you don't know what ska is

It has finally, finally rained in New York.  God has finally stopped turning his ass towards us and decided it was high time to flood the whole fucking metropolitan area.

There is absolutely nothing cooler than the thunder punctuating the bass line from the opening of Tokyo Ska Paradise Orchestra's Yojigen Sanmyaku playing on my spankin' new Soundsticks II as I sit in front of an open window that has not been cracked for weeks.

Oh wait.  There is.  Seeing Tokyo Ska Paradise Orchestra open their Summerstage show with "Raindrops Keep Falling on my Head" just as the crowd was getting up to dance in the then-already-pouring rain.  Sweet.  Unbearable heat, mud, bird shit, thunderstorms, angry black people, oh we faced it all, and it was amazing.  My inner Japanese fangirl just died for those skinny, blue-suit-clad hotties on stage.

I got home after leaving Yoko and dropping off Doris at Port Authority and, having showered and peeled off mud-splattered (and still soaking) jeans, spent about fifteen minutes gleefully blow-drying my Love in the Time of Cholera, all the while thinking, "Damn, it was worth it."  And now here I am, me and my open window.  Yeah, I'm rethinking that in favor of air-conditioning.  Fucking humidity.

Now to change topics completely, because decent transitions are not in the cards for me today, Japan and I went to the MoMA on Thursday, walked ourselves to death, and had the best time ever being nerds to the extreme.  Yoko and I have discussed it, and if there's a life goal I'm dying to achieve, it's having sex on the floor of the MoMA.  Preferably in front of a Dalí.  Or a Pisarro.  Shit, I'll even settle for Matisse.

The Thursday fiasco of orgasmic bagels, $12 air conditioning, art nerdiness, and the lovely experience of Central Park at night, was crowned by dinner at Sarabeth's with Dan(ne) and Yoko.  It was a pleasure to stare at Anne's ass as she served us endless plates and cups of goodies that magically never made it to our check.  The one thing I paid for was 1) a salad and 2) so, so delicious that I have no words for all the things I experienced but never thought a salad could do to my tastebuds.  So after eating and taking forever to digest on a bench in the middle of Broadway,  I took this random Japanese girl home with me and fed her and fed her and... fed her.  Oh yeah, and gave her a bed to sleep on.  Good times.

Then I spent Friday and Saturday with The Loris (or Loranna as we are soon to be renamed), having a grand old time, punctuated by such gems as Lion's "we'd have to kill that guy... whose semen tasted like... orchard peach."  Seriously, I quote.  I wrote it down and everything, on a post-it no less.  We are actually that awesome.  I love those two love birds and the stupid things we eat together and the even stupider movies we have that odd tendency to watch.  This weekend we added "Prophecy" to the already high pile of treasures like "Last Life in the Universe" and "Secretary."  What the hell are we thinking when we pick these?  Oh, right, this trip to Blockbuster ended like today, with us mud-splattered and soaked to the bone.  Shit, when it rains in New York, it fucking pours.

Oh, summer.  I savor thee with every drop of acid rain.  Love, Anna.