The Hardheaded Peoples Concert
The windows are open now and the sky is clear and the air is cool and dry. This in NYC. But two days ago coming back from Brooklyn over the Manhattan Bridge the sky was a thick grey wet smelly wool blanket. You could see the new Gehry residence tower downtown but everything else competed for distinction under the haze. Midtown was almost invisible. People all across the city were singing in sad concert the ballad Straight to Summer from Winter.
Up here on the fifth floor of a Lower East Side tenement building I was after being helped with the lugging of it unwrapping the new purchase. Sweat dripped from my nose onto the cardboard and styrofoam. My wet fingerprints dotted the instruction manual.
Oh we fight about many things Bernadette and I. The sky is blue one of us says, no it's not the boneheaded combatant responds. Fire is hot the other one says, and you've got no clue the comeback king or queen retorts. The fight or I should say endless meandering going nowhere but straight to hell discussion regarding would we or wouldn't we bring in an air conditioner to this fifth floor, southern exposed, heavily windowed apartment has finally ended after almost five years. Nope, there were no winners, just less sweaty losers.
Where's the remote for the AC ? Bernadette asks me. I tell her it's in my pocket. Can I see it? she asks me. Nope. Why not? I'm keeping it. For how long? Five years.
Later tonight I'm going to broach the subject of putting a swimming pool on one half of the roof. Covered. And heated. And a heliport on the other half. And a helicopter of course, with a margarita machine.
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