The Pigeon Whisper

It was another glorious day in Pigeon Land New York. 

It was my first day of work and I was ready to set sail to the sea of money land that awaited me. I perfumed my body, I primped my hair, I color coordinate my pens and reapplied lip gloss. I exited the subway, determine that this first day was going to be the first of many good days.  

I put on my aviators, yeah it was cool me in cool NYC.

When suddenly I was side swiped by a tortuous water hose with enormous pour. It almost took my arm off. I immediately protected my sunglasses, didn't want the poor babies to get messed up. Then, I rapidly twitched my head around in every direction to find the source of this enormous power. 

Nothing was around me. What could've happened, I wondered. I gave up, then suddenly realied I forgot to look up.

Pigeons, about a thousand, were up there feasting and caahing and they decided they would just have their bodily fluid make a sweet little home on my arm. 

I immediately caused a dramatic scene, making sure everyone in times square knew and felt the turmoil I was feeling in that moment. Right when I cry to the skies, why why why why me... I get an answer.

The pigeon didn't pick me because I was a piece of shit that can't have anything nice, even on her first day of work that she worked so hard to have everything perfect for... The pigeon picked me because I'm lucky.

That's the beauty of New York, you can be proud here of anything. Here you feel lucky , even if it is just a pigeon and it is just using the bathroom on your arm, it picked you out of the millions of other arms. And apparently, if your a true New Yorker, you appreciate this story, because it means extreme good luck is in your near future.

Suddenly, I didn't want to wipe off my arm. Suddenly, I wanted New York to see that I got the part of pigeon toilet, not the millions of other people. It's not broadway but it's luck, and I wanted people to see that. 

So, I was telling my table of ladies today about my pigeon accident, and they just carried on and on like I was the luckiest person alive. And, I, of course carried on like I know! I know! Then one of the ladies told me there's this thing around birds, you are lucky if you find birds gravitating to you.

Ok, so I'm still on my pigeon poop high, when I walk to my next table and begin to take their order. I'm feeling really good at myself, I'm the only person working the entire resturuarant. I haven't made any mistakes yet. It is a little busy, but I'm cool and collected.

Suddenly, I see something crawl by my foot, while I'm taking some germans drink order. I then feel it, I quickly look down, IT'S A PIGEON!

I didn't want my guest to see my little friend, so I gently kicked him with my foot, ballerina like, as to not hurt the bird but hold the impression to the table that I was relaxing with them. 

The bird didn't like this gesture, for he starts cawing and then flies to the second level of the resturant. Thankfully, the germans were looking down. But, the Canadians totally saw it. They start screaming pigeon pigeon! I'm like oh I didn't see it, where did you see a pigeon?

Well, have you ever tried to chase a pigeon? It's damn near impossible. First there is the size difference, I can't weave in and out of tables and chairs. Then there's the whole flying thing. Plus,they bob their head which confuses you, cause you don't know which way they are going to turn. 

So, if you are ever in this bind, what you do is play dumb. Act like you are just standing there with no thought at all of attacking. Then you let it walk towards you and you walk towards it, slowly in the direction you want the bird to leave. It's basically like how women should go about men. However, what doesn't work is cawing and pretending you are his brother. 

So, whatever, I get the damn bird out. The canadians applaud me and the world is at peace again.

 Two pigeons, in two days,doesn't happen to everyone.  The canadians told me they believed something good was going to happen to me. 

Pigeons use to fly towards my head and I would run. But, now I know they are just coming to wish me luck. So I let them speak and I let myself listen. 

Just gonna preach for a second...or an hour...

Everyday I open my email account, expecting a response from the various agencies eager to sign me. It's always disheartening to instead find more spam mail telling me new ways to turn my tire wheel waist line into a vanishing act. This, in itself, is a whole other topic of conversation. I mean, what did they see that I am female so I MUST have self esteem issues regarding that unwanted belly fat? Because, they are absolutely right, and yes I do eat cheese wontons every night for dinner, and no I don't plan on stopping. If I get fat, I'll just say it's for a role, like Charlize Theron did, and everyone will admire me. Plus it's not fair, I mean this damn city makes me walk everywhere, so no I won't feel guilty if I want to indulge in a cheese wonton or twelve. It doesn't get me pregnant  or make me have a hang over. I'm sick of everything thats good being bad. And yes, I even sometimes have a REGULAR coke. So, no, do I want to wake up from a night of cheese wontons to open an email with a miss gym no life telling me how great it is to live on celery. Tomorrow I will diet, don't tell me today what I need to do tomorrow.

