Wave Your Hands Up in the Air

One of these mornings
You're going to rise up singing
Then you'll spread your wings
And you'll take to the sky
—George Gershwin, Summertime

Gerswhin wrote Summertime from this town, but it's clearly a dream-inspired longing for another place and mood: Summertime in New York, the living is hard, just the way we like it.

The weekend's hard living began Friday night when I met up with Rob McCarthy for "just a quick drink" at a dive bar (right next to the coffee shop I am in now). In California, bar time is 2 AM, which usually means you get kicked out of a bar well before then. New York is a different animal; in the battle of me versus bar, Alibi won. At around 3 AM, with the bartender possibly more polluted than I was, I threw in the towel. Rob's wife Amanda was in rare form and our little trio grew throughout the evening.

As a result, Saturday started very slowly. When I finally labored outside it was the afternoon and I moseyed to the Brooklyn Flea. On Saturday, this well-known flea market is n Ft. Greene; on Sundays it's at DUMBO (Down Under the Manhattan Bridge Overpass). Since I had recently broken my Bangkok special $3 sunglasses, I was hoping to replace them, but the Flea is mostly furniture, women's vintage dresses, and food. I did not get any sunglasses such, but I did have a nice stroll and ran into neighborhood patrician, Debbie, and her friend who were looking at various dresses and sampling the hipster Italian ices. The sun beat down on us with the power of Greyskull there on the blacktop, and the lemon-basil ice was pretty refreshing.

It was cooler in Queens and a perfect afternoon for a very New York summer experience: P.S. 1. A former brick school building, P.S. 1 is now a contemporary art museum which hosts a House Music Dance Party every Saturday afternoon of the summer. Hundreds of young New Yorkers fill the playground-courtyard as the deep bass and beats reflect off the hard, parallel brick walls. No, it wasn't the best music environment nor music (Sunday would be better, read on), but it was an incredible scene. The art was also really cool. I was there with Rob and Amanda and, as Amanda said, it's not pretty art. I particularly enjoyed, for selfish reasons, the large wall of portraits of famous vegetarians. In the center was Albert Einstein captioned with his quote:

Nothing will benefit human health and increase chances for survival of life on Earth as much as the evolution to a vegetarian diet.

Sunday then came rolling in like an Express train when you simple step out of one car, step across the platform, and board your new conveyance. After a run through Prospect Park, humid and hot, I rode Marc's bike to meet Paula for another afternoon's bike ride. This time she took me through lower Brooklyn, first to the Gowanus Canal and then on to the piers at Red Hook.

The Gowanus destination was another electronica dance extravaganza. Outside along the canal, this weekly party between rundown buildings had much better music than P.S. 1. Dance floors were set up amongst small trees and spotty patches of grass. A taco tent proffered comestibles and two bars poured rather tasty Yardgaritas: a custom mix of tequila, lime, and sangria. Tasty and deadly.

After an hour there, Paula and I rode down to Red Hook, but we'd come back before the evening ended. Red Hook, along the water, was really interesting too. There's a place famous for Key Lime Pies on a Stick (covered in chocolate nonetheless). The Key Limonade I had was also very refreshing. We walked along the warehouse art galleries and gardens and industrial ruins before a rain shower forced us into an amazingly large grocery store. Touring the strange grocery store was actually pretty fun and we would make it back to Gowanus between cloudbursts. That evening featured a celestial light show as thunder crashed and lightening flashed throughout the night sky.

Today it continues to rain off and on and maybe the living is easier. I haven't spoken to a soul all day (except to order this Chai) and I wonder where and what the people I love are doing with their Mondays. I hope it's equally relaxing.

I recall the final scene from Dazed and Confused: Mitch, after the best night of his young life, finally lies down on his own bed; puts on his enormous headphones; and smiles. The sweet emotion of soaring guitar, Free Ride, carry him away. I am far from my own bed, and my headphones are absolutely tiny. Yet I smile, knowing that although far from free, the ride has been pretty damn fun.