Let the Dog Days Begin

This is generally the time of year when I become most irritable, most grouchy and most laconic. There is something psychological about the ninety degree barrier that both angers and depresses me. Add in our good friend Mr. Humidity, and the thought of walking to the corner deli for a sandwich defeats me. My mother makes fun of me for this, since I'm such an avid runner and I often come home from my long exercises dripping all over the carpet. That, however, is a product of much cooler temperatures. I don't mind working myself into a self-made sauna when the mercury reads a much more benign seventy, but this weather? Well, pitooey.

The nice thing about living in south Queens, minutes from Jamaica Bay, is the ocean factor. Right now, the temperature in Central Park? Ninety-three. South Ozone Park, NY? A chilly eighty-two.

The only thing more brutal than a New York winter is a New York summer.