Matthew Gallaway

The Waves

Last night Stephen and I went to a restaurant overlooking a harbor. In keeping with the insanely good weather we've experienced this week, there was a beautiful sunset: I actually ran out between courses to snap some shots.

Over dinner, Stephen and I were discussing the idea of how in life, you basically attain a certain level of self-awareness that never really changes as you age, so that you feel much the same at the age of 18 as you do at the age of ____. This is not the same thing, obviously, as wisdom or 'self-actualization' or 'hitting the lottery' or other forms of psychological development that we may or may not experience throughout the course of our lives, but merely a base level of consciousness that can be contrasted with the more rapid deterioration of our physical bodies. I was reminded of the song by The New Year called '18,' the lyrics to which include the following: 

"Even when you're looking
Out of a body that's one day away
From being a corpse
You still feel eighteen on the inside
This is something you should know
There's no escaping getting old
But did I hear that when I was told so
When I was eighteen on the outside"

Which I couldn't help contrasting with the Alice Cooper rock anthem, 'I'm 18':

"I got a
Baby´s brain and an old man´s heart
Took eighteen years to get this far
Don´t always know what I´m talkin´ about
Feels like I´m livin´ in the middle of doubt
Cause I´m eighteen
I get confused every day
Eighteen
I just don´t know what to say
Eighteen
I gotta get away."

While both have their charms, I've always been more inclined to listen to the New Year and of course Bedhead, their predecessor.
[We interrupt our regularly scheduled blog post to thank our sponsors.] Just kidding! This was a vending machine at the marina.

When we returned home, there was a full moon hovering in the sky.

As you can probably surmise, we don't have television in our cottage, so I made some ridiculous drawings of the 'man in the moon' in the (vain) attempt to improve my 'tumblarity.'

I slept for many many hours and woke up to another perfect day. The pool was calm. I worked on my novel, which I'm turning back into my editor in a few days. I swam some laps and felt very healthy. I did not miss New York City or my job. (I am constantly missing the cats, though!)

For lunch, Stephen and I drove to a nearby Italian deli and brought back 'heroes' or as we used to say in Pittsburgh: 'hoagies.' Mine had fresh mozzarella, tomatoes, basil and olive oil and it was perfect. Unlike yesterday, when we bought the same thing, I didn't even hesitate before eating the second half.
While I waited for Stephen to get the goods, I thought about a conversation I had with the pool cleaner the other day. 'Can I ask you something?' I said. 'Sure,' he replied. 'Are non-chlorinated pools THAT much harder to take care of than chlorinated ones?' I said this as if I were actively pool shopping, which I am in my imagination. 'No, salt-water or (I forget) -- none of them are that difficult,' he replied before explaining that the key to keeping a pool clean is that 'every pool is different -- every pool has a personality,' and you have to be aware of this. Although this guy was 58, he had retired from the postal service several years ago and started this business in the summer, and now spends the winters down south surfing with his wife. Not for the first time did I regret my decision to go to law school!

The afternoon sun grew hot. My friend D___ called and invited me to join her party at the beach, but unfortunately the parking lot was full, so I didn't go. Parking is definitely an issue for the short-term visitor to Southampton!

I 'suffered' a little bit longer next to the pool before I decided to go for a run.

I ran to Fowler's Beach, which is the non-non-non-homosexual beach. (I didn't bring my camera, so these pix are admittedly a few days old.) The late afternoon light reminded me of when I was a child, and how -- on the last day of vacation -- my cousin and I would stay on the beach as long as possible, trying to draw out ever last second of it. I remember how much I dreaded the thought of returning home and going back to school, and so spent a lot of time memorializing and ritualizing the 'last' of everything: the last nap on the beach, the last walk through the dunes, the last drip castle, the last time I zoned out and watched those strange, miniscule creatures crawl over the surface of my eyes. But mostly I remember the last swim, and how I wanted it to last forever, so that I would never face the land and the people who lived there, with their gods and religions and societies who (even though I was barely conscious of this) told me I was wrong to the core of my being, whereas in the ocean I prayed to a different and more forgiving god, one I could believe in because it was awesome and it was good to me and it was implicitly accepting because it let me swim like a fish in its waves. So out I went for the last swim and I would wait and wait and wait for the perfect wave, so that at least if I did have to go back it would be with a certain momentum and force, as if I had been anointed by my belief in the ocean. And I could remember the feeling of falling down the front of the wave -- i.e., 'catching it' -- and accelerating across the surface of the water and -- if the tide was out -- maybe even taking a breath as I was propelled ever closer to a life I didn't really want to resume.

Today the waves were still good. I caught the last one of the year, put on my shoes and socks -- ugh, the sand! -- and ran home.

The George Washington Break Project

Today was another perfect day on our vacation in Southampton. The weather was hot but not too hot and the sky was bright but not too bright.

At one point when I went into the pool and sat for several seconds underwater, I remembered being very young -- perhaps 5 years old -- when my older brother took me to his friend's house for the day. The friend had a pool and while my brother and his friend (who were probably 13) flirted with some girls they had invited over, I spent as much time as I could underwater; even then I knew on some level that I didn't want to partake -- or even witness -- the kind of non-homosexual rituals that most take for granted.

