Wipe it off on Me

Yesterday, I didn’t write a blog because I didn’t have work. That’s what happens when you’re a temp. I show up for work, bedecked in corporate-wear – slacks, button-down, tie – with no guarantee that I will be getting paid. On better days, like Wednesday, I showed up and within a half-hour, my temp agency let me know that I could go upstairs to 40 for my assignment of the day.

Thursday, though was a different story, and the decision to leave work is usually made at 10am. I could stay there all day if I want, but realistically, if there isn’t a call by 10, I’m done for the day. Instead of leaving though, I took care of bills on the computers in our waiting room. We wait in the bowels of the building, sub-floor 1, no windows, no natural light, no idea what the outside world might look like. I feel bad for my temp agents, spending their days in a single large room, no cubes, only desks, no privacy, forced to deal with the others neuroses and loud voices. But that’s their choice to stay there. Like I said two days ago, we all have choices. Brilliant.

After an hour of phone calls and payments, I fled the bowels, and headed south on a half-hour walk to a “Go-see”, or a modeling casting call for Hispanics… I can pass, and being of mixed-nationality, I can justify it too bitch! It was for Microsoft, a year of print ad usage of my image for $1,500, with potential for an additional $1,500 depending on my role in the photo shoot. If they didn’t want me as a principal, I had the option to be an extra for $500.

I used to live off of these shoots, getting one of those every month or two, and not needing to be a sucker in a three-piece, but as pounds are added, jobs are subtracted. I know the drill, so I’m in the process of dropping my fat-suit at the local McDonald’s and leaving it there for tourists to snack on during their Times Square visits. It’s good for egg rolls, fried chicken and funnel cakes. Maybe I’ll sell it to Six Flags and make an extra buck.

After the go-see, it’s uptown to check our P.O. Box, Jules and my last connection to the Upper West Side. We were forced out of our apartment, as the owners converted it into a hotel behind Lincoln Square, used formerly for students of Julliard and used presently for tourists and very vocal one-night stands and working girls. I should have recorded it for a no-fee sound byte on my website. Maybe I’d get more hits. But our PO Box keeps us hoping that one day we shall return to the comforts of Manhattan and the chill family life. Unless we move to LA, but Village living is over for us.

No mail. No checks, more importantly, at the PO, so it was time to feed the beast with a couple slices. Mind you, I’m on four hours of sleep per night, with early morning workouts before the no-job job, so I’m fading fast, stumbling for a break. I sit among the pigeons and cobblestones below and across the street from the massive Barnes & Nobles on 66th and Broadway. Fruit and vegetable stands surround me, metal tables and chairs, fixtures to this outdoor, street sanctuary. It’s no haven from New York noises, but it'll do to rest my feet and gorge myself on pepperoni and sausage. Delish… and wholesome too. Wholesomely dripping with animal fat.

Filled with guilt for consuming twice the slice, I set out on foot for a grand adventure back down the Broadway, and this is where I begin my run-ins. Let me preface this by emphasizing my consistent fortitude lately, at speaking to the Universe or God or the Infinite Is, whatever you prefer, about my desires for wealth and comfort through showbiz. When the lights go down, and the quiet of Bedroom Peace comforts me in the arms of my best friend and wife, I’ve been giving a vocal, “I’m going to land a series of national commercials, Law & Order spots, a hosting gig on MTV or VH1, E!, Fuse, or anything that will take us out of our current situation.” And I’m believing it. It will happen.

So my first encounter as I pass the outdoor restaurants that face Lincoln Center along Broadway, was with the guru of books on improving your wealth, Rich Dad, Poor Dad himself, Robert Kiyosake. I’ve read the book, and I’ve seen the infomercials. I also read his articles on Yahoo!. He’s a big guy.

I forage on, reaching Columbus Circle, joining the hordes at the corner entrance of Central Park. A Jazz group rehearsed, or conversed rather, for their later performance, as stated on their 12-foot banner, which sectioned them off from the passers-by, all sporting black T-shirts and instruments of choice. Watching them was a gray, slightly bald bulldog-man in a suit. His presence made me stop to watch the rehearsal near him, giving myself time to place his face. To my right a man stared at the bulldog, wielding a toothy smile in recognition, confirming my own.

A black T-shirt-clad woman crossed the space to shake hands, “Commissioner Ray Kelly, good to see you.”

Ah-hah! That’s what I thought, as I gave myself a pat on the back. NYC Police Commissioner Ray Kelly, whose face is consistently featured on the evening news. They chatted for a moment, until they were interrupted by a man reaching to shake as well, “Commissioner Kelly, just wanted to say you’re doing a great job. Thank you.”

The toothy-smile man took the cue and crossed next, “Just wanted to shake your hand, sir.”

Searching myself and my true feelings of my perception of him, I thought about the last five years after 9/11, and how there haven’t been anymore attacks, so far, and hopefully forever, and I found myself crossing to him, hand extended, shaking the hand of a man I had not met. “Your doing a great job.”

I laugh now as I hear the words coming out of my mouth. What a dork who’s publicly aware. But I really felt it. Why not offer up gratitude? Although as I shook his hand, I imagined a world of corruption, power and money, ever so brilliantly portrayed in Training Day with Denzel. A world where people like Ray Kelly enforce their Machiavellian will on the populace, telling stories of heroes, arrests and medals to the media, while they stuff their pockets with illegal money. I envisioned a young cop from one of the boroughs, working his way up the ranks, learning the reality of how law and order is dealt, being disillusioned by this truth, then accepting and thriving, no longer listening to the voice of conscience, while rules are enforced.

Of course, he could be a completely ethical and moral man, with a strong family and honorable life. I've read about his program creating NYC's own CIA/FBI unit that protects our City. My imagination likes to flex its drama muscles and summon outrageous scenarios, so I'll give Commissioner Kelly more than the benefit of the doubt. It's all in my head.

I left to pick up my headshots, and my final encounter was a fellow actor and photographer friend at Reproductions. He said we should do a shoot next week. I need to get to the gym every day before that. He's building his portfolio, so he gives his actor friends free shoots, and that’s why I have my new headshot. Thanks.

Then this morning, leaving the N train along 49th Street, going east to Madison, , about to hit Rockefeller, Julie and I are holding hands on our daily stroll to the office. I catch a glimpse of a young man with a slight entourage approaching, give Julie’s hand a squeeze to look up, and Zach Braff walks by us to enter the black SUV’s, those used to transport celebrities and politicians.

Julie and I smile at each other, and I say, “I am so jealous right now. I feel it in my chest how jealous I am right now.”

He’s a young man, about my age, who has a hit comedy show on NBC, a successful writing and directing venture cum generational film - Garden State, not to mention wealth and fame. Ah, yes, Grasshopper, it will happen to me. Oh yes, it will happen...

And I believe it. All these run-ins in the last two days must be signs, and I must be acutely aware of the famous energies out there, demonstrating my energy's "takes one to know one" level. And why not? I'm putting it out there like never before, posting blogs, videos, photos, resumes and anything to get me more work. So I'm happy the Universe is listening.