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i saw people
Jul. 4th, 2005 04:46 amWe went to the New York Dolls concert yesterday--yes, they are still around. I am not a very big Dolls fan myself, but I like a few of their songs, and Brian really wanted to go, and I thought it would be fun. They were playing at the TasteFest, which is an annoying Detroit ritual in which thousands upon thousands of people congregate in the middle of Detroit to purchase overpriced samples from restaurants that they could just go to any other time. On the other hand, there are concerts...and people.
I've taken up people-watching, which is something I never used to do because I didn't understand how people could be different. And most people do look the same...it's just that you notice an oddly shaped head, or an interesting nose, or oddly proportioned eyes.
Lately, I've been starting to notice things that I never did before. Faces, patterns, little details, interesting things where there was once only a blur. I don't know why this is--a change in my worldview? A change in my brain chemistry? A change in the world itself? I can spend an hour staring at a particularly interesting building. Does this make me boring or deep? Is obsession a good thing?
Brian found a friend, and Mom and I were left on our own. We ducked into the Fisher Building, which is beautiful anyway--even the elevators are pretty. The brass doors are molded with a design of gears that look like flowers, or flowers that look like gears. There was an exhibition in the lobby, an artist who made graphic-art style rock posters and soft, realistic pictures of circus freaks. Mark Arminski. I particularly liked Unzie, the Aboriginal Albino. I walked around for a while, thinking about the paintings--what is the difference between rock stars and circus freaks? G.G. Allin managed to be both.
Mom got bored, so we went down to the basement and got drinks. There's a smoky pickup bar in the basement of the Fisher Building. Mom used "Cabinet of Curiosities" to pick up a barfly while I made unflattering notes in my little notebook. I also discovered a magical thing to do. The jukebox in the corner was on "free play," and it had been playing smooth R&B music because nobody had bothered to change it. I went over and punched in a selection of Alanis Morrissette, the Smiths, Nine Inch Nails, and Nirvana--the most cynical music I could find. When "In Bloom" came on, everybody just groaned.
People I saw:
• A small child, maybe 8 years old. Perfectly '77 punked out, with a Ramones T-shirt, black jeans, a studded belt, black Converses, a Dee Dee Ramone haircut, and the most adorable, angelic babyface I've ever seen.
• A middle-aged lady in a black-and-white checked miniskirt, black-and-pink streaked hair, and enormous Harlequin sunglasses. She was grooving to the music. Her husband, beside her, was staring off into the distance and had his arms crossed. Normally, such young and rebellious clothes only look silly on one who is not meant to wear them, but this woman looked as though she could age forever and never get old.
• A middle-aged mom, with khaki shorts, a nice pastel T-shirt, and a purse. She was standing by a lamppost, dancing like a lunatic and apparently enjoying the music much more than any of the grim young punks did.
• A tall, skinny man, almost emaciated, wearing jeans and a white T-shirt. He was maybe in his late 50s and was carrying what looked like a drawing tablet. He had very old glasses and looked a little like Andy Warhol. I don't think he'd changed his clothes since the 1960s, and his expression was that of one who has not come outside in 20 years, but likes what is going on anyway. I think he was an artist; maybe he'd been revolutionary in his time, 40 years ago, but had retired to work on one great piece of art. Times changed and the art scene passed him by, but he kept working. Soon he will reveal his masterpiece, and although he is old and it should be obselete, his one last installation will be so great that it will revolutionize art forever.
• A little girl, maybe 4, dressed like a perfect Gothic Lolita with a lace Victorian dress, patterned stockings, and dyed black hair in pigtails. She was sitting on the ground wailing for ice cream.
• A gentle hippie lady who asked me about my notebook and commended me for writing about people. When she left, a man who who looked just like her took her seat next to me and we had the exact same conversation.
• A very old lady with lovely red hair and a sundress, looking dignified and ancient and joyful and sad not to be young. She stayed a teenager, but her body aged by accident.
