Hello, Dali
Hello, Dali
Hello, Dali, and welcome to the meltdown.
Driving into Manhattan yesterday was an exercise in the surreal. Leaving my air-conditioned car on the way in to visit a rest stop for a moment was shocking. The blast of oppressive heat and humidity was almost debilitating. My glasses fogged up, a wave of clamminess attached itself to both skin and clothing. Yecch! The rest stop had run out of ice and the water, soft drink and beverage coolers were nearly bare. I took care of business and got back into the climate controlled car as quickly as possible.
In Manhattan it seemed hotter even than in the burbs. The weather maps showed the city and the western suburbs to be in the same band of torrid emperature and humidity. Yet somehow in the city it felt stickier, hotter, ickier. Pedestrians looked as if they were about to simply melt. It was as though city life had transcended into a Dali painting.
Dali depicted clocks and objects melting. It was the humans melting in Manhattan yesterday afternoon.
