Labor Day was yesterday and New York has become the summer I
hate.
June, July and August were beautiful. It was never too hot or too muggy, even in
the city. But it’s as if the gods of
summer said, “Hey, we forgot to come out.
Well, it’s not too late.” So here they are, covering the city in a blanket
of heavy, muggy air, as the temperature climbs above 90.
I have a meeting near Tribeca with three others from BAFTA and the Producers Guild of America. The short
walk from the subway to the building where the meeting is leaves me sweating
and my cotton dress wrinkled.
Five minutes outside and any care that went into makeup and hair
collapses under the humidity.
I try and think cold thoughts,
It doesn’t help.
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