But first, a quick anecdote. Last night I had grand plans to go to Brooklyn with a non NYU friend of mine. We had made these plans two weeks ago, and I was really looking forward to a night away from my college friends because, I’ll be honest, the college drinking scene is getting really old. Anyways, my friend got sick and had to bail. It happens, and it’s not his fault, but I was bummed. I decided to buy myself dinner from Macaroni Macaroni, and watch a movie. A ‘me’ night, if you will. I ended up watching this really sad documentary called ‘Dear Zachary’. This story is getting a little bogged by details. The point: I went to bed by midnight and woke up early this morning feeling refreshed and ready to tackle all the homework I had been neglecting.
I decided to take myself out for breakfast, because I mean, you can’t tackle homework on an empty stomach. My friend Jacob and I set out down Sixth Ave in search of the Grey Dog Café, which we never found. Eventually we ended up on Canal Street, hungry and hot. We turned down a side street and found a couple different options for food. The first, a Mexican style diner. The second, a rather posh looking espresso bar with a Jake Gyllenhaal look alike sitting in a window seat. After a few passes by each, we finally decided to grab coffee at the swanky café (see also: ‘La Colombe’) and then grab breakfast at the Mexican diner for cheap. As we walked into La Colombe I looked to my right and thought “Holy crap. That’s Jake Gyllenhaal”. I told Jacob and in hushed tones we quickly revised the plan. “Two cappuccinos please. For here.”
We sat across the café from him, and watched in wonderment as the constant flow of people who carried themselves with a sort of famous ambience (perhaps there were more than one celebrity in there at any given time) walked in and out, hardly phased by the company we were in. Gyllenhaal seemed particularly unapologetically famous. He refused disguise, wearing a t-shirt and jeans, no hat, no sunglasses. He often would lean over the back of his chair and stare around the café at the other patrons, once or twice in my direction.
I know, I know, the point. Here it is. I felt like I was really in New York City for one of the first times since I moved here. We were in the midst of a major celebrity. And we were expected to sit quietly and sip our exceptional cappuccinos and talk of the weather and politics. And we did. Neither of us moved to take a picture, shake his hand, ask for an autograph, or update our status on Facebook (“OMG JAKE GYLLENHAAL IS LYKE SITTING RITE NEXT TO ME!!!!!!!!!”). I came here to sit among greatness, and bask in their ambience, and take a little of it with me, and aspire to be greatness myself. I didn’t come all this way to be nothing, and I don’t intend to end up that way. It’s funny how inspiration happens upon me daily in this city. I’m learning to open myself up to it, whatever form it takes.
