• by Kelly Samardak , January 7, 2010

Today's walk to work was like the set up montage from a Stephen King made for TV miniseries.  You know how it goes: the surreal repeat interactions with totally random subjects, with background music like "Don't Fear The Reaper" or "Downtown" or "California Dreamin,'" observed by creepy children slow-turning to witness the carnage, holding onto mommy's hand with their rainbow thin-striped mittens.   The only thing missing was a saber-toothed clown and a reanimated murderous cat.  And I feel like I need to tell you about it.

Starbucks.  I always enter the Union Square Starbucks suspiciously.  Typically, someone is perched outside with an empty water bottle collecting funds for the homeless, either berating people for not dropping just a penny, even just a penny helps, OR sadly asking to help with just one meal.  Once inside, the line is always daunting, the personal space invasion is guaranteed, and sometimes you get what looks like barfed up asparagus wrapped in a skin graft when what you really ordered was an English muffin breakfast sandwich.  And without fail, as with this morning, someone sits or nearly sits on me.

When I left Starbucks is when it got weird.  In front of me was a man dressed like Pootie Tang.  I could tell by his head movements, he was walking to his internal Barry White and based on his hand gestures he was talking to himself.  Before trying to pass him I assessed his Bluetooth status to confirm he was the only conversation participant and indeed he was.  I sped up to pass him.  However, sidewalk traffic was against me this morning and Pootie Tang and I shared the sidewalk the entire way to Broadway and 25^th. 

As we walked, a large man carrying a bulk package of toilet paper RAN in front of us while the parked Escalade thumped classical music.  We walked along Broadway matching strides and I wondered if people thought we were together.  Me and Pootie Tang.  Coming up to the Sprint store tucked under the Flatiron Building I recognized the sometimes recorder-playing homeless regular.  He's a beat up old man with a scraggly beard, either silently glowering or gravelly voiced screaming at passersby.  This morning he was silently layering up.  He's nailed the layering process and I have a feeling he's a string bean underneath those sweaters, sweatpants and scarves.  I don't know how he makes it through these cold nights.  I hope he finds himself in a shelter.

With Grizzly Adams disappearing behind us, Pootie Tang and I came to a cross walk and parted ways.  Just in time for me to be accosted by a couple that appeared to be Armenian royalty.  They asked me to take a picture of them, which I did - almost backing into the path of a yellow cab.  The woman next to me said, "don't back up too far!" as I snapped the picture and turned away from the couple.  This sparked an, "it's war out here" conversation with play by plays of near fatal jousts between the wheels and the peds.  We parted with "have a nice day!"s and as I stepped onto Worth Square,  Pootie Tang and I reunited, once again set on the same path.  

Once back in step, Pootie Tang and I, another homeless man (or maybe just a scraggly dude making the most of the morning, who knows) crossed our path with his shopping cart.  Perched in the kid seat of the cart (where my legs ALWAYS fell asleep when accompanying my mom to Gold Circle) was his boom box.  And his boom box was blaring Neil Diamond's "We're Coming to America."

I swear to you, I thought my walk would culminate in a disco murder raptor falling from the sky, set on destroying the world, but only letting small, post-holiday chubby girls survive to tell the tale - of course discovering other similar types in order to form the new world with.

I leave you with that, my friends, and this reminder: Keep a look out for this column tomorrow!  I have my first event of 2010 tonight and it's in DUMBO.  The party is hosted by HUSH and Cardigan New York and themed "Broken Resolutions" and gives guests the come hither of "drinks, music, friends and lovers."  Should be fun - and guess what, I'm bringing West Coast defector and West Coast Editor of Script Magazine, Publisher/Editor: San Pedro Today, CEO of Empire22 Media, Co-owner of Modjeska Playhouse, Documentary Filmmaker, and Journalist (and yes, this is just ONE PERSON) Joshua Stecker.  So, come on DUMBO, show him the other NYC.