Bryan Joiner

I wanted to write a blog post on the bus today, but I didn’t know how I was going to post it, and then I got SOCKED in the face by reality, where my $74 bus ticket (up from $66, like, yesterday) includes free wireless internet. Pith in motion! Note to U.S. Airways: get on this. Though I actually kind of liked the, you know, conversation I had in its absence yesterday.

So uh yeah. The Blind Side is on. I would watch this! But there’s no sound. And I read the book.

This was my second toe-touch in Brooklyn in the last two weeks. Twelve hours and gone. The first was MVY–>NY–>The Desert. This one is the return trip. I figured that if I didn’t get out of NY at the earliest opportunity I would be stuck here. And when I typed “JFK” into the self check-in yesterday, I felt nauseated. Having tasted Not New York, I’m eager to drink it down in copious amounts. Having seen other places with new eyes, especially Phoenix, I’m eager to do the same with New York.

But I can’t. When I came back in last night, it hurt my eyes to look. It was like being forced to watch TV when you’ve been at it for 12 hours. I needed, and need a break. I need to come back with new eyes. I need to see new and exciting things to do, or at least not grow anxious by looking at the old ones. I believe, in the parlance of our times, that I need a vacation. I need to get away.

So now I’m back on the bus, traversing the same stretch of I-95 that this guy, an O’Donnell and many a Smadbeck has owned over the last decade. I used to take pride in knowing the exits by heart. Now I take pride in only caring about my destination. I’ve been told that “place” is important to me, and I believe it. I used to the think the places along the way were the story, but they’re not. As I’ve begun renovating my childhood home, I have a much better idea of what a place means when you put your own sweat into it, and the gratification of seeing your own vision come to life. Having been away for so long, it was easy to see “home” with new eyes, and set about doing what had to be done.

My apartment in Brooklyn has been another story. I’ve tried to put it together without a real vision, and have done it piecemeal and half-assed. With new eyes, all of that might change.