My first stop on Saturday evening was to an art gallery show on the Lower East Side featuring work by the mother of a friend. While there, I was talking to sisters from Canada and I told them about my trip last summer to Montreal. I don’t speak French, but while in Montreal I threw out a few French phrases when talking. Well, my few words of French was like a cock tease to the Quebecois as they mistook me for being fluent in their language. I quickly learned that it was best to speak English.
Later, I went with two friends to a house party in Williamsburg. It was kinda like a salon with a BYOB situation. The smell of marijuana wafted through the room. There was a French girl with a bob singing songs with an electric guitar. The singer was good. She wore electric blue leggings, a Doc Martens and big wool coat. In another room, there was a pair of red velvet sofas where a group of people were gathered. My friend Mike said hi to this girl. She wore a big hat and wide legged pants. At first, she did not respond. He thought she might be French or something. He greeted her again in French, but she didn’t respond. She just looked at us with her hand near her mouth. Finally, she starts talking to us. I asked what she did for a living. She told me that she doesn’t have a job. She wants to writes movies and her parents don’t give her money but she has friends who have that do. I joked that this party felt like a scene from ‘Girls’ and I would be photoshopped out of it. [Cause I’m Black]. The Girl asked us if we had a coke connection. If I had on pearls, I would have clutched them. It wasn’t because she ask about cocaine, but surprised because she came across a little rude. She’s twenty four. In my day, people butter you up before asking favors from strangers. BTW, I don’t have a connection to illegal substances. So the conversation trailed off, and my friends and I decided to leave. As we left, I overhear her hitting up a guy about whiskey.
Today I am watching “Tiny Furniture”, the film Lena Dunham wrote and directed. So much of it seems familiar to me. It is set in New York, cupcakes are “googled”, there’s a chef and Bushwick is mentioned. But many parts of it feels foreign like French. It is not the New York life that I live. Since this city has about 8 million stories, mine is just one of many.