You may have noticed a rather paltry number of books in our recent book club photos. No real reason for this, beyond the self-evident one that it’s hard to read when you’re playing with a puppy or walking a street fair (or performing Shakespeare). But we did get back to basics on our first visit this year to our favorite rooftop sundeck. (Which has been freshly painted blue and white for the season — yay, new colors!)
Before we could catch up on the latest from Max Allan Collins and Erle Stanley Gardner, or old favorites by Tad Williams and Deborah Harkness, or even work by non-pulp types such as Alison Bechdel and Elizabeth Benedict, we had to doff our garb–
–and also welcome a group of seven undergrads from Purdue who’d contacted us to say they were visiting NYC as part of a queer history tour that would take them to New York, Paris and Berlin, and could they meet with us while they were in town?
Of course we said yes. And what an amazing group they were! Engaged and curious and passionate and intelligent and concerned and whip-smart. And so young! The world, we must say, is in better hands than we feared if these students are representative. (Sadly, they’re not. But if they were!) You can check out their blog about their travels here, and you won’t be sorry that you did.
Then it was on to our books, supplemented by our usual heady mix of edibles and submersion.
The afternoon flew by, chased by the threat of rainstorms at its heels, and never have minutes felt more fleeting or more precious. The summer hasn’t even begun yet — but we can never have enough, and these were hours to be savored.
So we savored them.
Kudos to the unflappable pizza deliveryman, undaunted by the dozen or more naked people he walked in on, and to our visiting guests, and to our hosts whose roof we used. And kudos to you, too, our readers. Remember: if you’re a bold, body-positive woman in the New York area, you can join us sometime yourself. Just email firstname.lastname@example.org and that might be you in the inflatable pool, or planking on the fake grass, or reading in the sun, without a care or a stitch.