Homeward Bound
As of last year, I have lost my status as a permanent resident of New York City. I have in many ways become a stranger to the concrete jungle that taught me that the world contained more than my five-person family and two-bedroom apartment located in the scenic neighborhood of Parkchester, centered in the middle of the Bronx, a borough known for little more than its poverty and baseball team.
My Friend Mike
I first met Mike a year and a half years ago, in the month following my high school graduation. I was spending the summer in Manhattan and, for the first time in my life, my youth didn’t feel burdensome or constricting; I no longer wanted to be just a little bit older. I was studying Jewish texts during the day, and puzzling out the ancient Hebrew and Aramaic felt intellectually challenging and spiritually exciting in a way that my overcrowded public high school classes never had.
An Invisible Minority
I spent this past fall break on a Pace Center Breakout trip in our nation’s capital, visiting congressional lobbies, vocational employment centers, and the Walter Reed National Military Medical Center, where I saw, firsthand, those who had experienced the casualties of war. Eating in the hospital cafeteria, I sat among masses of amputees, the people who actually comprise the looming, abstract statistics we hear always on the news.
The Biography of Meryl Streep
A poem in 8 acts.
H, to O
Dear Oxygen,
I haven’t seen you in a while. And I suppose you’ve never really seen me (remember, I am just one proton). Though I periodically get lonely, I manage to stay positive. This is a joke, Oxygen. You see, I am always positive in an electromagnetic sense (I am a proton!), but my morale—well, with a relentless positive charge comes a great burden. O—may I call you O?—nothing comes easily to me.
Mommy Says
Once a month, my mother would choose a single-parenting experience she thought to be humorous or poignant and would write it down for the whole world to read (or at least the subscribers of North Texas). My mother didn’t just archive my brother’s and my childhood, she created public records of all our most embarrassing moments.
Rouse
Dearest Cynthia, / What could I offer you / that would drag you / from this cardboard crypt / you’ve contaminated with your presence? / Oh, Cynthia.
Mortem Ex Machina
I remember the first time someone I knew died. My sister’s friend had gone missing, and when the news finally came that her death was sure, I privately went through my phone, which had previously been my sister’s, and searched for the friend’s name.
Butts in a Name?
My name is Austin deButts, and although my surname is not all that complicated, living with it for the past 20 years has been.
Through the Glass Ceiling, Seeing Stars
Professor Gillian Knapp and Professor Neta Bahcall speak about being women in scientific careers.
Anatomy of A Single Girl
Not long ago, Random House sent a number of free books to the Nassau Weekly in the hopes that we would exercise our considerable influence on campus to publicize and review their products. One volume in particular (a bright pink thing called Anatomy of a Single Girl) caught my eye. It wasn’t just the garish cover or the titillating title, it was—actually, no, it was mostly those things.
Under Construction
Life at Forbes has been a generally positive experience for me. I have a great room with a view of the golf course and easy access to the Wa, and I’ve come to love the leaf-crunching, peaceful walk. I wasn’t even annoyed when, a few weeks ago, I saw the construction site taking over my neighborhood. While my fellow Forbesians complained about the growing number of orange traffic cones, bulldozers, and walking detours, I was secretly excited.
A Tribute to Lou
On November 8, Titus Andronicus, a New Jersey punk band, finished their set at Terminal 5 opening for Lucero with a cover of the Velvet Underground’s “Sister Ray” as a tribute to the late and great Lou Reed.