2005-08-08 - 7:10 p.m.
The Avon art cinema is right near Brown and yet somehow I�d never gone. I was just lame in 2002-2003, I lived in Boston in 2003-2004, and most of 2004-2005 I guess I just didn�t go out much. Architectural barriers, general fear, post-break up depression for part of it. I mean, unfortunately I can�t just trot down the street to catch a flick anymore, at least not before I started using a wheelchair. And with my scooter, I always have to plan ahead and figure out where I�m going to park it (maybe that�s part of the appeal of Starbucks; they have a good spot to stash it).
So on Thursday evening, friend Penelope and I arranged to go see �The March of the Penguins� there. But first we stopped in to a new candy store on Thayer. There was a short front step at the entrance but Penelope was pretty easily able to pull my chair over it backwards. Inside was candy paradise. All kinds of homemade fudge (I got peanut butter; I�m afraid I�m allergic to chocolate) and bins and bins of individual candies, including jelly beans sorted by flavor. I got a bunch of German raspberries and jelly beans in non-sweet flavors � buttered popcorn and jalapeno. Cause the unexpected taste is like being in space in the Future and eating food pellets.
We also got Del�s frozen lemonade (I once stole a Del�s shirt from S. back in the day; sorry) and slurped it outside on the sunny street. The girl who asked me out was walking by and stopped to talk. It was great to see her and I felt a little cowardly about not staying in touch with her. Maybe I was a little intimidated. Maybe I just couldn�t think how to make up for the gaffe of asking her if we were on a date when we pretty much were. Anyway, we made plans to hang out the next night.
Penelope and I went down to the movie theater and I felt so dumb that I�d never gone before. I�ve been to the other art house theaters in town like the Columbus and the Cable Car, just not the Avon. (And by the way, I want to dispel the myth that the Columbus was once a porn theater. In the 60s and 70s they started showing artsy films which were considered risqu� and maybe had titties or something � think Russ Meyer and �I Am Curious (Yellow)�. This proved to fill a profitable niche and they kept screening art movies, which started to show less skin as they became more accepted by the mainstream. It was never some hardcore porno palace.)
The Avon doesn�t have the glorious palatial interior of the Columbus or the comfy couch seats of the Cable Car, but it�s still pretty nice inside. It does serve mediocre coffee and the bathroom is up a long flight of stairs (negotiating this actually isn�t too hard for me as I can lean on the handrail and take it slow, but it would be quite impossible for a paraplegic.) But they have a pretty accessible front entrance and oddly nice interior lighting, which goes a long way for some reason.
�The March of the Penguins� was exceptionally cute. One almost suspects that the penguins were like airbrushed or digitally enhanced to increase their cuteness. Although, the film seems almost too sure a bet. Eighty minutes of big emperor penguins waddling around would appear to have the cuddliness factor locked. Plus, it�s narrated by Morgan Freeman. Hearing his disembodied voice brought me back to his use of his slow Southern drawl as 1970s PBS� �The Electric Company�s� Easy Reader. Creating childhood flashbacks just seems like an unfair advantage in a film�s invoking feelings of warmth.
After the movie, my parents, who had driven up from New York, picked us up and took us to dinner at the new Moda Restaurant. We sat outside by the bay, overlooking the old power plant. It was an exceptionally nice night out. I got lobster chowder and swordfish from Block Island. Cause I�m trying to pack in all the New England food I can. I know they can ship live lobsters anywhere to put in tanks and serve, but it just won�t be the same. Same with swordfish, it just won�t feel right in Chicago.
Penelope�s presence provided something of a buffer against my parents being obsequious, and yet not actually helpful, and totally stressing me out. They almost made it through the whole night. But after dinner, they dropped me off at home and stared at me cross the sidewalk and go up my front stoop. I tried several times to drop a hint that I�d appreciate them driving off now and not making me a spectacle. �OK, thanks! Goodbye!�
But as I was futzing with the key in the front door lock, I heard my mother get out of the car and start towards my steps. �Here, I�m just going to help you in!� Oh God, please leave me alone. Things are hard enough for me already without having to smile for someone else around thinking they�re �helpful�. I pretended I didn�t hear, quickly got the door open, and closed it behind me. I�d barely gotten through a whole night with them without getting so stressed out that I fell down and hurt myself.
