Today, I traveled to the Upper East Side in lieu of executing the barbecue I’d been planning for the past two weeks. Weather.com predicted thunderstorms and scattered showers all day which, of course, never made an appearance. While I kind of feel like an Eeyore about canceling, I did enjoy spending a lazy, guiltless day in front of the idiot box with a couple of like-minded friends, making a non-competitive drinking game out of that cringe-inducing, rectal prolapse of a show.

On the long subway ride back to Brooklyn, I did some more thinking, and decided to look into swimming again. I used to be a fairly avid swimmer, hitting the pool three to five times a week - a habit I picked up in Paris during the summer months between classes, when I was broke and bored and the pool pass was an easy-to-swallow 100 francs a month. A few years later in New York, I think I stopped swimming during that terrible emotional mudslide when I lost interest in pretty much everything. Still digging out of that one, I guess.

After some cursory research, I think I’m going to try out the Stuyvesant High pool which is open to the public on nights and weekends with extended hours during July and August. My basic criteria of a single train, no transfer commute (v. important) and ostensibly clean and reputable (somewhat important) have been met. Developing…