Day Forty-Three, McCarren Park Pool
If you’re gonna make it rain, make it pour. That was one thing I couldn’t stand about living in Portland. The (everyday) rain there is like a constant drizzle. It’s the equivalent of a daily wet willy. Portland made me realize that there’s a lot about where I grew up that I never appreciated and high on that list is thunderstorms. Serious, light up the sky, Captain Dan versus Jesus thunderstorms.
So when I was touring around on my quest to reach new levels of (mobile) lazyness, the most frequent question I got was, “So what are yr plans when you get back?” Sheesh. People need to read their Eckhart Tolle, am I right?? But generally the response I gave them was “free concerts in New York all summer long.” Then I would tell them all about McCarren Pool. For those of you who don’t know, there’s a huge old city pool that closed down years ago right smack in the middle of where Williamsburg meets Greenpoint. For the last few years, instead of just letting it lay to waste, they’ve been holding concerts there where the crowd stands inside the empty pool. Even better, every Sunday, those concerts are free. And there’s an inflatable Slip and Slide. Seriously, could this be any better?
So I’ve basically been waiting for the free Pool shows to start with bated breath and considering them my start of the summer. The season was kicking off with The Hold Steady, a band out of Brooklyn that’s perfect for an outdoor summer show. Their lyrics are about bouncing around the country and nights that last too long with plenty of rhythms underneath that prompt a crowd to pump its fist in unison. They get compared to The Boss a lot (God bless), but they have about a fraction of the listeners of The White Stripes or Modest Mouse. So you get a larger than life show while still feeling a part of something intimate and under the radar. I love that combo.
The crowd was even lighter than expected when the forecast called for rain. Almost everyone who was meeting me at the show bailed. And that rain was no joke. Pounding thunder, dark clouds racing across the sky, and just buckets and buckets coming down. I loved it. For a while, I was being careful to take cover, mostly just cause I worried about Slackbook here. But then the Ice Cream Man was nice enough to hold my shoulder bag in his truck and it was ON. I can’t explain what happens to me in the pouring rain. But I can try.
Seven years ago, in the summer of 2001, my Mom took me down to North Fork bank to meet with one of their investment counselors to discuss what to do with the few thousand bucks my Grandpa had left me when he died. The investment guy was nice enough and laid out what the practical thing for me to do was, but something about it didn’t sit right with me. Still, I signed the papers and tried to feel rosy about how in just a few years I’d have one and a half times the money I had been left. Sure, why not? My Mom took off to do some errands and I got ready to walk back home. But as I was heading out, a crowd had gathered by the door. No one wanted to go out because the afternoon had turned into something resembling night and the winds were gusting in preparation for a massive thunderstorm.
Once it started coming, it started coming down like I had never seen in Riverdale before. The North Fork Bank was at the bottom on a two block hill too, so all the water started racing down the curbsides. Before I even knew what I was doing, I made my way thru the little crowd and stepped into the chaos. That’s what it truly was: chaos. Rain blowing at me so hard it was tough to walk down the sidewalk. I started screaming at it cause it was the only equal and opposite reaction that I had at my disposal. I made my way over to the next building over, the post office, right where the the hill ended and the water was shooting into the flat road like a river. I squatted by the curb and had it hit me like I was at the bottom landing of a tunnel slide at a water park. At one point, it was rushing down so hard, it knocked me on my butt. I think I responded to that by taking my drenched shirt off, waving it over my head, and hollering some more. At that point I caught a postman out of the corner of my eye, hiding out underneath an open garage, watching the whole thing. He raised his fist and gave me a pound. I have him one back.
I wonder what my financial counselor thought of the whole thing.
So the summer is unofficially here. No umbrellas necessary. I’m raw or I’m out.
