The summer between 10th and 11th grade, I went to Princeton for six weeks for an intensive ballet program, and it was one of the hottest periods in New Jersey history. Our dorms and the ballet studios were not air-conditioned, so basically every hour of the day was spent in a state of sweaty delirium. With at least six hours of dance class a day in over 90- and often 100-degree temperatures (and oh, the humidity! dear God!), we young ballerinas were on the verge of utter collapse at all times; but because we were dedicated to our art, we persevered and suffered and drank gallons and gallons of Evian.
All of us, that is, except this group of five girls from Valdosta, Georgia. Valdosta is way down south in my home state, near the Florida border, and it's best known for its high school football team, which frequently wins the state championships and sends players on to the NFL. (My tenth grade year, incidentally, my school's team beat Valdosta to win the state and national titles, a distinction that is emblazoned on the signs out by the highway that welcome you to town.)
The Valdosta girls were perhaps not the most ambitious or energetic dancers ever to grace the Princeton Ballet summer program, and they seemed more concerned than most of us about whether all that effort might smudge their makeup or frizz their carefully devised up-dos. Each afternoon, as the rest of us started our second technique class of the day in the oven-like confines of the big studio, all five of them would mysteriously take ill or be overcome by some debilitating injury, from which they would miraculously recover by the end of the day, when it was time to walk a mile to the (air-conditioned) dining hall. They'd lounge on a bench near the dressing room, positioned strategically near an oscillating fan, in various postures of languor, and from the studio you'd hear them saying things like, "Ah think ah'm about to break a sweat about now."
Now that we're into the heat of August, I have to say, my own torpor reminds me of those girls. I don't feel much like doing anything except draping myself over the couch, sipping a cool beverage and occasionally nibbling at an ice cream. Even indoors, under full air-conditioning, the heat seems to penetrate and sap all the life out of you; you leave your desk to go grab lunch and come back ten minutes later in dire need of an hour-long nap, or you take the dog out for a quick walk and have to return immediately to the couch and some aimless channel-surfing.
The subway platforms, of course, are like the surface of the sun (it's really best not to speak of them at all), and as usual the hot weather and the scarcity of a large chunk of the population (i.e., people with vacation plans and summer homes) brings out the crazies in full force. Just yesterday, as we moseyed (slowly, sloooowly under the flattening sun) back from the library, we were greeted by an older woman who was crossing the street with the aid of a cane and shouting at the top of her lungs about a conspiracy of Jews (the details were unclear); as we passed her, minding our own business, she suggested we "suck [her] d**k." Always fun to get to know new people in the neighborhood, eh? And so, staying indoors with a stack of books and a ready supply of water and Gatorade is about all I can muster, outside of necessary trips to the grocery store, the office, and the Gap. I'll venture out in September, when life is in swing again and the humidity is less than 1000%.
In other thrilling news, our shower is done being retiled and we've enjoyed a week of bathing that does not involve the gym. Our water pressure has improved and the tile is pristine and non-moldy and there are no more workmen tromping through our house anymore. AND, as a side bonus, the cat appears to have been broken of his soul-crushing habit of only drinking water from the bathroom faucet. Since the sink was out of commission for several weeks, we gave him a water bowl and he figured out that he had no choice but to take it instead of engaging in the usual routine of going into the bathroom at random (always inconvenient) times and wailing loudly until one of us came in and turned the faucet on for him. He still jumps up on the sink expectantly when you go in the bathroom, but he continues to drink from his bowl and doesn't bother us much about the faucet. Victory!
Finally, we also replaced our home theater system, which had become unusable as the DVD player stopped recognizing DVDs some weeks ago, so now we not only have Blu-Ray capability (I am as surprised as anyone to say that I could actually tell the difference between a regular DVD and a Blu-Ray disc) and better sound, but we also don't have to sit in front of the machine for 30 minutes prior to watching a movie, feeding the disc into it again and again in the hopes that it will load instead of deciding there really was no disc there at all.
This is the kind of excitement to be found in August in New York City. Invigorating, no? Ah, well. Things will improve soon. We just like to save our thrills for fall.