::Roger F. Bond Chronicles | Summer Goodbye::

Summer Goodbye

Roger F. Bond Laments This Past Quasi-Summer

[intense_button skin=”default” font_color=”#ffffff” size=”small” link=”” target=”_blank” title=””Dear Summer” – Jay Z” icon=”headphones” border_radius=”5px”]”Dear Summer” – Jay Z [/intense_button]

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[intense_button skin=”default” font_color=”#ffffff” size=”small” link=”” target=”_blank” title=””Summertime Sadness” – Lana Del Ray” icon=”headphones” border_radius=”5px”]”Summertime Sadness” – Lana Del Ray [/intense_button]
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I was traversing the city yesterday dressed in summertime splendor. Seersucker shirt. Emerald green prospect pants. Yellow dotted bow ties. Blue socks. And white leather Jack Purcells. I felt great. I looked great. It was unseasonably warm and I was enjoying the late season warm weather on September 3rd. It was awesome…  and it sucked. The entire summer has been nothing but mild temperatures, which really isn’t a bad thing since a hot summer in the city is akin to Quantanamo. But to have haze, heat, and humidity kiss the brows of NYers the days after Labor Day is simply a cruel prank. Summer in the city is a timed honored tradition and right of passage from spring to summer to autumn, and NYers have been mostly robbed of their ceremony this season.

I was making my way across midtown and I spotted a small commotion. When you see construction workers, suits and ties, and non-English speaking delivery guys on their bikes all stop and break their necks in an attempt to get a better view, you know there’s a commotion going on. And it has to be a female. And this female was most definitely worthy of the attention. All it took was some long flowing hair and a white semi-sheer blouse with no bra on and it was Game Over. The block simultaneously shut down while being worked into a lathered frenzy. There is nothing more male galvanizing then ogling women in the summer {please note – I said ogling, not catcalling, nor anything physical, so be chill}. Was she worthy of all that attention, or did all the men turn rabid because they know that sights like this will be soon be a fond, yet distant memory? I couldn’t help but wonder this as I craned my neck trying my damnedest to get a better look.

I’m reflecting on the fact that the past three months went by quickly. Really fast. Too fast. Those meteorological markers that operate as summer signposts never came and went – the heat wave, the packed beaches, the escalated murder rate, the occasional blackout on the hottest day of the year. The annual cries of wishing it was winter because we’re literally going to die in the heat were never uttered. The cycle has been broken. Things haven’t been the same. I’m certain that I wasn’t the only person to feel off from Memorial Day to Labor Day.

I’m sad. Living in New York City has an assortment of pros, fuck the cons. Summer dresses. Open toe shoes and sandals. Proper toe nail game. Fruity, sweet perfume, body spray, hair spray, something spray. One hour, ten minute lunches in Bryant Park. All of these lovelies are now replaces with UGGs and more UGGs. Fuck. Yoga pants, but yoga pants enveloped in big, long sweaters that match their UGGs. Just thinking about it is depressing and making me want to drink. 

I’m looking at the bottle. I’m looking at the calendar. I’m looking at the weather report. I’m looking at the calendar. I remember that Halloween is next month. Halloween is the holiday where women let their inner slut-whore out and dress like it’s 90º outside, even it’s 50º outside. Fishnets. Corsets. Plunging cleavage. Open toe 6″ pumps. When is the first official day of fall? I’m feeling better already.