After a 10-year stint in the 75-and-sunny doldrums of Los Angeles, my first winter here in New York had a delightful element of novelty to it.
My second, less so.
Five more tours north of the Wall and I’ve learned what it’s like to truly anticipate summer.
Fervently. Rabidly. The way fraternities and Goin’-Out-shirt-wearers across the country must feel about today.
So when it arrives, I am ready. When the mercury hits 65, I emerge, spring-loaded, from my apartment, pale as a Mad Max War Boy and every bit as raring.
As we get into the meat of June, I encourage you to do the same. Get sun-frenzied. Frozen-drink manic. Refuse to accept artificial light for any extended period of time.
I’ll be getting the hell out of town. Early and often. Join me.
Looking for a quick jaunt? You could do worse than tubing and outdoor movies around a campfire Upstate.
And keep an eye on your inbox: over the next couple weeks, we’ll give you an official guide to swimsuits and sunglasses, our very first camping edition and even a handy cheat sheet to complimenting a sun-kissed lass without being labeled a “catcaller.”
Long story short, stuff to help you maximize these halcyon days: because if my last seven years are any indication, they’ll be gone before you know it.
Let’s hope we can say the same for Entourage.
See you out there,
New York Editor
P.S. Comments? Complaints? Suggestions? Want to send me flowers? I'm all ears. firstname.lastname@example.org