No, really. When has spring in New York City hung around for more than a minute?
It’s a standard call and response in our burg: “It’s hot already and it’s only April/May.” “What happened to spring?” I’ve said it, you’ve said it, we all have said it, because we are typically cast into the hot and humid before we can inhale more than a little of cool green winter’s over – let’s get ready for summer.
But here we are, week after week of something moderate – a word that is so seldom used in the Extreme Apple. Does this make everyone happy? Are you kidding? We (and I must include myself here) are committed to the fault-finding mission that gives our city life definition. So…what are we complaining about?
– De Blasio (that would be a general heading) and the many things we can blame on him. (He probably deserves it.)
- There’s the uptick in violent street crime on the UWS. Not very funny.
- There is the deteriorating condition of the streets: both sidewalk and gutter.
- There is – of course – the faint and growing stench of corruption. But you know how that is – when a smell is ubiquitous you kind of stop smelling it.
– Too little time, too much to do. (In truth, New Yorkers wear their busier-than-anyone-else-ness as a badge of honor. It makes us all feel special.)
– Can you believe what it costs? (It could be almost anything: we pay through the nose across the spectrum. Another one of our slightly twisted badges of honor.)
I’m sure you can think of a few more things (feel free to share them with me – I’ll add them to the list).
Grumble, grumble. Bitch, bitch. That’s the verbal coin of the realm. When a neighbor greets me with a sunny smile and exclaims over the beauteousness of the day, my first reaction is to wonder if they have had a psychotic break. My second is to smile fatuously in apparent agreement. Yep. I’m a fake, too.
There is a part of me that yearns to break free of the New York state of mind, and revel in the seasons and Mother Nature and the like. (What, exactly, is “the like?”) But even if I could peel off the reflexive whining, I would be hard-pressed to act like a (you should pardon the expression) regular American, and put a positive spin on things. It’s my Brooklyn roots: they would rise up and choke the living breath right out of me, all the while whispering: Whatsamatta wit you? Are you outta your freakin’ mind?
I owe it to my karass to maintain a jaundiced eye, an impregnable bullshit detector. It’s how I am built.
So, yeah, yeah: sunshine, birds chirping, gentle breezes. Whatever.
FYI: my new science fiction novel, RAYMÒN AND SUNSHINE, is available on amazon.com at: http://www.amazon.com/Raym%C3%B2n-Sunshine-Karen-Krett/dp/0692660887/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1461866431&sr=8-1&keywords=krett+sunshine