a new earthling

i did a l'oreal commercial

there was an actor playing a photographer
myself playing his assistant
and linda evangelista

just the three of us
on a not so impressive soundstage in brooklyn

i sat in my dressing room
alone
for over 8 hours before i was called to set

in that 8 hours
i read
ate craft service
wandered briefly out into the sunshine
and slept on one of the couches provided

it was all in all
a job like any other
but somehow, so much more particularly awful

being that it was for l'oreal
the vast majority of the higher-ups were french
and wandered past my door all day
engaging loudly and self-importantly with each other
glaring in at me
but never so much as saying hello

there was a production assistant who was sort of my wrangler
and i attempted conversation with the other actor
despite the fact that he was in a separate dressing room

but for the most part i existed in silence
save for the occasional vibrate of my phone
for the entirety of the day

linda evangelista
it can be said
lived up to every prejudice imaginable
vaguely cold
highly aloof
and certainly using at most 14% of her brain capacity

she flirted habitually with the other actor
refused to look at the p.a. when he offered her water
and when asked to improvise an interview scene
that didn't record her voice, only the image of her talking
she opted to spout out
"YES, I LOVE BEING ME!"
"I CONSIDER IT TO BE A PRIVILEGE AND AN HONOR!"
"I AM REALLY AND TRULY AMAZING!"
"I LOOOVE BEING ME!"

out of any and every possible option
THAT is what she chose to say

ugggghh

i left the set emotionally drained and volatile
upon returning to my apartment i kicked the door
and shouted at my dog

it was certainly not the most rewarding day
on location


many moons later
after a fantastic afternoon in the heart of the city

as the sun began to set
and i said goodbye to a friend
i descended the steps of a train near times square
on my short ride home

it was expectedly uneventful
until we'd gone a couple of stops
and a boy entered
announcing himself somewhat shyly but loudly
to the train

he was walking through the subway
reciting poems that he'd written himself
for the riders to listen to
if they so chose

he was black, very dark, purple almost
the bravery he possessed, astounding
reciting his story
with a quiet, inward assurance

i gave him a dollar
HAD to give him something, anything

the second he announced
"i will be reciting two poems that i wrote myself"
immediately, my hand darted for the wallet

he was doing this for money
walking through the train and announcing himself
the same way others sing, do gymnastics or beg
making money, of course, was the point

but poetry?
that he had written himself?
i had never in my life seen this on the trains of new york city
and from a child no older than 14
i was quite simply bowled over

does art come out of dire straits?
out of extreme circumstances?
yes, yes it does

hip hop is art
rap has a real message

a boy
alone on the train
reciting the poems that begin to tell his story
starting to chip away at the layers of pain
revealing the truth inside

and all this happened
after a drunken sunday with jenny on the upper west side

i cannot even begin to imagine living in the suburbs
cities are the lifeblood, the pulse of who we are

all jammed together
so many utterly astounding lives

even when it involves an out-of-touch supermodel
experience is absolutely everywhere