This is how citified and vulgar I am: Screw the beach. Screw Cape Cod. Give me a municipal outdoor pool, staffed by indifferent teenagers in sun-bleached red swimsuits, surrounded by shadeless concrete, overly chlorinated, possibly contaminated with toddler pee, and overrun with screaming tweens plus that one kid who goes swimming in cut-off jeans. Charge me seventy-five cents to get in, and make me bring my own deck chair and snacks. I'll love you for it, because I'm easy, and not just because you're like a mile from my apartment.
Today was 90-plus degrees and sunny. Some people retreated indoors, camping out in movie theaters or hiding in their homes to do sexual things with ice cubes. I disdain such shrinking violets, and prefer to embrace the swelter with a book, a big bottle of water, shades, tunes, and a swimming pool five steps away. Get wet, take a few laps, and be cool for half an hour of reading, easy. Rinse, repeat. Pause occasionally to take in the scene, and take note of potential cannonballers who'll splash water all over your reading material. There's shade against the locker rooms if you are fish-belly white (like me) and a little set of sprinklers over by the shallow end. Remember your sunscreen! read more