April 19, 2008


C'est dans le New Yorker.
C'est ... sur les ascenseurs.
C'est ... formidable.

While anthems have been written to jet travel, locomotives, and the lure of the open road, the poetry of vertical transportation is scant. What is there to say, besides that it goes up and down? (...) Movies and television programs, such as “Boston Legal” and “Grey’s Anatomy,” often rely on the elevator to bring characters together, as a kind of artificial enforcement of proximity and conversation. The brevity of the ride suits the need for a stretch of witty or portentous dialogue, for stolen kisses and furtive arguments. For some people, the elevator ride is a social life.


In the old system—board elevator, press button—you have an illusion of control; elevator manufacturers have sought to trick the passengers into thinking they’re driving the conveyance. In most elevators, at least in any built or installed since the early nineties, the door-close button doesn’t work. It is there mainly to make you think it works. (It does work if, say, a fireman needs to take control. But you need a key, and a fire, to do that.) Once you know this, it can be illuminating to watch people compulsively press the door-close button. That the door eventually closes reinforces their belief in the button’s power. It’s a little like prayer. Elevator design is rooted in deception—to disguise not only the bare fact of the box hanging by ropes but also the tethering of tenants to a system over which they have no command.

Et sinon, toutes choses égales par ailleurs, j'ai commis un truc potentiellement lisible sur le Concert à emporter des Bowerbirds.

Mon camarade Barney a lui vu Promise & the Monster en concert.

Et par là, y'a quelque chose qui me tient quand même vachement à coeur et même que ça me fait tout chose de voir les lettres et les mots là-bas, comme détachés de moi.

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