Finally, it feels like summer’s over (though it’s still ice coffee weather according to this internet oracle mentioned by Eater yesterday) and I couldn’t be happier. Today was the first day I’ve worn a jacket in months (I’m still trying to understand the gentleman on the L train Monday wearing a hoodie, fleece-lined denim jacket, scarf and stocking cap. If you recall Monday was incredibly sticky and humid and a good 30-degrees too warm for such a get up. I also noticed winter gloves abandoned in my apartment’s foyer yesterday—do people really wear hand-warmers when it’s in the 60s?) and this may seem unimportant but every year I’m stylistically thwarted by an ever narrowing temperate weather window.
I don’t know where the idea that fall is a notable season in New York (or maybe I’m taking that Ryder/Gere flick too seriously) comes from because it’s terribly fleeting. It stays in the 80s all through September, then like all of a sudden it’s frigid and by Halloween you have to start running the heat (and by city rules Oct. 1-May 31 is “heat season”) and dragging out the wool coats. So, my closet with the entire left half filled with corduroy, light cotton, denim and velvet blazers and jackets (I don’t know how I amassed so much crap) is only useful for about four weeks.
On the up side, tonight I’ll be able to sleep with my window shut and for the first time this school season block out the early morning shrieks, squeals,“fuck yous” and “are you in his top eight?” MySpace speculation from the lovely children who congregate next to my ground floor bedroom window. (My favorite half-asleep overheard tidbit, “she was tickling my balls!”) I’m not sure that fall weather will rectify the discarded McDonald’s trash and crumpled boxes of Kools, however.