• A little, fat, old, shriveled man in a UAW shirt and cap, with a stick of incense stuck in his hat. He was gamely doing the twist with a pretty young woman. After the song ended, she went up to him and hugged him, humped him for a second, then moved a few chairs away and started dancing again.
And I can barely keep my eyes open, so other things will have to wait.
I've taken up people-watching, which is something I never used to do because I didn't understand how people could be different. And most people do look the same...it's just that you notice an oddly shaped head, or an interesting nose, or oddly proportioned eyes.
Lately, I've been starting to notice things that I never did before. Faces, patterns, little details, interesting things where there was once only a blur. I don't know why this is--a change in my worldview? A change in my brain chemistry? A change in the world itself? I can spend an hour staring at a particularly interesting building. Does this make me boring or deep? Is obsession a good thing?
Brian found a friend, and Mom and I were left on our own. We ducked into the Fisher Building, which is beautiful anyway--even the elevators are pretty. The brass doors are molded with a design of gears that look like flowers, or flowers that look like gears. There was an exhibition in the lobby, an artist who made graphic-art style rock posters and soft, realistic pictures of circus freaks. Mark Arminski. I particularly liked Unzie, the Aboriginal Albino. I walked around for a while, thinking about the paintings--what is the difference between rock stars and circus freaks? G.G. Allin managed to be both.
Mom got bored, so we went down to the basement and got drinks. There's a smoky pickup bar in the basement of the Fisher Building. Mom used "Cabinet of Curiosities" to pick up a barfly while I made unflattering notes in my little notebook. I also discovered a magical thing to do. The jukebox in the corner was on "free play," and it had been playing smooth R&B music because nobody had bothered to change it. I went over and punched in a selection of Alanis Morrissette, the Smiths, Nine Inch Nails, and Nirvana--the most cynical music I could find. When "In Bloom" came on, everybody just groaned.
People I saw:
• A small child, maybe 8 years old. Perfectly '77 punked out, with a Ramones T-shirt, black jeans, a studded belt, black Converses, a Dee Dee Ramone haircut, and the most adorable, angelic babyface I've ever seen.
• A middle-aged lady in a black-and-white checked miniskirt, black-and-pink streaked hair, and enormous Harlequin sunglasses. She was grooving to the music. Her husband, beside her, was staring off into the distance and had his arms crossed. Normally, such young and rebellious clothes only look silly on one who is not meant to wear them, but this woman looked as though she could age forever and never get old.
• A middle-aged mom, with khaki shorts, a nice pastel T-shirt, and a purse. She was standing by a lamppost, dancing like a lunatic and apparently enjoying the music much more than any of the grim young punks did.
• A tall, skinny man, almost emaciated, wearing jeans and a white T-shirt. He was maybe in his late 50s and was carrying what looked like a drawing tablet. He had very old glasses and looked a little like Andy Warhol. I don't think he'd changed his clothes since the 1960s, and his expression was that of one who has not come outside in 20 years, but likes what is going on anyway. I think he was an artist; maybe he'd been revolutionary in his time, 40 years ago, but had retired to work on one great piece of art. Times changed and the art scene passed him by, but he kept working. Soon he will reveal his masterpiece, and although he is old and it should be obselete, his one last installation will be so great that it will revolutionize art forever.
• A little girl, maybe 4, dressed like a perfect Gothic Lolita with a lace Victorian dress, patterned stockings, and dyed black hair in pigtails. She was sitting on the ground wailing for ice cream.
• A gentle hippie lady who asked me about my notebook and commended me for writing about people. When she left, a man who who looked just like her took her seat next to me and we had the exact same conversation.
• A very old lady with lovely red hair and a sundress, looking dignified and ancient and joyful and sad not to be young. She stayed a teenager, but her body aged by accident.
• A little, fat, old, shriveled man in a UAW shirt and cap, with a stick of incense stuck in his hat. He was gamely doing the twist with a pretty young woman. After the song ended, she went up to him and hugged him, humped him for a second, then moved a few chairs away and started dancing again.
And I can barely keep my eyes open, so other things will have to wait.
