Midsummer Night's Magic in Manhattan
Summer in the city, how do I loathe thee? Let me count the ways: The fetid, funky stench of days-old,
sun-roasted garbage wafting down the avenues.
The oppressive, relentless, inescapable heat that turns on a tap of
sweat, melting make up in one block, soaking through shirts in two … New
Yorkers’ already short tempers, further truncated by 90+ degree temperatures
that feel more like triple digits, flaring at the most minor of infractions …
the urine-infused, sauna-eque subway platforms … sharing the sidewalk with frolicking rats and
roaches … the cute but clueless polyglot tourists around each and every bend, blocking
the way as they marvel at the sights that no longer move us, that we barely
still notice…
Calgon, take me away!
Every summer I experience the same impulse: to get the hell out of Dodge. Immediately. Permanently.
Forever. And never, ever, ever
come back. Leave for points north, west,
east, or better yet, way east, across the Atlantic east. I just can’t take it. I must have a significantly lower tolerance for summer's assault on the senses. Unlike those folks who revel in the hot urban
sunshine, I suffer. I swoon, swelter,
sweat. My face looks perpetually
flushed, mottled, shiny. The city starts to feel like a prison, an existential "No Exit"-y hell on earth, only hotter. So it’s very easy
and natural for me to whinge and whine about all there is to hate, focus on the
negatives, which are many and salient. To
wit: It stinks. It’s hot.
(Yes, Virginia, it is the
heat. And the humidity.) It’s kind
of empty, as all the cool people have left for cool places like the Hamptons, the
mountains, Martha’s Vineyard, Woodstock, Block Island …
Most years, I have had the good fortune to escape
for several weeks in June or July on a shoot in a wonderfully non-NYC location
such as Europe or Alaska. Several weeks
away from the day-to-day urban grind, depaisement
totale. Which takes the edge off returning to weeks
of summer in the city, just a bit.
However, this year I was not so lucky.
The scheduled two-week shoot sailing around Scandinavia –
cancelled. No prep, buffer, no great
stories, no amazing memories, no late start to the summer season. Brutal. I’m miserable, I’m uncomfortable, I’m
annoyed -
Pause, reboot.
At this point in my rant, I begin to feel a little
guilty. Oh, me and my 1st
world problems. Really, how dare I
complain about living in one of the world’s premier cities? Crucible of culture, vortex of opportunity, center
of nightlife? Haven for artists,
entrepreneurs, misfits, travelers?
In summer, New York lets its hair down, becomes more of its authentic self. It gets funky; it strips off its designer duds and gets
down. It opens up its creative heart and
soul and spills it onto the streets, onto the sidewalks, onto outdoor stages,
onto its piers, onto whatever intermittent patches of green it finds. You may stumble upon a classical quartet
playing at lunchtime near Fairway Market on West 125th Street, or
spread out a blanket with tens of thousands listening to the Philharmonic in
Prospect Park. Wait on line for hours
for free Shakespeare in the Park tickets in Central Park, or step right up to a
Shakespeare in the Parking Lot performance in Washington Square … But rather
than extoll the cultural virtues of the New York summer, with the endless array
of just about every type of music, dance, art, theatre, activities, movies, sports,
attractions, etc. happening in the parks, along the rivers, at the beaches – even in graveyards – I invite you to
check out Time Out or New York or websites such as nycgo.com to find out what’s
going on where during any given week, much of it free, free, free.
I'll never forget the first time I witnessed an Alvin Ailey performance at SummerStage, listened to La Boheme under the star (yes, only one) on the Great Lawn, or danced salsa at sunset on Pier 1. But that’s not what I’d like to talk about. Because it’s
not just the impressive, soup-to-nuts array of summer offerings, many our highest forms of artistic expression, that really set
this place apart. It’s We The People.
Yes, We The
People. Because even as I suffer through
the heat and the smells, summer in this city renews my faith in humankind. You only have to experience one or several of
these outdoor events to see what I mean.
The camaraderie, the exuberance, the pride, the shared joy. The coming together of disparate groups,
sharing a moment, reveling in our ability to experience wonder, to create art,
to appreciate beauty, to transcend the quotidian, to reach and enjoy a higher plane of
existence.
A truly remarkable thing happened one night at this
year’s Midsummer Night’s Swing. Not only
because we allowed ourselves to lose ourselves and become dancing fools on Loser's Lounge Disco Diva Night. My friends and I made this same observation as we looked out
over the throngs singing and swaying along with the music. In the crowd, every possible iteration of
humanity was represented: Infants to
octogenarians. Every skin tone and race
under the setting sun. All
socio-economic levels, Park Avenue as well as the ‘hood; uptown, downtown and
midtown. Straight people, gay men in high heel pumps, lesbian couples. You name
it. Everyone was laughing. (Okay, my friend John, a die-hard Donna
Summer fan, was a bit disappointed with the live orchestra’s covers of his
heroine’s music. But he got over it.
Mostly.) Everyone was dancing, together. Everyone was sweating and didn’t seem to mind. (Except me.
I minded a little. But I got over it. Mostly.) Complete strangers reached out beyond their demographic
cliques, made contact through a smile and invitations to dance. Latinos did the Hustle with Asians, busboys boogied with bankers, grandpas dipped babies,
corporate execs got their groove on with the Harlem line dancers, anyone
jumped in to join the Conga. Really. Everyone danced with everyone. The seasoned generously, patiently taught even reluctant beginners how it's done. Barriers fell away like the setting sun,
differences transcended, if only for an evening. It was beautiful to behold.
My first thought:
only in New York. Only here would
you find a representative sampling of all of humanity sharing a moment, dancing
with abandon to the same rhythm, moving in unison. We’re different here, I
mused, we get it. We ain’t Florida and
its fear- and hate-inspired “stand your ground” mentality, or Arizona hating on
immigrants, or Texas eroding women’s rights.
But then I realized, wait - if we can make this happen here, why can’t
we make it happen anywhere? Everywhere?
Why can’t we, indeed.
As moved as I was watching the mighty Alvin Ailey dancers that steamy night at SummerStage (a religious experience; I almost didn't mind that I was as sweat-soaked as the dancers), the view of the audience - an international rainbow of faces, all beaming in awe, admiration and appreciation - moved me nearly as much. Moments like this, and at Midsummer Night’s Swing, salsa Thursdays at the Triangle on West 14th Street, movie
night in Bryant Park, and so many other local events where all the world comes
together to lose itself and find each other, renew my faith in the beauty,
the magic, the wonder, the possibilities.
Our infinite potential for unity and joy and excellence. True transcendence.
I am so thankful for the what, these wonderful opportunities afforded us to experience and share. To dance!
And even more impressed with the who: our ability to use these as a catalyst for community,
acceptance and transcendence. This
month, in the middle of this oppressive heat wave, Jupiter aligns with Mars. So
the universe will support us to do great things. Despite the summer heat, or
perhaps because of it, now is the perfect time to find each other, to express
our best sweat-soaked self to each other and the world. It’s all us, all the time. Only We
The People can make it happen.
Now please excuse me as I take my 3rd
shower of the day …
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