Suzanne à Grenoble

So, I’m in New York, on my way to Chicago. Not experiencing too much culture shock as far as America is concerned, but Manhattan culture is another story. Everyone seems to be the center of their own little one-man shows; everyone is so focused on “Me.” I used to find this attitude abrasive and selfish, until I talked to my friend, L., who is an artist. Naturally, as a creative person, L. is very sensitive to the multiple stimuli that attack from all directions in this city. She used to be crushed by every little thing—every person on the street who looked at her funny; every hipster who dressed in super-expensive 80’s rock star second-hand clothes; every unexpected loud noise. So she learned to “block it all out—" essentially, to put herself in a little moveable pod (ipod, perhaps?) while walking down the street. This defense mechanism, she explained, is not egocentric, but necessary. If we were constantly absorbing the intense lights, sounds, smells, emotions of this city and its inhabitants, how could we ever survive? It seems that everyone needs to become a pod person, to think first and foremost about oneself in order to preserve one’s sanity. I’m not sure if I’m totally convinced of this philosophy, but it makes sense. However, I prefer to think that we care about each other a bit more in this world, this city of the world.

With all the tumult regarding the London attacks today, I was a bit hesitant to take the subway. This wasn’t helped by the fact that S. has access to all the latest news info and had heard a rumor that there was a bomb threat to the New York transport system. My paranoia (and my promise to S.) ensured that I would stay a pedestrian today. Thus, I walked from S.’s apartment on CPW down to first the East Village, where I ate lunch, then to the Lower East Side, where I went to the Sunshine Cinema. There, I saw Yes. The style of the film was a bit hard to get used to, as the script is set entirely in rhyming prose, but I enjoyed it in the end. The actors play spectacularly, especially Joan Allen, who is stunning—she braves many scenes without makeup and with bodily fluids dripping from facial orifices and she still manages to be elegant.

Can we just talk about movie etiquette, for a minute? When are people going to learn how to whisper? When you lower your voice so your vocal chords rub together to make tonal sound, that’s not whispering! Whispering involves speaking softly without the vibration of the vocal chords, people. So when you think you’re speaking low and subtly, but you’re still making a tiny bit of “talk” noise, odds are that you’re NOT whispering, and that you’re bugging the hell out of your fellow movie-goers. Tonight there were some talkers-who-thought-they-were-whisperers in the theatre, which made the otherwise poignant film feel a bit like the Rocky Horror Picture Show.

When I got out of the film, I walked over to Chelsea to meet J., G.’s cousin, where we drank a bit and practiced our French/English skills (I need practice in both!). Afterwards, we met up with some of his French friends and drank pitchers of frozen fruity stuff. A little too much frozen fruity stuff. So good that I felt compelled to leave early to put some food in my belly. J. convinced my to take the subway, laughing at my paranoia. I did, and you know what? It was fine. Moral of the story: don’t worry, be happy.