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I DID NOT send a letter last week because on Friday I passed go and went straight to jail. My case is pending and there is a limit to what I can divulge right now. (You can read about it here.) For someone like me, who has no filter, it isn't easy to keep my mouth shut. But what I can say is that a jail cell is not designed to be comfortable, and the five hours I spent there (plus the ride in the police van while my hands were zip-tied behind my back) were physically demanding in ways I did not anticipate. This wasn't the kind of pain I feel after I work out, when I get to move my body however much or little I want, but a different pain, a pain from trying to stay in one place. Six days later, my lower back still hurts, though now it is at a dull-hum level of pain rather than piercing-scream.

Despite the pain, I'm glad I went to jail. Because I learned something. While I was in jail I felt less of a gulf between me and them. I mean between myself, a law-abiding citizen, and law enforcement. I felt the gulf shrink when the officers were cracking jokes, or when one of them offered us an "orange drink," or told us what time it was. (Being in jail is like being in a casino—your sense of time is warped).

Kina Collins emphasizes that, when you are protesting against the police, you are not rejecting individuals, you are rejecting the system. The system hurts everyone, even those who seem to be defending the system. Particularly those tasked with being the public face of a lawless administration.

I keep thinking of Thoreau: The law doesn't make citizens free, citizens make the law free. When the government breaks the law, it is up to citizens to defend it. (I'm paraphrasing.)

To my friend in Los Angeles who works for LAPD. I thought about you a lot while I was in jail. I know there are things you wish you could say but aren't free to. I don't know exactly what you're up against, but I know that right now it's a lot.

And now for something completely different:

Two weeks ago I was in New York City. The weather was perfect (crisp NYC fall); I saw a ton of art; got to see the stunningly beautiful NYCB dancers performing brand-new works of choreography in a studio (thank you Anne!); ate well and drank at least one fancy cocktail. Best of all I got to spend some one-on-one time with my sister, as well as Megan H. and Lynnise P.

Here are some highlights from my comic diary:

On my way uptown I ended up having a very nice chat with the lady sitting next to me...
...and by the time I got off I felt like we were close friends.
Megan and I went to the Diane Simpson show at Arts and Letters, formerly known as the Academy of Arts and Letters, which has undergone a recent renovation/expansion/reinvention. Color me impressed. Megan told me about something that happened two years ago which I had completely missed. I sometimes feel as though moving out of New York is like falling off the face of the Earth. Sure, the planet where you landed is in the same orbit, but waaaay further from the rays of the sun.
After I said goodbye to Megan I went even further north to the Cloisters and saw "Spectrum of Desire," a show about sex and gender in the Middle Ages. It was spicy!
Following the route mapped on my phone, I walked down the stone steps in Fort Tryon to get to the subway. I'm lucky I didn't fall.
Anne took me to see some really amazing brand new ballets by up-and-coming choreographers performed by NYCB dancers, and then we walked across the Lincoln Center plaza to see the American Ballet Theater perform Twyla Tharp's "Push Comes to Shove," which she choreographed nearly 50 years ago.
Twyla's choreography frankly was not as exciting as the up-and-comers, though I can see why it was revolutionary at the time. Also, to be fair, by that point I had logged close to 30K steps and I was tanked.
The next day we went to the Ft. Greene Farmer's Market, which seems to have doubled in size since I lived in Brooklyn.
But the market does have a lot more prepared food options, and from one small-scale baker I bought the best croissant I have ever had in my life. It was almost too good to share. (I shared a bite. A tiny bite.)
Back uptown to see the "new" Frick. Color me less impressed. They moved the Ingres painting. They moved the Ingres painting! The one with the woman whose arm looks like it's growing out of her stomach. Chad and I once got to see Peter Schjeldahl give a tour of the Frick as part of the New Yorker Festival. I believe this is what he said about the Ingres but I could be wrong. Anyway that idea stuck with me: When it comes to art (and maybe most things), people WANT to be fooled.
The highlight of the day was seeing Lynnise, who told us some juicy gossip. And also filled us in on the situation at Columbia University, where she is a professor of law.

My dear Mushroom Heads, that is all I have for now. November has been quite the month, hasn't it? And we are only halfway through. Courage!

Love,

Claire

Doing Time

Despite the pain, I'm glad I went to jail.