i got mad love for you, shorties.

This afternoon, I went to see one of the classics play on the big screen: Francis Ford Coppola's The Outsiders. A young Matt Dillon, Rob Lowe, Emilio Estevez, Tom Cruise, Ralph Macchio, Patrick Swayze, and C. Thomas Howell played across the screen with that youthful glint in their eyes. I always well up at the tearful reunion of the brothers after Pony, Dally, and Johnny Cake played heroes and rescued those children from the burning church. It also brings me back to when I was fourteen, same age as Pony, and had to act out that scene where Darry just hit Pony and Pony goes to the park to get Johnny to run away with him. We all know what happens then. My friends and I acted that scene out for a project we had to do in English after reading The Outsiders.

I had to be Johnny. Not in a bratty way, but I needed to because I was the underdog in those days, just like poor Johnny. Johnny would have understood me. I would have understood him. And so, I simply had to be Johnny in that scene. My friend decided to play Pony and she was so not a Ponyboy, but that is beside the point. As I sat in the dark theater remembering a younger me acting out the part of Johnny, who would have so gotten me, I got to thinking how my favorite characters change with age. Pony became my favorite for a little while because, let's face it, he's gold. And he's one of those characters that will always be gold. He's a handsome dreamer. But, as an adult, my favorite Outsiders character remains to be Sodapop. And for very different reasons.



Sodapop is everything I am not and wish I could be: wild, reckless, carefree, charming. I am none of those. If you consider showing up late for my Body Sculpting class on Tuesdays wild and reckless, then... well I can't even do that. I am there early every Tuesday. In order to be wild and reckless, I believe that you also need to be charming to keep people from being angry at you. Soda oozes that reckless-babe-who-can-woo-you-with-a-smile qualities in abundance. I believe that if Soda were a real person, I would fall madly in love him.



Another character that gets to me is Conrad Jarrett from Judith Guest's Ordinary People.

"...Everywhere he looks, there is competence and good health. Only he, Conrad Jarrett, outcast, quitter, fuck up, stands outside the circle of safety, separated from everyone by this aching void of lonliness; but no matter, he deserves it. He does not speak to anyone. He does not dare to look his classmates in the eye. He does not want to contaminate, does not wish to find further evidence of his lack of worth."

I want to gather him up in my arms and protect him from his thoughts. To me, Conrad is one of the more real characters ever to take residence in a book. I can see him. I can practically feel his heart beat. And maybe, I can relate with him too.

In that part of the story where he is in the library when he feels someone starting at him, he starts to fill up with anger and guilt as she openly continues to stare. Then, he sees the woman in the parking lot and there is this exchange:

"...'Oh, sorry.' Then she straightens up. He has caught her off-guard, but she is still more poised than he, and this close, he can see her face: small, delicate features, the casual elegance of a painter or a dancer, a beautiful pointed nose. She smooths her hair back from her face. "I embarassed you in there, didn't I? I'm sorry.' She shrugs her shoulders. 'You're very good-looking. But I'm sure you already know that."

Conrad is shocked and goes home and studies himself in the mirror for the first time since he can remember. The thought that someone can be thinking something good about him doesn't even enter his mind. That's how broken he is in this story.


And speaking of broken, let's talk about another classic literary genius: Holden Caulfield. I love that Holden is a kid just trying to do kid things like go on dates and yet, he also orders scotch in the hotel bar when he gets thrown out of school. The only thing in Holden's world that is pure is his little sister, Phoebe. Everything else is broken. Nothing is gold except Phoebe. When he goes to her elementary school and sees Fuck you written in the stairwell, he freaks out because he doesn't want kids to have to see that. And I love the part of the book that describes his trips to the Museum of Natural History: everything stays just as it was, the squaw is still laying out the same number of fish from her catch years ago when he was a kid. The same number of ducks still fly in the same direction. Every time I go to the Museum of Natural History, I think of Holden and wish that his life could have been easier. Maybe, in my mind, I'm thankful Holden's out there in the literary world and we're sort of holding each other up in this weird way in my mind.

Here's to Soda and Johnny and Pony, Conrad and Holden. I got mad love for you, Shorties!

world is to oyster as foliage is to __________.

The world is our oyster!
People say that all the time:
"What are you doing this weekend?"
"I don't know; the world is my oyster!"
Ok. I lied. No one says that in real life.
Ok. I lied again. I say it. I say it often. When I say it, it's often because this part of me believes that the world is my oyster and everything is just there for the taking. If I want to have a crazy night out, I can do that. If I want to hop on a train and visit some random city, I can do that too. The truth is, I don't do those things as often as I'd like to. I say "the world is my oyster" to try to motivate myself. It's like a gentle reminder, "life is short; really live." But here's the thing: I fear I don't know exactly what that means.

If you were to talk to members of my family, they'd say I was a wild child who can't be tied down; or as my father says, "you get antsy. I give you another year before you move again." My grandmother has this old school phone book and by my name, there are phone numbers and addresses in the double digits. I left my Long Island home and never looked back. I went to many different colleges and stayed up late nights and did things that just wouldn't be allowed in the real world, I studied in London, backpacked for almost a month, interned in Alaska, moved across the country to Oregon, then six years later, moved back east to NYC. I was directed into a major that would allow me to mostly always be in high demand, while I could still practice what I want to really do. I got mostly all the jobs I interview for (as a kid and as an adult). And then it all just sort of stopped. Life in the fast lane seems to be over. I have taken off my helmet.

I woke up two Novembers ago and realized I hadn't used my passport in over a decade. Granted, in that time I was playing on the west coast, but I remember coming back from London with that feeling. I had been bitten. I wanted... no needed to see more. The word AGAIN came to mind and it's funny because just as I was about to write it, I looked over at a print I have hung on the wall next to my bed. It says AGAIN on a roughly drawn blue sky above roughly drawn green grass; the colors are rather jarring. I hung that print on my wall a few years ago and have sometimes looked at it, thinking, that's actually not that pleasing to look at... why did I buy that? Should I take it down? But I never do. And just now, I realized why it's there.

While I may look back at my life and think there's little I would change, the truth is, when I was in it, I didn't see things that way. Right now, I work at this rock and roll middle school with kids I enjoy seeing. I live in one of those rare apartments that is comfortable to live in and to pay for. I have a roomate that is so easy to get along with and fun to have around. I have Manhattan just a hop and skip away. I have wonderful people who work right across the street from me. I have friends from different areas and times of my life to hang around with. And while none of this might be life in the fast lane material, it is what it is for now. Who knows where my next trip will be? Who knows what will happen in two years, two months, or two days from now? I think the saying, the world is your oyster, really is just a reminder to take chances in your life and jump on opportunities without having too much fear. But it doesn't mean that every day and night has to be epic. And that's what I seem to forget. Because, really, if you're cracking oysters every day and every night, you will be tired and your stomach will hurt. You need these periods of rest to counter the crazy.