More than a month later

So, I have so much new news it's ridiculous. I don't even know where to start really.

I really wanted to mention this one day in particular, it was a good day. It didn't have a tragic ending but a real...thought-provoking one.

Typically in New York, there will be beggars in the subways, alley ways, byways, passageways, whichever way you can imagine , there are beggars. Hmmmm...that thought alone is distressing. One of the richest cities on earth and there are people without, while there are people living in one million per month lofts and penthouses drinking Moet with chilled diamonds as ice cubes on an imported Italian leather sofa resting their feet in pricey silk slippers from Nordstrom that are pointless because beneath their feet is a chinchilla floor throw--also imported. When they see the beggars, everyday without fail, on corners and benches, what do THEY think? Can they sleep at night? Answer: Yes. Because I sleep comfortably at night too.

This particular day there was a man who apparently worked for some New York organization for the homeless. Normally I am slightly captivated by their strong messages but still very apathetic. Call it the cold heart of Pharaoh. Not that cold but it might as well be. Trillions of thoughts passed through my mind, seeking for the validity of this person's plea, or some type of verification:

"Excuse me Mr. Homeless Man, Sir, could you please prove to me that you are indeed without an abode? Because in order to show concern for you, I have to know that you are in fact who you say you are--a vagrant looking for a break. Stand still, let me listen to your stomach. I want to hear the growl before I give you the 50 cent of which you so desperately ask."

We say this everyday. All of us.

Anyhoo, the guy on the train this time was a little different. Not by appearance, stature, or poise. His differentiation was purely the resonance of his voice. Echoing throughout the subway cabin, he entreated us to give because...we didn't know what, why and how these people came to be homeless...that in fact they probably didn't intend to be so...but that "Homelessness can happen to anybody." Deep voice. Eery voice.

Heart quaking from being so uncomfortable from the truth, I reached. Found. And gave one dollar. Only one I suppose because that doubt was still there.

"YOU'RE RIGHT! YOU'RE RIGHT! HE'S RIGHT! HOW CAN YOU PEOPLE NOT GIVE TO THIS MAN WHO SPEAKS THE TRUTH? HAVE NONE OF YOU FACED HARD TIMES OR KNOW SOMEONE WHO HAS? YOU SIT THERE PRETENDING NOT TO BE FAZED BY THIS, HOW CAN YOU? LEST THIS BE TYPICAL TO YOU(!)..."

is what I wanted to scream. The rock in my stomach was not palatable. But their's were. I'm not saying that I always give, and that they're not good people for not giving, but I'm just amazed at how cold we have become as a species. We are indeed desensitized to pain. People are no longer humans, they are mere statistics. One in four have been molested. Over 100,000 people died in the tsunami. Tens of thousands were killed in the genocide. Statistics without faces or names, man!

The whole point is that people try to pretend that they can't hear these cries of these beggars. You walk past and try to appear jaded or aloof, or in a rush, or accustomed, or.... you play the skeptic. And we sleep at night.

Mind you these problems are not our own necessarily, and it could be entirely their faults and preventable - their homelessness, that is. And it's not necessarily our jobs to save the world through our one-dollar donations. And in fact some of these people are frauds. And then we need to help ourselves--we have our OWN problems...yes yes I understand. I feel the same way. I'm just heartbroken in a way. That we convince ourselves that it is okay to

learn

to

not

care.

We have to program ourselves to not care so much so we can keep the one dollar bills in our wallets. Save the ones! Save the ones!

Trillions of thoughts were running through my head. What would a Christian do in this instance? Does anyone else happen to have X-ray vision and see the Bible nestling in my purse? If they don't then they can't point the finger at me, or think I'm a hypocrite, right? So, did I do the Christian thing? Empathize, feel, criticize others, pretend as many of us do? I think I did.

Second one: Fluid, Cow Print, and Avocado

So, now I'm shadowing Tom Hackett. He is a Copy Writer at Saatchi & Saatchi. He has a brilliant British accent. I'm in the coolest pad. It's actually not a pad at all. Some kind of design media studio music house or other. It's called Fluid. Everyone here is so interesting and dresses so cool. The old people are young, and the young ppl are hip and stylish in an old way. As if they've been living this way for decades. It's amazing. What I just learned? New York keeps people fresh. It keeps life fresh. With all the moving and shaking and ins and outs and moves and statics and ups and downs and....just the movement of every aspect of life....it always allows something to evolve. New York is evolution in action.

I just read this and it sounds like I'm on speed. I definitely have some type of ADD. Just jumping from thought to thought until my thoughts together sound as separate ideas. Short sentences punctuated by even shorter ones. Hey, that's my thinking process for you!

Also, I guess I have been asking some good questions. The producer, Dean, said I'm like a regular Barbara Walters. And then, I guess he noticed my skin color, and immediately corrected it to maybe an Oprah Winfrey. I'm not offended. He was trying to connect. Make it seem more realistic. Maybe.

This place IS exciting in a way though. Hardwood floors all around. There's an authentic cow skin rug beneath a tiled coffee table of 4 art deco type orange sunflowers. In the corner of the room is a vintage leather tufted scoop chair with matching foot stool. Did I mention the color. Lemon. School buses have nothing on this chair. I'm sitting in a plaid vintage arm chair. Tom and this cool guy, yet to figure out his name although I've been talking to him for the past two or three hours, are on a plain square couch. Tweed. Above this quaint sofa is a 4-ft picture of Queen Elizabeth that reads "God save the Queen. She Ain't No Human Being...Sex Pistols." not necessarily read in that order. On the opposite wall is a Panasonic plasma television. Here I suppose it's a mere display screen.

And then I was fed. But it was pretty bland. I had to add some seasonings to it. I'm pretty sure it cost an arm and a leg. These tiny sandwiches here will cost you an organ just to glance at them. Here in New York you'll be on an installment plan just for your lunch break.

Anyhoo, I suppose I should stop. Especially before this gets erased since i'm new to this blogspot. Oh yes, did I make a good impression on these people. I hope I did.