Later I thought about how much I wished that our vacation, which is only one week, would last for two; I wondered how long a vacation I would need before I stopped thinking about such things.

I tried to calculate how many vacations I could expect to enjoy in the rest of my life; in the past year, I've had maybe 2.5, but before that I had gone 5+ years without any. This led me to regret the existence of the modern form of capitalism, under which the bourgeois concept of 'vacation' was implemented. (In the 1800s, the concept didn't exist; you were either a 'rich' or a 'poor.')

Are u 'going on vacation' in 2k9?
Do u agree with Schopenhauer that 'death...is a vacation from life''?
Do u <3/h8/miss ur job?
When u go on vacation, who takes care of the cats? (miss u, Dante/Zephyr/Elektra)
Would u b in 'favor of health care reform' if it included an 'all-expense paid trip to Oahu?'
Do u have a pool? (Is it chlorine or 'salt-water'?)

Zinnia Profusion!

My latest 'In the Weeds' column is up on The Awl. It's on Zinnia Profusion. Click through and enjoy!

The George Washington Blue Project

Blue pool.

Blue cushion and blue pillow.

Blue tube for massage.

Blue awning.
 

Blue door.

Blue bathing suit.

Blue sky.

Blue stripes.

Blue interior.

Blue canvas.

Blue shirt.

Blue font.

Blue states.

Blue boaters.

Blue night.

'I'll drive so far away.'

--Galaxie 500/Blue Thunder

The George Washington Beach Project

Today we spent most of the day next to the pool, where I spent a lot of time working on my novel staring at the water.

The weather was perfect, and I wasn't sorry to realize that August had ended.

We decided to walk to dinner, following directions given to us as we walked by Stephen's new iPhone app, which we call 'Sarah' because it has a female voice and sounds kind of like the robotic voice on that show 'Eureka,' which btw I do NOT recommend, at least if you're interested in non-stereotypical representations of non-heterosexuals, which I almost always am. But it's fun to yell at Sarah: 'Sarah, calm down!' I said when she told me to turn left the second we stepped out the door. She doesn't seem to take it personally. Anyway, walking through Southampton, Stephen and I were reminded of 1) Bloomfield Hills, Michigan and 2) New Canaan, Connecticut. This is not necessarily a plus or a minus, but if like us you spend 98 percent of your time with 'the poors' in Washington Heights, it can be a bit startling to find yourself in place that is the exact opposite, from a socioeconomic perspective. I wondered if class mobility still exists in this country in 2009, but didn't want to stray too far afield dwelling on the problems of the world: after all, I'm supposed to be on vacation!

I couldn't help spending a few seconds regretting the existence of the automobile, however, and how it has impacted the planning of towns and cities. If I were running the world, I would require most housing to be clustered closer together, so that people could walk places and actually see other people. Obv sidewalks in Southampton, as in most suburbs like this where I've ever spent time, are not exactly bustling or vibrant.

Nevertheless, we passed some exceedingly beautiful trees.

I saw two store's named after Bernadette and wondered if they were the same person, or if it was a coincidence. 

 

It seemed odd to me that the same person would pick such different fonts for two signs. Also, why the 'O'Brien' on one and not the other? Or perhaps they are two different Bernadettes! I have a cousin named Bernadette, and I can't imagine she would be very happy if she opened a store and another Bernadette opened one right next door. I kind of know how she feels!

We arrived at the restaurant, where we had made reservations for seven o'clock and had been told that they could 'squeeze us in.'

This seemed like a bit of implied puffery, but we didn't mind because the food was very good. Stephen had an appetizer of mixed slices of watermelon and heirloom tomatoes, and we were reminded of that episode on Top Chef from last season where the 'older lady from New Jersey who spoke like Carm' won a round by basically serving watermelon. As Stephen said, it was 'very refreshing!' and I could not help but agree. Hey, watermelon isn't just for breakfast for anymore!

I waited outside for a few minutes after dinner while Stephen went to the bathroom. It wasn't hard to imagine what this place looked like ____ years ago, and I was reminded of 'Sam's Place' in True Blood. I think one of the reasons that show is so popular is that people have never been more fatigued with American culture than they are right now, and are really looking for means of escape (via vampires and similar monsters). I'm not sure an expensive car is still that mngful in 2k9.

After dinner, we walked through town and observed the many stores filled with expensive things. Here is an example of a 'Dodo Hat,' which according to the sign is a 'spectacular eye-catching one-of-a-kind hat...inspired by the most extraordinary bird of all time. There will never be another Dodo -- bird or hat, but you can wear this Dodo and party on forever.' I felt like there were many logical fault lines in this argument, but I resisted the temptation to bring them into any great relief. As Freud said, 'sometimes a Dodo hat is just a Dodo hat.'

Walking home, we took a shortcut and somehow ended up in the 'Washington Heights' of Southampton. As we walked past, I could not help wonder why I always feel so at home among the ruins, and whether I find them, or -- more intriguingly -- they create me.