My ticket to the aquarium cost $50. In line, my friend Leon wonders if our group can pass as 20-year-olds to get the youth discount. Instinctively deferential to old white men, I wasnāt brave enough to press my luck with the retiree at the booth. I stayed quiet, nodding at his directives as I slid my credit card under the plexiglass divider.
We saw lots of things: A moray, notably, which Leon said was the coolest thing he saw that day. Horseshoe crabs with brains the size of āhalf a cheerio,ā as the docent remarked. Horseshoe crabs latching onto each other because theyāre sometimes too lazy to move on their own. Horseshoe crabs creating a five-horseshoe-crab-long train, pissing off the horseshoe crab in the front who had to tow everyone else around. And moon jellies, which donāt have brains at all.
Itās difficult, but if you can peel your gaze off of the fluorescent fish and adjust your vision enough to make out the text on the dark plaques nearby, then you see it everywhere. Devastation ā the building is full of it. Reefs are being destroyed, of course, but you knew that. Plastic pollution hurts sea turtles. Commercial fishing upsets marine ecosystems. Ocean temperatures are rising, which is bad for most sea life, but totally fine for jellies, who keep well in polluted, low-oxygen environments. Their predators often fall victim to overfishing, plastic waste, and other flavors of anthropogenic ecological destruction. Jellyfish are an indicator species: Their behavior tells us something about environmental conditions, and the more jellyfish we see, the more worried we should be for the other beings in the ocean, like sea turtles and sunfish and coral.
But no matter. We went to the dolphin pool, where a docent exasperatedly explained to a pair of parents that they donāt do dolphin shows anymore. They havenāt done them in 11 years. The dolphins do better on an irregular schedule, she said. Whatever that means. So then what was the point of the Dolphin Discovery exhibit? You could just watch them swim around or, if you were lucky like us, catch them jumping and twirling for treats. We moved down to the alcove where you could see the bottom of the tank and watched the dolphins dance. We absently followed the dolphinsā paths, our noses tracing figure eights in the air. A teenager sat next to me, her eyes fixed on the dolphins while she monologuing to the long-haired boy beside her. She was rigid and cold, stoicly telling him about Tilikum, the famous orca at Sea World that was raised in captivity and killed three people.
Throughout the day, we wanted to hold these tender creatures in our hands. We wanted to feed them and slap them and touch them and bite them. I wanted to caress the moon jellies forever, to touch their insides, even though the docent was crystal clear that that was unacceptable. Two fingers. Only touch the tops. I wanted to watch the birds, maybe forever. The green-gold budgie in the Australian exhibit perched on a branch above us, not unlike the blue budgie I had as a kid (and as a teen, and throughout college). āBuddyā lived in a cage in my home for 14 years, and remembering this made guilt twist through my shoulders. Did Buddy realize he was on the wrong side of the world?
Our legs got tired, our knees buckled, and we left. Whether we got our $50 worth, we werenāt sure. Leon and I ordered crab cakes at dinner, maybe getting what we wished for all along. They were āmarket price,ā and we didnāt ask, arrogantly. We werenāt anywhere fancy, so how much could they possibly cost? The answer was $50 for two crab cakes. $50!? Oh well. Of course everything comes at a cost.
some things:
sorry guys, i fell off ā I feel I suck shit at writing now because Iām busy living my life and using my mental energy to write my actual work products. i was celebrating my friendsā wedding (<3) and going to a conference for work and seeing my friend Sidās play at the Philly Fringe Festival. Itās showing twice more at the MAAS studio in Philly on Weds. 9/25 and Thurs. 9/26. You should absolutely see it if youāre nearby (or even if youāre far away. get to philly!!). I cried a lot, because I was really proud of Sid but also because it was a resonant story.
I turned 27 ~two weeks ago, but was stuck in Ithaca prepping for a presentation. To ācelebrateā I saw Sing Sing with Sidās old roommate (and dare I say ā my friend) which I thought was really good. #oomf fell asleep and missed the hang though smfgdh. everyone flame #oomf in the comments. This was kind of the first birthday Iāve had in a while where I wasnāt insanely emo ā because I was way too fucking busy. So thank you to C*rnell Un*versity for keeping me humble
And fuck you Cornell University for everything else. One of my fellow grad workers and a vocal campus organizer, Momodou Taal, is facing deportation because the university has chosen to suspend him, revoking his international student Visa. (Momodou was one of a number of students who disrupted a career fair where military contractors Boeing and L3Harris were recruiting students.) Regardless of whether or not youāre affiliated with Cornell, you can sign this petition calling for his reinstatement.
Iāve been reading a lot of random shit, but the best thing I read was the new profile of Ta-Nehisi Coates in New York Magazine. I also just finished What I Talk About When I Talk About Running, which I enjoyed and am thinking of writing about, maybe later.
This is the type of shit iām on these days if you even care (proof)
Iām still running, even though my weekly mileage is not where it needs to be according to Coach Leon of crab-cake fame. And the long runs are kicking my ass. If u wanna follow along on Strava u can add me btw. Donāt be shy. Thatās where the good stuff is. The good news is Iām close to my fundraising goal. If youād like to help me reach the finish line (ha ha) you can still donate here, up until race day on November 3rd! If you donāt want your name to show up on the site, you can always venmo me and Iāll donate on your behalf.
Lastly, my friendās sister has a student from Gaza who is raising funds to support his family who has been forced to leave Palestine. If you are so inclined, you can donate here.
if you made it this far I appreciate it. tbh Iāve been feeling really weird about this medium, especially now that itās read by more people who I donāt know, and since Substack has been prioritizing āorganic growthā or whatever on the platform. I sometimes look at the subscriber numbers going up and down and feel queasy. this was a fun way for me to develop a routine writing practice when I felt creatively stunted, and to share updates with my friends, and now it feels like a performance I am obligated to do. Like a clown with a contract. Iām worried what people are gonna think about the show. And I donāt think I often have particularly novel or well thought out ideas ā Iām realizing I have been reserving those for my job. But then I feel like Iām just adding to the horrible slop thatās on substack already. it sucks, because I donāt want to make slop, I want to make something tasty. but that takes time and effort. but but but. but!
Alas,
Pegah
". but but but. but!" was so creative. LOVE IT.