The current discussion of street harrassment has me somewhat interested.

You see, I talk to strangers. 

I do it a lot.

I did it in Boston, when I was an undergrad, mostly at coffee shops.  (God, I miss talking to strangers in coffee shops.  I miss it so much.)

I think I really started doing it when I lived in Ithaca, as a grad student.  One of the (many!) things I liked about leaving cold, miserable Boston for cold, welcoming Ithaca (you can't have everything) was the experience that I would walk down the street in Fall Creek (my neighbourhood) and people said hi to me, and I to them.

Over time, I suppose, I acquired a passing connection to these people, but for many of them, I didn't know their first names.  But nonetheless, for a really lonely 21-year-old who'd just moved in from afar, it actually helped me feel like I was part of humanity.

There are lots and lots of ways that I talk to strangers.  I say hello to people in cafes.  When people next to me in line are asking questions to their friends that their friends obviously don't know the answers to, I semi-bashfully say, "um, actually, it's not Rangoon any more, they built a capital in the middle of the country."  (Or whatever.  I don't do this often.  Which is to say I probably drive Daniel nuts with how often I do it.)  I pet their dogs.  (Really, that's probably half of it.)  I admire their scarves.  I laugh with them when I nearly decapitate them by talking with my hands and having them walk up behind me without me knowing they were there.  I say hello when I stand in line for transit with them.

I've stopped doing some of the talking to strangers I once did, and to be honest, I miss some of it.  I don't talk to strangers in coffee shops anymore, because everyone's staring at a screen and half of the people are listening to headphones.  I don't compliment black women on their hair anymore.  (Maybe I very rarely do?)  But I saw a movie a few years ago ("Good Hair", by Chris Rock), where it was made really clear to me that black women largely don't give a shit what white guys think of their hair, and that some feel it's dehumanizing or whatever-the-black-equivalent-to-orientalism is, to focus on the art on people's head.  [Oh, right: I compliment strangers on their tattoos, too.  Gah.] 

And, in general, I've tried to train myself not to compliment women on their appearance.  I honestly struggle with this.  (Example: two paragraphs ago, I noted that I admire people's scarves.  Probably mostly women's scarves.) No, I never did, "hey babe, you and me, how 'bout it", or the like.  [I do confess that I look at attractive people, under my sunglasses, at the beach.  You do, too.  Please don't judge me.]  But I have, over time, decided that complimenting most strangers on their appearance doesn't make the world any happier than just, "Gorgeous day, eh?" [Did you see that?  I have become Canadian enough that I can use "eh" successfully...] 

Again, I kind of regret this, and it feels complicated.  I do still compliment men on their clothes, sometimes, as, "those socks are so cool" or, "what a great hat!"  (In general, I guess I never really compliment men on any aspect of their bodies, while I might have sometimes complimented women on their outfits.  I can't imagine ever complimenting strangers on, say, their figures.)

I talk to strangers about music.  I talk to strangers about Muzak.  I give directions to strangers.  (Favourite single example: in Lille, "SEE VOOO PLAY?  EST KAY SAY..." "I speak English natively, and I don't speak French.  Are you lost?")

I guess I still probably do talk to strangers about how they look, sometimes.  And I probably still will.  I don't think I'm making an assumption about women's sexual availability by doing so; in general, I more feel like we're all in drag and I'm acknowledging other people have done especially fierce drag that day.

But this space is hard for me, and I feel I should acknowledge that fact.