Empanada
One day during the first week of classes, I sat outside our off-campus house with my two roommates. My bearded dragon Empanada scampered around our toes on the grass, his bright orange slithering through the blades as he soaked in the sun. Multiple students stopped to say hello to him.
One told us how she owns two ball pythons. Another told us his bearded dragon lived for a decade. Another asked if we wanted to buy some weed.
The final student crouched down with us in the yard. As Empanada blinked beady eyes at his patchwork tattoos and mustache, I said he might be in my politics class.
“Nope,” he replied.
“You just look like every other New Paltz man,” my roommate said what I was thinking.
“Yup,” he agreed.
— Lilly Sabella
“Hallosteen”
On the chilly Halloweekend night of my freshman year, my roommate and I found ourselves with nothing to do and no party to attend. Scrolling mindlessly through YikYak, I saw someone had posted about a house show later that evening. I heard about the New Paltz music scene pre-pandemic, and its lively nature filling the houses of off-campus students; I had yet to attend one.
I figured it was worth the comment and asked for an address, expecting it to be ignored. To my surprise, I was given an answer. I looked to my roommate, “Get up and get dressed, we’re going out.”
We put on our costumes and made the trek from campus to a house well past the Stewart’s in town. We didn’t know if the party was even real until we were about 50 feet from the house and began to hear music.
We were greeted on the porch by a man who I would later find out lived there and is in one of my favorite bands. We went up to the second floor and walked into a living room bursting with music and costumes.
We saw nuns, Princess Leia, lumberjacks, Hogwarts students and Slash. In the years since that night those people have become my community, and every year I find out someone else in my life was at that party too. We may not have known it that night, but we all first met at “Hallosteen.”
— Alyssa Sciarrone
Rail Trail
A few weeks ago, on one of the first fall-feeling days, my friends and I sat next to the Wallkill River for five hours.
Our notebooks were open, but by hour three the only work we had gotten done was debriefing our weeks.
With the Rail Trail right behind us, we caught snippets of conversations of passersby and continued to act them out after there was no chance they would hear us.
First there was the Harmonica Man, who passed by 4 times, each time playing a different tune. Then a group of guys each on a different form of wheels: one unicycle, one pair of skates and one scooter. “Did you even watch ‘Little Bill?’” one of them asked.
After a woman in a neon orange jacket asked to borrow a lighter in exchange for a knock-knock joke and never gave it back, we decided to make the trek back to campus and finally study in the library.
— Ava Simone
Post-Its
Early in September, when the summer sun still hung late in the sky, and the temperature refused to dip below 70 degrees, I undertook an hour-long journey across campus to advertise open spots for the Student Senate. Armed with a stack of 40 flyers and the latest “Chuckle Sandwich Podcast” episode downloaded to my phone, I was ready to spread the good word.
I first made my way down the hill towards Van Den Berg Hall. It’s not a building I frequent — being an English major usually confines me to Humanities and Old Main — but it’s one of the nicer buildings on campus.
Walking across the hall, trying to find an optimal space to put my flyer up, I came across a bulletin board decorated with Post-It notes, surrounding a big-bold question printed dead center: “How do you imagine your future unfolding in the next five years?” The Post-It that caught my eye had a crude drawing of Pim Pimling from Smiling Friends, and it said, “Running a business with some smiling friends, hopefully, to put a smile on peoples faces.”
As I kept walking across campus, I kept finding little papers taped and pinned in various inconspicuous spots: a Billy Collins poem next to the Faculty Administration Building, a sweatermuppets sticker on the bulletin board near the commuter lot, flashcards written by a WOM220 class on the second floor of JFT, encouraging anyone to take whatever they may need in the moment. There is something so special about these little papers. At first, they’re unnoticeable, but then you see them everywhere — stickers on poles or graffiti in bathroom stalls, even if they don’t explicitly belong, there’s something human about it. Something that makes you stop, look and just remember how human we really are.
— Sara Vala
Gym Bro
I work at Ignite Fitness, the town’s small, local gym. I’ve worked there for nearly eight months now and see the gym as a portal to view the town’s culture.
One day, an acquaintance of mine, Cody, came into the gym. He is a loud, vocal, muscular, blue collar man, working labor jobs since he graduated highschool. He dapped me up then went into his workout.
As he was working out in one of the gym’s siderooms, which has walls covered in mirrors, he had his shirt off and was flexing his back and grunting loudly. I went into the room to tell him to stop, and as I walked in he grabbed me by the shoulder and pulled me close to him. He stared at his engorged back through the mirror and said, “I am so happy I didn’t kill myself.” He started to walk away, then turned back to me.
“I’m not one to support a man crying,” he said. “But, you know, you got to feel. We don’t feel enough.” I nodded. He continued, “A man should let it out every once and awhile. I did that on the way here. Lana Del Rey, Kyle. Life is a beautiful thing.” He threw back on his headphones, hopped up the stairs and danced his way to the next machine. I concur, life is a beautiful thing.
— Kyle Bredberg
