(9/365)
On an expedition through the old neighborhood after Mass with Mom and Dad, I tried to resist going into Unabridged Bookstore, thinking of the books on my shelves that have sat, neglected; but I failed, driven perhaps by nostalgia for days past in New York spent browsing the many miles of books at The Strand.
Inside, the simple cover of No One Belongs Here More Than You beckoned me closer, testified to by a staff member’s positive, handwritten review posted on the shelf. The title, too, held a promise all its own, hinting that within its pages might be found a resolution to, or at least some brief sanctuary from, my own unshakable feeling of I Belong Somewhere Else: when I lived in New York; I belonged in Chicago; in Pittsburgh, I belonged in New York; and now, in Wisconsin, I belong… anywhere else.
Six years is a long time to be someplace you don’t belong. But–and I’m reminded of a performance of one-acts I did in college–everybody has to be someplace.
Thursday, January 28, 2010
[As I troll through my digital archives, piecing together memories of Scott for a brain that often fails to remember the more mundane details of life (it's those details that I think not only help provide context to what actually does matter, but also trigger memories that might be otherwise buried unreachable in my subconscious), I find things that I think are worth remembering. I hope no one minds me sharing them.]
If you asked me nowadays, I would tell you that, despite the tragedy of a certain day, I wouldn’t trade my college years in New York for anything. If nothing else, they clarified my love of the city (a term which, by the way, can only refer to one place) and left me with many fond memories–of people, places, and things, and a siren-like call to return.
(Continued)
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
So, slacker that I am (and in the end stage of studying for the MCAT, no less), I finally cleared out “Bender’s Game,” “Eureka” (season 1, disc 2), and “Prime Suspect 5” (part 2) from my to-watch list and shipped them back to Netflix. (I won’t admit how long I had one of those out for.)
Due up in my mailbox is a trip down memory lane: “Pi,” “Ghost Dog: The Way of the Samurai,” and “Sunrise.” “Pi” and “Ghost Dog” were some of the first movies I watched at the Angelika my freshman year of college, and “Sunrise” was one of the films we watched as part of the History of Cinema class I took my junior year. Collectively, they epitomize that phase of my life in which I aspired to be a pretentious snob^W^Wconnoisseur of the moving picture. (Which is not to say that I don’t anymore, only that it’s been tempered in recent years by…well, by no longer living in New York.) And there’s a keen sense of anticipation of rediscovering elements of some of the more visceral experiences that used to abound during my college years–not to mention the associated emotions that, to this day, color the reflection of my days as a New Yorker–but are now only faint memories to me.
All this will have to wait until after the MCAT. Less than three days to go.