Blackout is the first word I think of when I hear the phrase “summer in the city”.
In my mind this word is strictly linked with images of sweaty New Yorkers having dance parties on the street, hanging out on stoops, while their mothers (or wives) scream sassy things to them out of their windows.
A nice, wholesome daydream.
This idylic scenery is immediately then disrupted by the next image I think of, the 1999 movie Summer of Sam. Which, officially, I have never really watched but my imagination got the gist a few years ago and has been going wild ever since. This disruption is also tied with similar imagery, except this time a psychotic freak is running around shooting people, during a blackout, while the same people sit on their stoops, and their sassy mothers warn them to take heed. (My information of this is based upon the countless hours I have spent on Crimelibrary.com, which I have now decided I am only allowed to read only the most mild, i.e. Bonnie and Clyde..gangsters…1930s noir, romanticized genre style recreations)
That set aside. I can’t wait for summer. I have not yet gotten tired of the ice cream truck tune and I am still naive enough to not fear the legendary heatwave, sidewalk egg frying, humidity that I have been forewarned of.
(My first almost official summer weekend)
New York Greenpoint rooftops….
Hundreds of Skateboarders heading to WIlliamsburg….
McCarren Park Track….