Thirtysomething sexual coming to being

by Owen Martin

On the 7:30 train home
I noticed her half asleep
Taking up all two seats
With her knees, calves, and feet

Her pose was tired, comfortable, and neat

Because it was late
She had passed her smile to her eyes
Her smile having faded with the day's work

I mistook those eyes for gravity

I couldn't imagine her helpless,
Squeezing, or afraid

Nor imagine her flustered, sneezing,
Or loving me all day

She's a sexual creature with a bodyguard

We're too many stops past New York
There's nobody around
And while she my blink or wiggle her feet
She'll never make a sound

American Communism

I feel obliged to publish the fact that I will not be writing my well-hyped essay entitled American Communism; or, Jacobs v. Busch. After nearly a year of living on the Busch Campus in Piscataway, New Jersey, I felt it was time for me to exact my revenge through powerful, emotional words and well-thought-out arguments.

It was to start: "This essay is an attack on the design of the Busch Campus." After having finally finished The Death and Life of Great American Cities by Jane Jacobs, I was going to use her templates and arguments to criticize every aspect of the design of the campus.

And I did come up with a number of really good ideas, but after a while it dawned on me that one axiom of Jacobs simply did not apply at Rutgers: capitalism. It didn't matter if the blocks were long or short, if the buildings were both young and old, if the population density was high, or if there was a mixture of primary uses. No new enterprise could be undertaken there by pure administration fiat.

Of course it was true: the blocks were too long, mainly generated by sprawling parking lots. The buildings were virtually all built in the 70s, and all in the same state of general blandness. The population density was entirely too low, having pushed all the dwellings to one corner, and having driven away the desire for more by a lack of services on campus. And of course, there was only one primary use: school.

And what a shame! Students, having so much free time and lack of obligations, are perfect generators of city diversity. But none of it matters because the Busch Campus is immutable. I finally know how it is to live in a communist housing project. And what's worse: the exterior of this Soviet wasteland is the most sprawled out suburb on the East Coast: completely devoid of a main street or a viable alternative to 5 miles of driving to get a cup of coffee. I was caught between the worst part of the Eastern world and the worst part of the Western world, and look at how similar they were.

Since my daring escape I've toured the west and east of DC, on foot and by car, respectively, and then installed myself in Manhattan having safely stowed my car on Long Island. Soon I will be back in New Brunswick, but with slightly higher morale and the impetuousness of youth.