I remember / je me souviens
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For those limbic bursts of nostalgia, invented by Proust, miniaturized by Nicholson Baker, and freeze-dried by Joe Brainard in his I remember and by Georges Perec in his Je me souviens.

But there are no fractions, the world is an integer
Like us, and like us it can neither stand wholly apart nor disappear.
When one is young it seems like a very strange and safe place,
But now that I have changed it feels merely odd, cold
And full of interest.
          --John Ashbery, "A Wave"

Sometimes I sense that to put real confidence in my memory I have to get to the end of all rememberings. That seems to say that I forego remembering. And now that strikes me as an accurate description of what it is to have confidence in one's memory.
          --Stanley Cavell, The Claim of Reason


Thursday, September 12, 2002
I remember the Camel ad in Times Square with the ring of smoke being puffed out by the smoker. I think it later became a Winston ad, or vice versa, but the smoke kept coming. Later I learned to blow smoke rings, and I remember the holy grail of blowing one smoke ring through another, without dissipating it. No one I know ever succeeded.

I remember the cigarette pack painted on the side of the building on 35th and 8th. You could see it from the balcony at my downtown grandparents' apartment. The building countour was perfect for the enticing come-on of three cigarettes poking out from the top of the full pack. Now I think this building side is used for DKNY and Gap ads. But it was perfect and somehow comforting for cigarettes. The obvious phallic meaning of the cigarettes poking out was less interesting than the way the cigarettes somehow reminded one of fingers in a friendly hand offered in greeting and protection. The hand was so big and so friendly that it looked parental -- the cigarettes offered themselves to you as reassurance that everything was ok. From my grandparents' balcony you could see the Empire State Building not far to the right of the cigarette pack, itself grand but friendly. It stood there in its majesty, having long-since accepted its role as symbol of New York, displacing the slightly nervous, Chrysler building which seemed as though it felt shouldered and shunted into being slightly off-kilter. The Empire State Building accepted what it was, like a dignified and gentle and slightly aristocratic great ape (how perfect to make King Kong climb it). The cigarettes represented themselves as its peers, as belonging to that arboreal or masonic level of the city, living there too in that impure empyrean. But they were friendly, they took notice of you, they were like a favorite uncle come to delight you even as they belonged to the grandparental world that the Empire State Building also represented. I suppose part of the reason for these associations, for me, is that my grandfather worked in the Empire State Building, and it was very tall (in those pre-World Trade Center days, the tallest building in the world), and he was very old, so that they both were regally calm about the great height which they had reached and which they were completely without anxiety about having reached. I think that I always hoped my grandfather would reach a hundred because the Empire State Building reached a hundred (and slightly more) -- its storeys and his years seemed to go together. But the cigarettes seemed more interested in me -- and this might also be because the people in my family who smoked were the cousins and uncles and old-world friends seen fairly rarely, but always offered stale cigarettes from the slim airline ten-packs that my family kept in little lacquer and metal boxes on their coffee-tables.


posted by william 5:03 PM
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