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 I left work buried in my thoughts, my brow furrowed as I walked down the street. I guess I looked angry? Frustrated? Then all of the sudden, out of nowhere, this tall guy walking in the opposite direction held up his hand and said, "High five!?" In that short moment, I went from pensive to completely surprised to happily surprised to ecstatic. My face must have lit up because his initially hesitant expression broke into a big smile. So I wound up, jumped and high-fived him epically in the middle of the sidewalk. We both cracked up as we continued walking our separate ways, blending back into the rush hour crowds. I love this city.  One of my favorite things to do during the summer is sit outside on a porch and watch storms pass by. I used to be afraid of thunderstorms, but somehow I've grown out of that fear and really enjoy them now. There's something incredibly cathartic about it, exciting and relaxing all at once. And I think that's one defining characteristic of a non-native New Yorker, at least from observation. The other night, a classic summer storm swept through the city: lots of lightning, deep rumbles of thunder that blended in with the traffic noise, high wind and furious rain. I was sitting in an ice cream shop in Brooklyn, happily watching it blow by and patiently waiting for it to pass. Other people had taken cover in the same shop and they were sort of freaking out. "Ohmygod did you see that lightning??" "We are going to be stuck here forever." "They have to cancel the show. I mean, there's lightning. No way." "IT'S SO WINDY." The younger crowd were most vocal; I glanced around at the older crowd and their expressions were either amusement (at the kids) or slightly tense. Heavy storms pass through the city from time to time, but no one actually wants to sit and watch them pass by. Everyone has to be somewhere, and it's almost an inconvenience when these downpours happen. But in there, I know everyone enjoys it a little bit. Because it's ridiculously hilarious when you have to run through it. Believe me, it takes one to know. Another one of my favorite things to do during the summer is sit by the ocean and eat ice cream (at sunset or at night). Maybe it has something to do with the salty air and sweetness of the ice cream, I don't know, but I like doing it. So the other night, Rachel and I got ice cream and sat by the fountain in Washington Square Park. There was a slight breeze every so often, and the mist was just right for such a hot, humid night. Kids splashed around in the water and we people-watched in general as the sounds of the park surrounded us: an acappella group by the arch behind us, a bluegrass sounding band to the left, a street performance group to the right (which I would later partake) and conversations of all kinds in a variety of languages. Despite the sticky weather, it was just one of those nice summer nights. At least for me, it was really nice to just sit and not think about too much. And I think, a testament to a good friendship is knowing that not every moment needs to be filled with something, that sometimes sitting together silently is okay because all that nothing is actually something.  It's not so much about the wins or losses, triumphs or tragedies—it's about the character and the compassion.  A few days ago I plucked Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close off my bookshelf and began to read it again. It's one of my favorite books. I haven't read it in a few years now but it's just as good as I remember it being. Except this time around, I startled myself with the emotions it evoked. The tears kept coming, as I silently and quickly wiped them away. Crying on the subway is a strange thing. People see you, and you can always tell they're conflicted: should I ask if she's alright? Or should I let her be? I feel the same way. I've asked people a few times if they're okay, and I almost always get the "Yeah, I'm fine... just... a bad day..." or a laugh through the tears because that's what you do when a random person asks if you're okay on the subway. So, I guess, it never hurts to ask. The worst that can happen is they lash out at you. Anyway, I was so startled by my tears. I guess quite a few things have happened to me since I last read the book, and I could just identify more with the feelings and the words. And I think that's what happens when you revisit something some time later. Whether it be a book, a film, a place or a person, there's almost always a different perspective the second time around. It's like a second chance at something, and you get to experience it again in a whole other way, for better or for worse.  There's a point when it's so hot, it's just... hot. Numbers don't mean anything. You can tell me that it's 103 degrees, and I'll just tell you, "It's hot." Every time I stepped out, I shook my head and told myself, "Alright, I just need to go down the street and around the corner." Staying in the shadows of the buildings is always key, not that it stops the sweat but at the very least you don't feel like you're standing next to the sun. The sweat. It is inevitable. Everywhere. Backs, necks, under the arms, down the face, feet, behind the knees... Maybe it's just how the city is, filled to the brim with people. I've felt Arizonan heat, Floridian heat and Californian heat. Each was different: dry, humid, somewhat pleasant. But New York heat somehow manages to stand on its own. The people, the energy, the stifling air. The air. It is thick. You can tell by the way cigarette smoke just hangs in the air, with nowhere to go. Usually it disperses quickly, but on days like these, the smoke lingers. Enter the innocent pedestrian, walking right into it, taking a full breath. That's where it goes. It may be hot on the streets, but underground is a whole other story. Ducking into the subway, I felt like I was going towards the center of the Earth. That's expected. You can only hope the trains have air conditioning, but if they don't... oh, well. Usually you can tell which cars don't have air running because there aren't as many people. But when it's rush hour and people are trying to get home, it doesn't matter. Like numbers don't matter. I stepped into the car and whoosh, even hotter air hit me. Everyone in the car was sweating, slightly red, slightly woozy. I moved in towards the other side, knowing it would only get more crowded. By the time we hit 34th Street, the car was packed to the max. The mixture of bodies and heat made the air almost unbreathable, suffocating even. I smiled to myself as a guy commentated. "People backing up, going 'Fuck this shit'," as I watched several people trying to enter back away from our crowded and overheated car. "Look at those people, all relaxed and cool," as I watched the 2 train run alongside us, emptier and no doubt, air conditioned. "I'm hoppin' on that train!" as I watched the guy commentating run across the platform into, what was probably heaven. I think it's time for another mix! This is more towards what I've been listening to lately, and I hope you like it. Here's to summer. A hot, hot summer.  "There was only one night game a year. On the 4th of July, the whole sky would brighten up with fireworks, giving us just enough light for a game. We played our best game because I guess we all felt like big leaguers under the lights of some great stadium." -- The Sandlot Happy 4th of July, everyone! Celebrating 234 years. Rock, flag and eagle.
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4 July 2010
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Hi, my name is Amy. Be well, and say hello!
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