By The Sea

I will always be the kind of person who goes in the water at the beach. As much as I want to be able to lie languorously on a towel, taking in the sun with eyes closed, sipping a Pina Colada— some people’s true paradise— I cannot. The water pulls me to it, until I am so antsy to feel its cool rush that I cannot sit still. And I am drawn to people who feel the same way (oh, how I love my swimmers, still best friends after all this time), so I am seldom in the water alone. This is a good thing, because I am partially scared to be the only one out there. Maybe it is Shark Week’s fault, or maybe it is just somewhat frightening to be alone when you have water up to your chin and you can’t see your toes. But when someone else is with me, I completely forget this fear and fully embrace the rhythmic movement of the ocean. I remember when I was younger, after a full day at Robert Moses, lying in my bed at night and still being able to feel that motion cradling me to sleep. Not unlike when you really like someone and the relationship is new (the “honeymoon” phase, as some call it), and you can still feel their limbs tangled in your own.

Recently, on this idyllic beach in Aruba, my family ventured into the turquoise water multiple times. (And by “ventured” I mean sauntered out into the still water that was clear and warm as a bathtub.) At one point, we were all floating on our backs, holding hands in a chain. Yes, I am aware of how trite and corny this scene sounds. And yet, I couldn’t help savoring every swell of the water we rode together in this fashion. We finally let go, and I mayyyy have looked around hastily to see if anyone had been watching this shameless display of familial affection. But no one seemed to care, everyone in his/her own relaxing world (and maybe a bit too comfortable, for I saw multiple cracks slipping out of bathing suits that I had no desire to view.) So I let the white sand ooze between my toes as I swam back to shore.

The question is: where does this aquatic love stem from? I joke to people that it is because I am a Pisces, the fish sign (though I do not believe in astrology much at all.) This is also the reasoning I cite for not liking seafood: I cannot eat my own kind. People never think this is too funny, but it amuses me, so I continue to say it. Fellow swimmers have told me that our love of the water has some kind of scientific origin: as fetuses (feti would’ve been such a better plural of that word) we spent all our time in the amniotic sack (in liquid) before we enter this oxygen-filled world. So when we are in water, we are comforted, because we feel again as if we are in our mother’s womb. (I think I am getting this description right. However, I apologize for any wrong facts; for when people start to talk science, my brain often begins to think in poetry or a British accent…) There is, of course, the people that go in the water simply because it cools them off. Some do it for exercise and some because they are just influenced by others to go in. But I have come to think that maybe what we are drawn to so much is the consistency. The weightlessness it gives us, the way it holds our bodies and carries them, beyond our control.

As a society, we are rather obsessed with weight. As terrible as America’s obesity is, I am kind of tired of hearing about it. People (more so girls than guys) are constantly picking out their weight, a feature they want to change, or worrying about what they put in their mouth, because they know it will affect this infamous weight. I am not saying I am any different. I hate that it is something we must worry about.

There is also the emotional stress on us that so often feels like a physical weight. Our stressors seem to make our shoulders slouchier (is that a word?), our head heavier. So what would be better than something that takes our weight away? A substance so great, that it subtracts our unwanted baggage, leaving us to be, simply: our thoughts with a ghost of a body?

Daily Randomisms:

· Daily Excitement: Ging’ Binges (Ging’ pronounced like the first syllable of Ginger). This is when one hangs out with many red headed people at a time. Ex.) I was so excited when I was introduced to the term “Ging’ Binge”, because, at the time, I was hanging out with Kevin, Katie, and Michelle, so I was definitely on a Ging’ Binge.

· Daily Annoyance: Current Pop Culture. A few days ago I was in a record shop in Huntington, and was looking through the splendid collection of albums, wishing turntables were the norm. And I hear some middle-aged man come in and ask for a Jonas Brothers CD. Seriously. Among Houses of the Holy, some Bob Dylan, Arcade Fire, Revolver, Janis Joplin, The Joshua Tree, — he expected to find the JONAS BROTHERS??? You have no idea how close I was to breaking the Bob Marley and the Wailers album in my hand when the shop clerk said “Yes, they should be in the back left corner…”!!!!!!!!! Those Jonas Bros were there, tainting the beautiful array of music that I was looking through! I asked the guy working there about this, and he said, though it is sad, they have to carry that kind of stuff. “I wish we could only carry Bob Marley, though,” he said, as I paid. “Seriously, who doesn’t like Bob Marley?” he continued. That was an easy question to answer for me: “People who don’t have a soul!” He agreed.

But then I got to thinking (what’s new?) that maybe I shouldn’t judge. Should people be allowed to make severe music mistakes? After all, they may redeem themselves once they hear what else is out there. I mean, this may come as a shock to those who know me, but the first time I heard Led Zeppelin, I was opposed to them. (In my defense, I was young, and obviously very misguided by N’Sync’s annoying vibes.) And soon I realized how wrong I had been. Maybe the Jonas Bro-lovers will grow up to like Ricky Martin and Nickleback and be a disappointment. Or maybe, just maybe, they will hear “Bridge Over Troubled Waters” and fall in love with music, as it is supposed to be.

So I cooled off and decided to be less judgmental, and, hopefully, less annoyed.

· Trivia: Lyndon B. Johnson, in reference to JFK’s stud reputation, said, “I’ve had more women by accident than he’s had on purpose.” Obviously LBJ was a little envious of his Kennedy predecessor. Maybe he didn’t know that sometimes its quality, not quantity; in the words of JFK: “I’m never through with a woman until I’ve had her three ways.” Lovely.