I hate to keep harping on this topic, but the weather here in New York today has been particularly unpleasant. The air seems oddly compressed, and even more saturated and viscous than usual – as though it contained not just the usual summertime admixture of water vapor and filth, but also maybe some mule sweat or hog saliva. There was not the slightest breeze, most of the day, to stir the fetid broth, and the sun, visible at times through its nubilous veil, brought the whole dolorous mess to a slow and sultry simmer as the dreary day wore on. The psychological effect – to drain one of all joy, hope, or sense of purpose – is also deepened, for those who have spent a summer in New York before, and haven’t managed to repress the memory, by the certain knowledge that worse is yet to come.
Finally, late this afternoon, as I was doing the only sensible thing – drinking beer in the Arctic chill of the Park Slope Ale House with my friend Duncan – the skies opened up briefly for a Noachic deluge. In most places this would mean that cooler, fresher air was moving in, but this is New York, friends. By the time we went back outside things were just as we’d left them, save for a few cars that had washed away.
I know that there are much more important things to talk about, and that I have been rather neglectful lately of some interesting topics. I’ll get back to them soon, really I will. But it is just so doggone humid.