Memories from a week in the Dominican Republic with Michael and Anthony: snorkeling the reefs of Catalinita Island, playing with the fat starfish there, swearing at the tiny sandflies hungry in the mangroves. Kayaking the ocean, riding the waves, sailing with a broken rudder and careening into the shoreline, tumbling and panicking and laughing all over. Riding horses to a limestone cave. Giggling at topless sunbathers and pretty fish alike. Walking under the hot, hot Caribbean sun and watching in the mirror our faces turn browner and browner and browner yet as the days passed by. Sunburn. Eating and drinking and eating and drinking and sleeping sleeping sleeping. Coco loco? Four more for the road, por favor. Good friends, good times.

Photos here.

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The end of the week has brought with it a dark and somber morning sky. From the window behind me, I watch the streets of midtown turn black with rain, silent pedestrians darting from building to building and running helter-skelter with umbrellas as old and useless as yesteryear's news. The thunderstorms reached us today.

It's a hard rain that's falling outside, a hot and wet rain that does little to cool the city from the heat sudden and constant since Memorial Day, a drenching rain with heavy drops that obscures any semblance of the sun and washes off the leaves of trees their fragile thin film of early summer's dust.

We're leaving on vacation tomorrow morning, heading south for a week away from the madness that is New York City, away from a turbulent week that has left nerves frayed and spirits ragged. When we get back, we should be rested. When we get back, we should be excited about our jobs. We should be raring to go and full of vigor, young once more and fully refreshed. Things will go back to being pleasant for a while, stresses will have vanished, the city will be manageable, all will be good.

When we get back, life will be livable again.

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