Down the Shore

Tonight I'm leaving New York City for the first time since I arrived. I'm taking a late-night bus to Toms River, NJ where I'll meet my family. We'll spend the next two days at the shore house I went to every summer growing up. It's been a couple years since I last was there, and I'm so happy to be able to go back.

As our bus made the loop out of the Lincoln Tunnel, I caught I brief and miraculous view of the Manhattan skyline lights, before it disappeared. I'm curious how I'll feel when I return.

Little Green Chair

I'm living in an area of Brooklyn where a walk down the sidewalk includes a weave through the local people. Sitting on a stoop or standing on the corner—the sidewalk is the community meeting ground.

To this point I'd kept my head down, not wanting to bother anybody, not wanting to be bothered. But today I was waiting for my laundry, and there was nowhere to sit. I tried a little bench, but the sun was beating down on my face. I noticed a girl looking a bit like me grab a green lawn chair and plop down under a tree in the middle of the sidewalk. And so I did the same.

Oh the sweet breeze, the passing cars, the taste of a snack and a cool water. I looked up and around as I sat in the midst of passerbys.

To let myself be and to embrace a shared space—what a happy relief.

Six Seats

There's a public bench on a subway platform with six empty seats; the type of bench with dividers that keep it from becoming a bed. With so many options, where do you sit?

A young woman—let's call her Rachael—comes by and picks one of the two middle seats. It's weird to sit on the end when no one else is there, right? She had a long day (who didn't?), and she's exhausted. But the bench is now hers.

Two men come by and sit on either side, leaving one space in between. No problem. A couple then walks up and leans against the seat to Rachael's right. They're in their own little world. Thinking they'd want to sit down together, Rachael moves a seat to her left, and they sit. But now, she has nowhere for her too-big bag, and she doesn't want to put it on the ground, which she can only imagine is soaked in urine. Or maybe vomit.

The man on the far right gets up to walk down the platform, so now there are two open seats on the right of the bench. Rachael cranes her neck to look down at them. Now's her time to move. She gathers up her things. As she does, a train pulls away from another platform and commuters come rushing onto this one. In the crowd, a man knocks her bag, and it falls to the ground. She drops down to pick it up.

In the short time it takes for Rachael to lift herself back up, the two seats on the end easily fill from this new batch of passengers. Rachael turns around. At least she can take the seat she just left. At least she'll have a place to sit.

The seat is empty. Great. But wait, a man is making a bee-line straight for it. Rachael freezes. Her heart sinks. It isn't good. Because this isn't just any man.

It's a senior citizen.

A public bench. Six seats. Where do you sit?

Nowhere, that's where.

A Sweet Familiar Sound

For months I have waited for that familiar sound,

And people say I'm crazy,

"How, Joel, could you tie such comfort to something that's just a nuisance,"

"You're not remembering the way it is,"

But I'm nostalgic for the peace, the cleansing, the renewal,

And I miss the dark afternoons when the world shuts down,

And everyone is allowed to stay indoors,

Because they have too,

Nothing else would make sense,

But they want to,

A part of them wants to,

A part of me wants to,

Because spending every day on an unnatural high,

Is worse than riding the highs and lows,

Because at least this way,

You know the high is real.

Tonight I'll fall asleep to rain out my window, a sound I have missed.

Oh the sweet, sweet candy to my ears.

Review: The Spectacular Now

For a few weeks I have chased an opportunity to see The Spectacular Now, and this afternoon I finally got the chance at a small Landmark theater on Houston in NYC (pronounced by New Yorkers HOW-stun).

I skipped watching the trailer and instead judged my interest based on reviews and a movie poster. I am intrigued by any exploration of "now" in regards to living in the present, a theme that to my delight the film most certainly does address. And as someone who feels himself happy to hold onto the uncertainly and growth of an extended adolescence, I revel in an authentic display of youth and the discovery that comes with it.

Strangely enough, the sprinkling of a crowd in the small theater was almost entirely made up of middle-aged couples, who I like to think were there to bask in a special time in their own lives. Or maybe they feel like they never grew up.

Black faded into a computer screen and the voice over of high school senior Sutter (Miles Teller) as he typed a college application essay, a sentence which itself sounds like the action line at the beginning of a bad student film. But while an 18-year-old writing about high school would typically be overdramatic and void of perspective, seasoned writing partners Scott Neustadter and Michael H. Weber capture the real significance that that time can have.

Now unfolds as a series of simple and understated situations riddled with teen hormones and awkward dialogue—not in that it is written poorly, but in that it is very appropriately crafted to capture the awkward beginnings of high school romance. From Sutter's misguided confidence to Aimee's clean-slate naivety, the characters have the fundamental and true troubles that come from a lack of development. Unlike the pseudo-teenagers depicted in shows like Glee or anything on the CW, Now's characters are a bit more familiar to us; a bit normal, a bit lost, yet guided by the hope of innocence.

I write this as a 21-year-old, myself perhaps lacking the perspective to see what high school really means. But I'll go out on a limb and say that it's not often that a film grasps what it's like to be that young; where life is eating cereal, bickering with parents, and going to French club, with a few spectacular moments sprinkled in.

What It Could Bring

I am seeing what this semester could bring. I do not know what it will bring. I do not know what I want it to bring. I do not know if I even have a choice. But I am seeing some possibilities of how I'll reconstruct this memory.

That's it. I am seeing a glimpse at what I could remember from this semester. But what it could bring, that I am living right now.

Great People

The best things in life are either those that come from great people or those that lead to meeting them.

This is never so evident as when in a new place.