 

 

But I peruse through all the gym and save darfur emails, when I see an email from Mike Alaska ( fire eating drum guy, wrote about him the last blog). He said he saw my previous blogs, and wants to meet. This random dude on the subway wasn't suppose to really find me or my email, much less read that nonsense I wrote below. He was suppose to be a funny story I told. I quickly opened up this blog, just to read what he read. Oh my, I called him boyfriend. I joked about being on date three. He has now heard all my inner thoughts, when he was suppose to only be this dude that made eye contact with me on the subway.

 I watch people a lot. I always carry a book with me on the subway, but I never open it because I get lost in everyones story around me. I can in a matter of seconds know who loves who, who doesn't know who, who is happy, who is miserable, who is a workaholic  and it's all just by a look. Generally people don't talk on the subway. It's a quiet tunnel of people, traveling from place to place. You sometimes hear whispered chatter or someone's ipod playing too loudly, but for the most part,  people communicate in the subway by body language. Or at least you hear the body language more than you do outside the subway.

Really the exact moment of beginning and ending all starts with a look. 

Like me and Mr. Alaska could fall hypothetically madly in love, but did it start the day I tried to buy his love or does it start the next time I see him, because I'm looking at a real person. 

People aren't real to us. I think when we leave our safe homes in the morning for work, the people we approach in the professional and relationship world, we look at in terms of how they will benefit us. What if, as a human being, I approached people as interesting complicated individuals that need and deserved to be known. 

Every morning I see this elderly man that has one short leg and on his short leg he wears this really tall boot.  Every Morning, I get upset when I see him. I look around to see if other people are upset, and nobody is looking. Nobody is looking, and I wonder if anyone even knows this man. Is it possible nobody knows him?

My friend told me the other day that we are all made in God's image. We all crave to create and be worshipped.  My point is, in a really long drawn out way, nobody should be just a story we tell. People are real, we should know them. 

Point of the Day: Know people. 

 ( hands in circle) Go Team( hands in air)

Not a Sugar Daddy, but he does eat fire...

So, I am running around the city dropping off headshots to people that are suppose to discover my inner glow and star quality, when I go to the subway.

I'm walking down and suddenly my hips are gyrating and my hands are clapping to some incredible african drum beats. 

I walk closer to see which homeless man is rocking my music style, and it's this young good looking guy. I stare at him , shaking and tapping my foot, all in an attempt to get a drum rip maybe dedicated to me. When he looks back at me. Right then the train comes in between our eye contact, and love is postponed.

I take this opportunity to run and drop money in his bucket. I thought I would just leave money and he would see me and talk to me. So I dropped 10 dollars, maybe buy his love. He doesn't see me put the money in his bucket. I then almost dropped my business card, but I thought no, he's just a stranger....

But then, the next day I'm walking down the stairs to my subway stop, and I hear the same music. It is him again. He waves to me and then stops playing and motions me to come over to him. I run to the top and he runs to the top . I think this is when he is going to grab me and kiss me and then we will go prance off to drum beat heaven... but instead he tells me to go to mikealaska.com

So,  I yell to him, " My names Laura!" He was already gone, just the homeless guy heard me in the deafening silence of the moment. 

Oh, Hi to another New York artist that only cares about themselves. 

However, I am still taken  by his charm and incredible talent. So,  ( I apologize I'm saying So a lot), but So, like I go to his like website...Riiiight...

So, I go to his website and the dude eats fire and plays, it's nasty talent. Like I've never seen anything like this. And, what is more impressive, is the way the dude is following his dreams. He's got a website, youtube channels, and he plays in the subway. He is combining the old traditional way of getting discover with modern technology.  I just love it.

So, today, I see him again. It's basically date three, but whose counting...And the sparks where gone. I mean we had a connection. So, I begin the same ol tap routine where I tap my feet like I'm some big tap dancer waiting to be discovered. Nothing. I thought maybe he would  see the beats of my feet and we could at least get on the same rhythm  link... No link.

But, the dude is gonna be famous. And I'm gonna blog about him.  I mean if we aren't going to have a love affair, I'm at least going to follow him on his thunder ( like steal his thunder). 

I'm going to be that creepy girl that follows him on his musical subway journey  with my pen and paper and I stand behind the pole and monitor his performance.  I'll wear a black suit and a black hat, real sherlock holmes like, and then when I see him talking to someone that might discover him I'll pop out and hand them my headshot and resume and run away in the dark of night. 

Speaking of blogging about Mr. Alaska....I think he was having a bad day, low energy, threw his drum sticks in the air and dropped one. This dropping of the drum stick really put Mr. Alaska in a foul mood, it was as if it was the fourth quarter, the team was depending on him and he dropped the ball putting the other team ahead by 100 points... Sorry I hope the football analogy didn't confuse the non football lovers...

Ok, but back to the real point of this essay....So, My boyfriend eats fire. I like how that sounds. 

PS. Is there a better segue word than So? 

www.mikealaska.com