Differs from most people's. I tend to read more 'serious literature' during the summer. Go figure. So far I've read Lord Jim by Joseph Conrad, Return of the Native by Thomas Hardy, You Can't Go Home Again by Thomas Wolfe, and now I'm working on War and Peace. After I'm done with WaP, I'm going to pick up Tomatoland. Growing my own heirloom tomatoes has demonstrated just how different they are from commercially-grown varieties, and I'm hungry to learn more.
I've been working lots of hours at the new job, but I've still found time to get out and enjoy the city: a screening at Lincoln Center for Another Earth with a Q & A with the director, a tour of the city's best roof deck bars and lounges, creative gelato from Mia Chef Gelateria (they have Chocolate-Whiskey, Captain Crunch, and Tequila-Fig flavors!), and a facial at Joanna Vargas.
Also on my list for this summer is heading up to Astoria for the Jim Henson retrospective at the Museum of the Moving Image. I'm a huge Henson fan, and think he's one of those under-recognized revolutionaries, like Emily Dickinson or Milton. He changed the definition of entertainment for children, and trusted those of us who were lucky to grow up in his care with more complex notions of 'good' and 'bad', offering us stories that put something real at risk. I still can't watch Robin singing Halfway Down The Stairs without tearing up. Henson was able to access (and give voice to) the ornate and nebulous internal world of children, and his work was charged with the tenderness, energy, and brillance of an adult who had not forgotten just how rich that world is.
But it is damn hot in Brooklyn, and I find myself looking forward to fall, like I do every year. The fall here is just incredible. Best season in NYC, hands down. You want more proof? Watch When Harry Met Sally. That scene where they walk under the red and orange trees, over a sidewalk littered with the gorgeous stuff? It's as good, if not better than that. It's like heaven. I'm pretty sure I stay here, through the tortuous winters and summers and all-too-short muddy springs, just for NYC's golden hour of fall.