2 years ago

“The island’s not ready for you yet.”  In retrospect that could’ve been construed as a sign, a portent.  As it was, it was merely the announcement that we could not sail directly to Governors Island, so the Water Taxi made a scenic swoop down by the Statue of Liberty until we could disembark.  The boat shuttling us to the concert — the B-52s — which was supposed to depart at 5PM hadn’t left until a quarter to six.  But no one in line grumbled.  It was a late birthday gift, the show, and my group was in good spirits.  Everyone heading over, it seemed, was in good spirits.  (When we got there we noticed a sign for the City Planning Dept. BBQ.  That they would be the hold up for us arriving was an appreciable irony.) So we claimed a picnic table, ate hotdogs and drank beer, watching the light fade over lower Manhattan.  We shared our bench with various strangers as time ticked by, and they were courteous.  The waitress coming by for drink orders was cheery and polite.  A father and son were having a catch in the sand at the Water Taxi Beach, and when the opening act, a reggae group, played, people swayed and the smell of marijuana wafted past our table. Ivanna was the first to notice out of the corner of her eye the lightning flash over New Jersey.  It was dismissed, even the second and third time it occurred, as nothing was going to spoil the mood. The B-52s took the stage and we shimmied in our little spot in the sand as they ran through their first few songs, like extras in a beach party flick.  After a few numbers, we moved closer to the stage, and the wind had noticeably picked up.  While in the middle of “Roam” a black-clad tech came on to announce due to the weather the show was on hold, and in we scambled to claim bags and belongings and file under the white tent just as the deluge hit.  Streaky bolts of lightning flashed over the water and thunder exploded and everyone was holding up cameras and iPhones to try to capture the storm.  We thought it would pass, the rain had slowed, but lightning still flickered and when the crew started taking the backdrop down it was evident the band wasn’t coming back on.  We joined what was now a steady stream back to the dock, while sparse fat raindrops continued to fall.  The DJ was still spinning, and some die-hards were kicking up sand, but we didn’t come over to hear Casey Spooner spin.  So we departed, still, amazingly, spirits high. The Water Taxi wasn’t even full when the shuttled us back over to Manhattan, and those aboard mostly rolled their eyes at the earnest chick who stood up to announce that “if you email…someone…you can get a refund.  If we all email.” After a quick stop at the ice cream truck (Freezer Fresh!) we made our way to the train.  Not feeling slighted, at least not too terribly much.

“The island’s not ready for you yet.”  In retrospect that could’ve been construed as a sign, a portent.  As it was, it was merely the announcement that we could not sail directly to Governors Island, so the Water Taxi made a scenic swoop down by the Statue of Liberty until we could disembark.  The boat shuttling us to the concert — the B-52s — which was supposed to depart at 5PM hadn’t left until a quarter to six.  But no one in line grumbled.  It was a late birthday gift, the show, and my group was in good spirits.  Everyone heading over, it seemed, was in good spirits.  (When we got there we noticed a sign for the City Planning Dept. BBQ.  That they would be the hold up for us arriving was an appreciable irony.)

So we claimed a picnic table, ate hotdogs and drank beer, watching the light fade over lower Manhattan.  We shared our bench with various strangers as time ticked by, and they were courteous.  The waitress coming by for drink orders was cheery and polite.  A father and son were having a catch in the sand at the Water Taxi Beach, and when the opening act, a reggae group, played, people swayed and the smell of marijuana wafted past our table.

Ivanna was the first to notice out of the corner of her eye the lightning flash over New Jersey.  It was dismissed, even the second and third time it occurred, as nothing was going to spoil the mood.

The B-52s took the stage and we shimmied in our little spot in the sand as they ran through their first few songs, like extras in a beach party flick.  After a few numbers, we moved closer to the stage, and the wind had noticeably picked up.  While in the middle of “Roam” a black-clad tech came on to announce due to the weather the show was on hold, and in we scambled to claim bags and belongings and file under the white tent just as the deluge hit.  Streaky bolts of lightning flashed over the water and thunder exploded and everyone was holding up cameras and iPhones to try to capture the storm.  We thought it would pass, the rain had slowed, but lightning still flickered and when the crew started taking the backdrop down it was evident the band wasn’t coming back on.  We joined what was now a steady stream back to the dock, while sparse fat raindrops continued to fall.  The DJ was still spinning, and some die-hards were kicking up sand, but we didn’t come over to hear Casey Spooner spin.  So we departed, still, amazingly, spirits high. The Water Taxi wasn’t even full when the shuttled us back over to Manhattan, and those aboard mostly rolled their eyes at the earnest chick who stood up to announce that “if you email…someone…you can get a refund.  If we all email.”

After a quick stop at the ice cream truck (Freezer Fresh!) we made our way to the train.  Not feeling slighted, at least not too terribly much.