Fringarde: Everything is political

Back in New York City in mid March. Bernie Sanders just lost a whole bunch of primaries. The id of too many people is being let out by the superego of Donald Trump. I walk the streets of Lower Manhattan. The weather feels normal for this time of the year. Although, who knows what normal or hot or cold weather is anymore. We didn't really have a winter. Rich people, spoiled people everywhere. Shops selling sweet things like cupcakes and candy seem to have popped up all over the place since my last visit. Along with plenty of coffee and animal care. People need soothing, and energy. So they eat a lot of candy, get a pet, and drink lots of coffee. The thrift stores and consignment shops are still providing me with a much needed feeling of escape: there at least I can focus on the colors, the patterns, the feel of the fabric, the cut, and maybe try some stuff on, just for the fun of it. No obligation (I went into Barney's out of curiosity: that was a mistake. "Hello how are you doing today? Fine thank you. Anything I can help you with? No thanks, not for the moment." There was nothing exciting in there. What happened to the old Barney's? Wasn't it edgier?) So back out into the street I go. I do find a cheap Thai place where I can sit for a moment, eat some healthy spicy food, and just chill. Back out I go, and head to Beacon's Closet, where I spend a good amount of time looking for summer tops. I end up with a nicely cut black tee-shirt. To add to the tee-shirt with a map of New York state inside of which there is a bear (?). I found that one at a thrift shop on Columbus Avenue the day before. The Housing Works also on Columbus Ave was filled with gorgeous stuff that felt like it had been cleaned out of old people's apartments. Young people want new stuff I guess. Out with the old, in with the new they say. So after Beacon's Closet, I pop into the Film Forum (thank goodness that's still around) to see an Iranian film. The story is pretty old hat: a maid watches a husband cheat on his wife (spoiler alert, sorry). But those women had such beautiful faces, and their headscarves only made their faces look even more beautiful. The innocence of that young, soon to be married housekeeper, who still clings to the ideal of love, the wife who is miserable because she thinks that her husband is cheating on her, these straightforward emotions made me long to be with people who are not (yet?) cynical, jaded and spoiled. Maybe I should go to Iran?