MOST: The Park Slope Food Coop (especially the cheese)

from bluesage’s flickr photostream

While many people have their beef with the Coop, and the foodie blogosphere is playing host to some kind of Gourmand Deathmatch now that the Fairway has opened in Red Hook, I’ve always been rather happy about being a member.

If you don’t like it, think it’s dumb, etc. that’s fine–just don’t complain to me about it because I don’t want to hear it. I think the Coop is a nice place to shop and work, most of the members are chill and interesting. One of the squad leaders is positively one of the coolest people I’ve ever met (I mean, when was the last time you were engaged in a discussion on the politics of private property after your coop shift while eating freshly made guacamole with chips?)

And the cheese, the cheese is a delicious bargain.

Even though I was mistaken for a boy during my shift on Monday (albeit by an old man who didn’t seem to have all his senses in order, he said “Thanks, son!”) I still love the place. And even though I’ll be happy to get my $100 investment back (more cash for the move!), I’ll also be happy to reinvest it when I return to this fair city.

Least: after the jump

LEAST: Goddam m’f’ing HEAT

NYC has the worst hot humid summers of any place I’ve lived. In the last few days, my usually brisk walk has slowed down to annoying-old-person tempo as I wade through the molasses that we call the air around us right now. I recently began believing in God, just so I could praise someone for letting me live in an apartment with CENTRAL AIRCONDITIONING. (You read it, folks. Central A/C. I’m the only one I know with this fancy pants amenity in NYC. Then again, I don’t know any rich people.) I’ve extended invitations to friends sans AC to sleep on my futon to foreclose on the possibility of them dying of heat exhaustion during the night.

While there is also a heat wave in most of Europe, I look forward to swimming in the sweet ass public pools in Vienna and reading more about ridiculous propriety bullshit like women getting ticketed for taking off their tops at Paris-Plages.

Until it gets bearable, enjoy the following picture of Coney Island during a 1950s heatwave.