The next day I wasn�t so lucky. They came to my place at 9 to help me do laundry. (I used to have a guy to pick up and deliver my clothes � 75 cents a pound and well worth it � but he recently punked out on a ride we had arranged that I was paying for and he gets no more business from me. I�d switch to a competitor, but I figured I�m moving soon anyway.) The laundromat we went to is right next to a bagel place run by Mexicans who make really good breakfast burritos. We had breakfast and did the laundry, but walking back across the sidewalk to the car (all of 20 feet), I couldn�t handle being scrutinized by them (I know I know they don�t mean to, but they still do) and fell down splat.
They dropped me in front of my house and I just wasn�t strong enough to not let being watched bother me. I lost my balance a few steps from the car and landed on my head. My dad stared down at me lying on my back with some concern, but not really knowing what to do. Unfortunately, unless I�ve knocked myself out or have a massive head wound, in which case you can call an ambulance, I�m afraid there�s not much you can do.
�Please, please go away and stop staring at me, Dad.�
�But you�re lying in the street.�
�I�m lying between two parked cars, one of which is yours. I tell you what, check to make sure the other guy doesn�t pull out and run over my head.�
I made it inside and lay down. Bad falls really wipe you out. I asked my folks if they could come back for a 2 o�clock lunch at Hemenway�s Seafood Grill.
By 2, I had recovered a bit. Hemenway�s is a pretty famous Providence restaurant for reasons I don�t quite understand (it is indeed good food and old, too). They have a really nice dining room overlooking the river and they�re fully accessible. I was glad to see that they had Manhattan clam chowder on the menu. �Manhattan� clam chowder was actually created in Rhode Island. Local Portuguese put tomato in their chowder, as is their wont. Bostonians were horrified by this breach of protocol and so named the hated substance after their rivals to the south.
We started with a big shellfish platter. Clams and oysters and shrimp and a lobster split up. I got a lobster roll, the quintessential New England summer food. I�m going to miss fresh seafood in the Midwest. I�d imagine something swims in Lake Michigan, but I�m not sure I want to eat it. I also got several drinks, in hopes they would help me deal with parental stress and having fallen on my head. Sadly, it didn�t work. My folks dropped me off by the corner of my building after lunch and then stared at me as I hobbled in. I fell over quite spectacularly, alarming passers by. My glasses went flying across the sidewalk. I slid up my front steps on my butt and got inside.
I had planned on taking advantage of my folks� meal-buying willingness to have dinner at the legendary Al Forno, but I kind of figured at that point that I�d fallen painfully enough for one day. I said my farewell to the folks. Thank you, thank you. They said how people thought I was oh so brave for going to Chicago. I noted that such things had often been done before; while a bit scary, there was considerable precedent. They said that it wasn�t really done in their generation. I tiredly explained that it may not have been done in their cultural background, but America has always been a nation of migrants. They may have taken generations to leave Brooklyn (and even then they didn�t get very far), but moving to another city has a long history.
So we said our goodbyes and I passed out until the girl who�d asked me out called. She said she wanted to come over to watch �The Shining� with me cause she hated watching scary movies alone and she felt she had to see this film because it was so ingrained in American culture. I said I had a small TV, but she said it might seem less scary on a small screen. When she came by, we ended up not watching the movie but just talking.
She graduated this spring and now she�s about to start Brown Medical School. She was a PLME and I didn�t realize how competitive that program is. You apply as a high school senior along with your application to Brown College. Last year, there were over 2,000 applicants for 60 spots. I�ll overlook the question of how high school kids can really know they want to go to med school, and note that you just can�t challenge beating odds like that. She gets big props for doing it and for being my homegirl, from Bed-Stuy, Brooklyn.
Chilling with her was a very nice way to recover from so much head trauma. She said I probably didn�t have a concussion and I�ll accept her word as a med student. We talked trash about various people until it got too damn late and she left for home. I may not have been concussed, but I still crashed hard that night.
� 2005 Geoff Gladstone
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