Now it’s summer. For sure. Here’s how I know:
1. The Car: Getting into the car after it’s been sitting in the parking lot at work is like getting dumped into solitary confinement in an aluminum box at a penal quarry. It’s hot. “Maybe I’ll just sleep here at the office,” I say, desperate to avoid the car. When the car’s too hot to support life, I know it’s summertime.
2. The Festivals: Last weekend was the 31st Annual Atlanta Festival of Festivals Festival. It seemed like every corner was another one, from beer festivals to bands playing outdoors for free, to mixtures of the two in Little Five Points. At one point, over at Caroline and Moreland, we drove past what seemed to be eight or nine fire trucks parked around that triangle of land with no houses on it. One of them had a big banner on its folded-down white ladder, which read “City of Atlanta.” I thought that was some kind of community meet-and-greet or fund-raising barbecue or something, but I heard later that it was, you know, an actual fire. Now I feel like a complete jackass.
3. The Bugs: Atlanta has the most cunning, most savvy mosquitoes I know. I am dotted with startlingly itchy red dots, but I don’t recall seeing a single mosquito on me yet. (Bastards.) Meanwhile, everywhere I look I see those little red lady-bug-looking Japanese things, ant-like flying dudes, orange-colored shiny-shelled flying nubs, mosquito-eaters (where can I find more of those?) and, recently, what may be the biggest amber-backed red-bellied roach I’ve ever seen. Those things I wasn’t prepared for when I moved down here, but I used to see them all over the sidewalk where I lived in Midtown. (Sorry about that, Lori. Good look out there.)
What about you? How do you know when it’s summer in Atlanta?
