Feel The Love

Last night, a storm not quite of biblical proportion slammed the north-east and pounded the heat into submission. So today, a week after the extreme heat and humidity descended upon the entire tri-state area of New York, New Jersey and Connecticut, the skies are once again a cool french blue, the streets are awash with the sweat of homeless people and all is right in the world again.

And yet...Kaia is still 3,000 miles away, so I opted to cancel my planned "Skipping Naked Through The Street" jaunt, much to the appreciation of my neighbors, relatives and friends (especially those friends who would have wound up bailing me out o' jail). But enough about the weather -- until September, the heat will more than likely inspire people to buy (and hopefully use) far more deoderant than normal, the streets will be alive with perspiration, and the typical, already-cranky New Yorker will give way to the typical cinematic New Yorker -- snippy, sarcastic, condescending and acerbic. And those are just the women ;)

In the meanwhile...work is continuing along without much in its path, which is to say that if I had a bed and a shower in the office, I'd prolly never leave. On top of that, the Yankees continue to defy explanation with their anemic hitting and pitching that would barely qualify for Little League. On a positive note, however, a variety of fun and excitement awaits me this weekend. I was offered tickets to the Dave Matthews Band concert(s) on Randalls Island this weekend, so I am going to touch base with a friend or two and get that nailed down. Aside from Coldplay, Audioslave and Cake, there's really very little "new" music I'd bother seeing live, but DMB qualifies, mostly because seeing Dave, stoned out of his eyebrows and gyrating to some subterranean groove, makes good music. He's not an especially gifted musician -- I can play rhythm on most of his stuff -- but it contributes to a good "life soundtrack."

In addition, Kaia's dad and I are starting to delve into car-talk in our e-mails...since she's in the market -- but also in the market to be moving to NYC by the end of the year -- it's sort of a conundrum. Lease a new car and be stuck with a car payment and, as an NYC resident, no place to park? Or lease a pre-owned vehicle, save on the initial depreciation hit, and then dump it or ship it to NYC when appropriate? Or keep the rental Grand Cherokee in the garage until it's time to move and then say goodbye to insurance and gas expenses for good? What lies behind door #3? Only Monty Hall and the man upstairs (no, not Monty's producer) know for sure.

One final question that's been occupying space between the few remaining brain cells between my ears: now that Hillary Clinton successfully uncovered the "hidden" sex-scenes secretly locked in the Rockstar Games product "Grand Theft Auto: San Andreas," will anyone buy it? More importantly, why is Hillary Clinton focusing her high-powered investigative skills addressing video games and not on the location of Jimmy Hoffa, the true identity of Bigfoot/Sasquatch, how a studio head actually green-lighted "Deuce Bigalow: European Gigolo," or why Cynthia Nixon and Anne Heche haven't yet had a lipstick-lesbian-chic hook-up.

Okay, that last one is a tad tawdry, but I was taking a stab at what might be first and foremost on Hillary's mind. Or elsewhere.

But the jury's still out on Deuce Bigalow II: Electric Boogaloo. Meanwhile, tell Hillary to call me after she has Anne and Cynthia over for, um, tea and strumpets.