, the blood of Christ, shed for you." and so on. Extend the cup, let them drink, receive the cup back, repeat.

After awhile, Max approached. I would say that he 'walked,' but Max never seems to just 'walk.' He is a singer and a dancer and an artist - he ‘moves,’ he is ‘in motion,’ but he never just ‘walks.’

After receiving the communion bread first, he moved in front of me. I extended the cup towards him and said, "Max, the blood of Christ, shed for you."

He took the cup from me, and paused. "Really?" he asked.

I wasn’t expecting a question. I’ve never before gotten a question when serving communion. Just extend, drink, receive, repeat. But Max wasn’t on auto-pilot on that sticky hot Sunday. He may have been in motion, but he wasn’t just going through the motions. I had said weighty words, and he was about to do a weighty thing, this taking of communion. So he paused and asked that important question.

And I smiled and answered, "Yes, really."

Because - yes. Really. The blood of Christ, shed for you.

Baby, It's Cold Outside (again)

“Snow, snow, snow, snow
It won't be long before we'll all be there with snow
I want to wash my hands, my face and hair with snow”

So sung the cast of the classic movie “White Christmas” in 1954. I love snow, too, though I don’t know if I’d go so far as to bathe in the stuff. I mean, that would kinda hurt. In any case, I was pleased to look out the window just now and see the sky all fuzzy with flakes. After a premature threat of Spring this past weekend, I’m glad to know that Winter hasn’t left me just yet.

Northern Virginia, land of my youth, sees snow several times a year but usually not more than an inch or so at a time. Accumulation of more than 12 inches is deemed a blizzard, as in “Man, do you remember the Blizzard of ’96?” To which I answer, “Yes, I surely do.” The Blizzard of ’96 was indirectly responsible for me getting chased by an angry mob of neighborhood mothers who were furious over a falsely-advertised potluck party, but that is a story for another time.

Snowfall of any amount in NoVa tends to cause widespread panic. The local news before a predicted storm focuses on images of nervous people cleaning out the grocery stores of bread, milk, and toilet paper. Also, Northern Virginians do not know how to drive in snow. So we don’t. At the first word of snow, we begin to cancel school, work, PTA events, club meetings, and what-have-you in an effort to keep off the roads and out of harm’s way. Invariably, however, the predictions of the weathermen prove false and no snow ever arrives. We are then left sitting at home with our bread, milk, toilet paper, and a vague sense of disappointment.

All this to say that I am glad to be living farther north these days, where I see a bit more snow action. And glad to be living in the city, where there is no need to drive to get where I’m going and the local bodega – just two doors down – will take care of me should a bread/milk/toilet paper emergency arise. Still, part of me wishes I could be experiencing the snow in a more undefiled, quieter environment…say, the mountain monastery of Chartreuse? But that is a story for another time. Tune in tomorrow.