IT'S the same story: it is outrageously hot today. At 10h30 the temperature had already exceeded the forecast. It should have been 88F max, and when I got up it was just over 90F (which is 32 Celsius). The humidity is already at 62%, and it's normally at its highest by 11pm. This is like Ladismith, where I grew up: it just gets hotter towards the evening, not cooler. Two nine-year-olds, who live in our building, have been filling small balloons with water, “to throw at people on the street”, which, of course, they’ll never do because they are exceptionally well-behaved NY boys. So I suggested to them that they put a table on the pavement with a sign saying, “Pay us a quarter and we’ll throw a balloon at you.” They thought it was a brilliant idea (and it is hot enough to pull it off). They've now set up business on our street corner, and they’re doing a roaring trade. Jonny has been up there to buy a balloon, and got it in the back. He came home all wet. One mother has had to put her work for the day aside since she’s the one filling balloons with water back home, on the stoop in front of our house, while the boys tend their stall. They’re parking off in deck chairs, shouting what they’re selling at the passers-by. All New Yorkers love a bit of business ingenuity, it seems. And their financial reports seem to get better and better: "We've got six dollars fifty!" Hell, they should go run Lehman Brothers.
Last night we had dinner at Jonathan and Nadine's. David Jammy was there, too, and two friends of Jonny and Nadine's, Rachel and Sam. Jonathan grilled sardines on the Weber on the balcony; there was pickled octopus -- I told Jonny it was the closest we'll get to Mozambique this year. Here are two pics of the post-dinner torpor... (There is something intrinsically sad about a Weber on a balcony, don't you think?)
I'VE never seen "Sunday in the Park with George" (or the Seurat painting "A Sunday afternoon ...", for that matter), but the Metropolitan Opera's summer solstice concert on June 20 was pretty wonderful. The police estimate that 50 000 people attended, and they were sure strung out along Prospect Park's (four blocks from our house) Long Meadow. Huge video screens and a phalanx of giant speakers relayed the action on the stage throughout the meadow; because it is about a mile long, the video and sound signal was transmitted via satellite.
Graeme and Claire and Karen Harber came and we had a picnic against a slight rise, from where we had an unobstructed view of the stage. The Met hauled out Angela Gheorghiu and Roberto Alagna, "opera's starriest married couple", as the New York Times called them, for a list of arias and duets that were so familiar that they felt as if they're part of one's genetic heritage.
When Bea and Hedwig visited, we all went to a rather rare Jessye Norman recital at Carnegie Hall; from our one-up-from-cheapest seats Jonny gave the stage one look and said, "From here Jessye Norman could very well be Albertina Sisulu." It was almost the case with the stage in Prospect Park, but the screens brought everything brilliantly close.
The Met said they expected about 100 000 people, but it was most probably a marketing stunt. During the first duet a police helicopter buzzed above the stage in a circle, making a huge noise. The audience started shouting and throwing fists at the helicopter, and it left. Sensitive cops...
Graeme Simpson and Claire Wright
The stage being prepared, while Gheorghiu and Alagna practise (this pic is from the New York Times)
