Grumblings from Earth’s OvenPosted: 15 July 2013
There’s a lot of romance in New York City: walking down Brooklyn Heights Promenade at sunset; getting lost in the crowd, architecture and history of Grand Central Terminal; listening to street musicians in Central Park…for me, just being near 30 Rock makes me fall in love with New York. But all that romance, all that joie de vivre, shrivels up and dies in the summer.When you’re walking outside and the air feels like an oven, no one cares if the sun is glinting off the Empire State Building “just so.” When you’ve been waiting in the Subway Sauna (trademark pending) for your train, you don’t care that it’s going to take you to the best ice cream* you’ll ever eat, you only think about the sweat that’s running down your legs and drenching the dress you JUST washed.
There’s a reason shows romanticize New York in the fall, winter and spring. It’s because the summer makes you HATE EVERYTHING. Think about it (spoilers ahead):
Do The Right Thing = Set in the summer = ends in a riot caused by the wrongful death of Radio Raheem
The Great Gatsby = Set in the summer = vehicular manslaughter and a murder-suicide
Miracle on 34th Street = Set in the winter = there’s a friggin’ MIRACLE! (I’ll tell you what the miracle is…it’s freezing temperatures.)
Now, I’m a bit biased, of course. I hate hot weather. I couldn’t have been happier than when it was winter, and I was trudging through a foot of snow wearing my fur-lined trapper hat. Oh, what bliss! The coats may have been a pain at restaurants, but toting bulky items is better than sweating through my makeup within 15 minutes of leaving my apartment. I don’t even like to imagine what subway rides were like before air conditioned cars, but I’ll venture to guess that it was torture. Pure torture.
I realize this post didn’t have anything to do with TV, so I’ll just add this: TV shows spare us from witnessing the torture that is summer in the city by going on hiatus June – August and only telling stories set in the other, better seasons of the year. There. Now it’s a legit Teleponder. Happy?**
* The best ice cream in the city comes from Ample Hills Creamery in Brooklyn. If you visit me, I will take you there.
** Teleponder blames the heat for any grumpiness that may have been interpreted as rudeness. It’s nearly 100 degrees out there!