Unwanted Public Conversation & Street-side Interrogation, or, for this week, unwanted weather patterns and their street-side implications.
It’s been raining, in case you haven’t noticed. Oh you hadn’t? You live in a wonderful, peaceful and dry place, such as the Mojave desert? Well let me break it down for you. It’s just awful here. My towel is growing mold, my hair is never dry, let alone flat, it is developing a Medusa-like curl situation and speaking of which I would not be surprised if I let down my nest of a ponytail and a garden snake came slithering out. Subtropical; apocalyptic: both words I would use emphatically to describe the weather of late.
My point is, related to this column, is that rain offers a rare respite from the usual omnipresent sexual harassment of New York City.
1. Men are inside.
2. Men are on their way inside, quickly.
3. The rain is a proverbial, and literal, cold shower.
4. The umbrella: useful invention, when used coyly as ladies of the past did, can block the Male Gaze. I find this extremely useful. Now if only scientists could somehow develop a FULL BODY umbrella, rainy days might become something to look forward to. Anyone who thinks the real dangers of water come only from above is a simpleton. (Historical note: my father bought me waterproof pants once, for the dreadful, horizontal Boston rain. Without a doubt the least flattering item of clothing I have ever put on my body. Get to work, scientists!)
Untitled (Your Gaze Hits The Side of my Face) by Barbara Kruger
OK, so we are enjoying a side of peace ‘n’ quiet with our wet ‘n’ soggy. Well, not exactly. When the rain falls, it coats the city in a different sort of slime. New Yorkers expect static; our trains run all night, the store is open 24 hours and WHY IS THERE WATER ON MY HEAD? And so, the Golf Umbrella, the most perfect physical manifestation of unadulterated, egocentric, pride. Every dry day a New Yorker rides the subway and thinks to himself: this is my hula hoop of personal space this is my hula hoop of personal space this is my hula hoop of personal space and guess what? No one can hear him. (Me.) A backpack hits me in the face, someone in a dirty sneaker steps right on my bare, perfectly pedicured, sandal-ed foot. Ah, but come a rainy day? Illustrate and enforce this declaration with a circular object! OUT OF MY WAY! I have the biggest umbrella in the universe and not only that, it is so large that it generates its own ecosystem of second-tier rain cloud! You there, trying to jog past me with a soggy newspaper held above your rain slicked head? You are the lucky recipient of my trickle-down effect. You’re welcome.
Love the Kruger title (and of course the post!).
“4. The umbrella: useful invention, when used coyly as ladies of the past did, can block the Male Gaze.”
But apparently, it does not generate the “hula hoop of personal space” that it should. Take today for example: I’m walking along, minding my own business, when I notice a very shady looking guy glancing at me from under my umbrella. Assuming a false sense of protection, I walk past him only to be grasped on my bare elbow as he gives me a gold-plated smile. Needless to say, I was horrified. And I immediately think of how, besides wanting to yell “DON’T TOUCH ME!” and go home to cut off my arm, I can’t wait to find that SPECTACLE post about rain and umbrellas, so that I can write about my horrific experience.