When I was younger I spent 8 summers at Interlochen Arts Camp in Michigan. I was a theatre major, which means that I got to explore acting among the very best, and in doing so found a group of truly great friends, even though we've all grown up, even though we're only rarely in touch. Perfect summers, really, that I chose to spend in uniform, following a strict and intensive study schedule, alongside some of the craziest sons of bitches I've ever met.
Our outdoor auditorium was called Kresge, and tattooed right above the stage were the words "Music is the universal language."
Walking home from the Grand Army Plaza farmers' market today, with armfuls of leeks, onions and the most gorgeous scallions (in a mood, I guess), I turn on my music. This time it's The New Pornographers and David Bowie, and by god, it speaks to me in a language no human's been able to even approximate. I'm reminded of the all-encompassing sound as I walked among classes for so many summers and so many summers ago: campers practicing their instruments, Yo-Yo Ma doing a sound check, Itzhak Perlman conducting a masters' class, or the musical theatre kids spontaneously breaking into a fully realized and choreographed number on Main Camp. Those were youthful, useful summers...I learned to be part of a great, big, weird community and to love what came along with it. I'm trying to find that in New York, and for a moment today, it comes. It's gone just as soon but I'm left with the taste, rich and full. It carries me home and my mouth is watering, my hands are itching, and my kitchen is waiting for me to wreak havoc with all of those superlative members of the lily family.
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