The New Me

There are a few cultural figures that early on I decided I would never like. One is Tom Waits. His bluesy wailing has always seemed an act to me, perhaps something I’ve mostly garnered from the looks of his fan-base. Bjork is another one. I just don’t buy her innocent “wackiness,” which is so loved by a fan-base I usually label “deep.” Yes, I judge a book by its cover.

And Julian Schnabel. If there’s one thing I know, it’s that I don’t like him. He embodies a certain kind of know-it-all SoHo artist that shopped at Gourmet Garage before that kind of thing was the thing. I’ve never heard anyone really say anything complimentary about him. Yes, he is macho. Yes, he is full of himself. And then, all that attention he gets! What’s to like?

So it is disturbing to say the least that I – dare I say it – was moved by his most recent film The Diving Bell and the Butterfly, based on the book by Jean-Dominique Bauby It’s a grim, grim story (true) about this journalist and fashion editor who, after suffering a stroke that left him trapped in a paralyzed body, dictated his story through eye blinks. I’m a real sucker for hope. And also the idea of a free mind. And I have to say, it wasn’t sentimental.

But, what to do about my fading convictions? All I can say is, I’m deeply involved in the first season of Gossip Girl.