New Fork is famous for meeting famous people. And if you don’t meet them, at least you get to see them out of the corner of your eye while you’re crossing the street or are in a shop – and you get the chance to pretend they’re not there, just like everyone else you don’t care about. This is the beauty of New Fork. Acting understated and listless when all you want to do is whip out your digital camera and jump up and down and point.
I had such an experience on Friday night. I was at the film house. I had just finished watching a film about the evil ways of women. Bah! Feeling dizzy from the wily behaviors of the female, undernourished and overly hydrated, I went to seek refreshment of various kinds. After buying a box of snow caps on my way to the bathroom, a friend of mine mentioned that she’d seen a swan. I hit her with my box of snowcaps, and proceeded into the women’s bathroom – that den of long lines and iniquity. After several minutes of private time with my pants down behind a metal door, I emerged to wash my hands. My friend emerged to wash her hands at the sink as well. And then the third metal door opened – and out popped Bjork. The swan! She was dressed in fuchsia – like a toreador in the powder room – with white piping and ruffles all about her smallish, elfin person. I wanted to kiss her - grab her tiny head in my hands and give her the gift of a kiss that I could only muster for a woman of her caliber. This would be my thank you for all she had given me – the countless words and melodies, the reassuring beats. But she scurried off, the shy bright pink extrovert, into the night of the theater. My friend noticed she hadn’t washed her hands. The swan had left her hygiene song unsung.
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