No New Wave No Fun
On days like today, I am glad that this is a blahg and not a blog. If I were running a blog, I might feel some sort of responsibility to discuss the escalating conflict in the Middle East. Yet because this is a blahg, I feel no such pressure and am therefore allowed to stay comfortably on the surface as I yak about swimming pools.
Swimming pools. Or swimming holes, the beach, the ocean, rivers, lakes, streams, creaks, kiddie pools, slip n’ slides, water slides, water falls, wave pools -- take your pick. I could go for any or all of the aforementioned bodies of water at this point.
Would you believe that here it is, the middle of July, and I have not yet gone swimming this summer? Not even once. There’s an excess of almost anything you could ever want in this city, at almost any time, but good luck finding a swimming pool in the middle of July.
If I ran this little town, I would personally make sure that each and every rooftop was supplied with a body of water. It wouldn’t be anything too fancy, just a wading pool here and a pond there. This might not be the best idea in terms of the environment, but I would make sure that each rooftop pool was surrounded by a plentiful amount of foliage. And in the fall, there might be dead bodies floating in the oasis rooftop additions of the city, but I would take care of it.
That way, when you are walking down the streets of Chinatown, unable to escape the stench of melting garbage, or when you are in Midtown, and you look up, thinking that it might be raining, only to discover that some air conditioner is jizzing all over you, it wouldn’t really matter. You could just hop into the first available building, climb a couple flights of stairs, and take a dip in the rooftop pool.
But none of this is my responsibility as of now. I’ve got a train to catch to some lakeside town in Massachusetts that I never even knew existed before last Wednesday. I’ll only have three days to cram in nine months worth of underwater activity, so I really have my work cut out for me.