The hardest part about leaving the city is the idea of quitting. If I quit Manhattan, than I become a quitter. And when you’re a mover and a shaker, you’re not a quitter. To quit anything is bad form.
I remember seeing you, I remember having a good enough time. I don’t remember piecing together the obvious parts. Until now. Now, when every realization is exploding right next to my face, one after another, right around my temples. My eyes flicker with each burst semblance of a better life.
Through my work and experience in AP Literature, I’ve learned that nearly any work of writing can be analyzed to reveal deeper meaning. This will influence my future by allowing me to see the unintentional depth hidden in seemingly one-dimensional words.
Here’s what happens. We strike it, but it doesn’t die. It crowned from the blackness of suburbia like a king, hunted by asphalt and high beam lights. Night usurped by day. Flashes of antiqued green. Down goes Frazier. Engines revved for the K.O. That was any scenario. But this is mine.
Is it problematic that I haven’t ever really done anything rebellious or teenager-ish? Is it going be like people say, where the kids who never did anything bad are the ones that go crazy and lose it in college? Shouldn’t I be working on my final English paper on Nabokov instead of writing this?
I have come, finally, to understand the plot of the film Mouse Hunt, in which Nathan Lane loses his mind chasing after a furry little creature with whom the audience empathizes. When I saw the kiddie mainstay, I was in its target demographic, and, of course, rooted for the mouse. It was so cute! Now, I am rooting for Nathan Lane—which is more or less rooting for myself.
Age 12: I am informed by my parents that God kills kittens every time a boy masturbates. My parents decide it’s funny to make dying cat noises when they walk past my room on their way to bed. Masturbation is suddenly less fun.
Therein, a Tweet from the ABC sitcom star reading “At the pier… just saw #DavidBeckham!” clears an entire beach of girls searching for the British soccer star David Beckham, freeing Ms. Vergara to go buy a Diet Pepsi, unencumbered by David Beckham fans who happen to read her Twitter feed and/or subscribe to the hashtag “#DavidBeckham.” Which is everyone. Or no one!
Gender is unapologetically performed all over Share the Joy, and to miss that is to listen with one ear clogged. Ramone coincidentally uses that word—“girl”—sixteen times on Share the Joy, as opposed to the one “girl” on 2008’s Vivian Girls, and one on 2009’s Everything Goes Wrong.
What follows is a list of the different kinds of people I’ve noticed over the years at my gym. I’m curious to know if these people frequent other gyms too. Perhaps they only come out to bother me?