When You Can Smell Yourself, There's A Problem

Ok, homeless people, we need to have a talk.

I have had my fair share of run-ins with vagrants over the years.  How could I not, I live in New York City.  Normally I am willing to simply avert my gaze, hold my breath and wait for the crazy to pass me by.  See, I can forgive the mounds of rubbish being dragged along and the paranoid mutterings you can't quite make out, as long as they see clear to ignore me.  

You know, like bees.  

Don't bother them, they won't bother you.

My first truly scary encounter with the modern vagabond coincided with my first subway ride.  I'm from a rather sheltered existence in Virginia.  Admittedly, I was ill-equipped to dive into city living, and the idea of riding the subway scared the bejesus outta me.  I had finally gotten up the minerals to travel farther than 10 blocks from my apartment, which meant taking the subway.  As soon as I boarded the car I noticed a tattered individual sitting alone, rocking back and forth in his seat.  No one else seemed to be paying him any mind, and because I seem to enjoy feeling uncomfortable, I decided to listen to what he was muttering.  Turns out, he was having a violent conversation with himself over what subway stop he was suppose to use.  Suddenly he lurched out of his seat, bounded over to the subway map on the wall to prove to himself that he needed to get off at Broadway (which by itself isn't really the name of a stop, but never mind.)  Finally my stop came and as I scrambled to exit the train I hear him say to himself, "Ok, man, ok, don't go crazy, man, just don't go crazy!"

Since then I have endured the noisome stenches that make my eyes leak and my soul despair, the creepy stares that are occasionally accompanied  by rapid hand movement in the trouser area, off-key crooning, beseechments to God to bless me and violent outbursts at invisible catalysts.  I have seen human beings laid low from living in the wilderness that is living roofless New York.  

I understand that most of you homeless out there are fucking crazy.  You are completely free to live as your own individual insanity bids you.  Go for it.  Make friends with the rats and pigeons.  Raise your fists and curse the heavens for the injustice of the guy who kicked out out of 7-11.  Your brain doesn't work, and I don't hold that against you.

Those of you who are sane.

Listen up.

For the love of God - shower.  There's gotta be somewhere you can get that done.  I can't take the smell of week old urine and decomposing living person anymore.  

Or just stop peeing on yourself.

Guess what happened to me on the subway today?

It's A Pheromone I Give Off - They Find Me

Don't you love that feeling of bullet dodging?  When something awful was so close to your life but was able to deliciously whizz by without really affecting you negatively?

A couple years ago I was helping to run a raffle for The New York Musical Festival (NYMF) and at that event I met the most curious man.  He introduced himself as Priyantha DeSilva, he appeared to be a Middle Eastern or Indian man.  He told me that he was a producer and very important and that he wanted to help me with my acting career.  

Now, the problem that this gentleman had when approaching me in such a way is that I am not an idiot.  However, I was curious about what he was going to procure, so I told him about a show I was in, and said that I wasn't comfortable going into any kind of business with him until he saw me perform.  Well, he actually came to the show, and then invited me to go to the premiere of Doubt with him.  Again, fatal mistake.  I am acquainted with a someone who was integral to the production of that movie, so I got in touch with him to make sure all the information was good and this guy wasn't just trying to get me somewhere and rape me.  It was all good, so I was all, hey, get to meet some famous people and free food and see an awesome movie.  

Going with this man to this party was an education - no, a master class - in and of itself.  I had to tell him to shut up more than once during the film and when we got to the after party he immediately ingratiated himself upon people who wanted nothing to do with him.  Somehow, in about half an hour, he was also drunker than Jesus at Easter.

Hey, wouldn't you get massively drunk if you had just been brought back to life?  I don't even drink and I'd be soused to the gills.

I quickly met other people and went around to enjoy the party with my new friends.  I lost track of Mr Desilva for a while, until he texted me about half way through the evening.  In that text and the subsequent ones he sent he informed me that he had never been so insulted in his whole life and that he wasn't going to help me with my career and other veiled threats.  I sent him a message back, telling him not to overreact and that we should talk face to face.  

When I found him, he was even drunker than when I had left him.  He went on about being insulted for a while, and then said he wanted to be my manager and get 50% of everything I made.  In the nicest way possible I told him I wasn't a fucking child and that he couldn't take advantage of me like that.  I informed him that if he wanted to have anything to do with my career we could talk when he was sober.  

I never saw him again, although he would text me once and awhile to try and get me to go to events with him.  I had learned my lesson, so that never happened.

Turns out, its good that I cut that tie at the right moment.

Let me share some things with you good people.

Apparently this man:   

Priyantha DeSilva

Is a notorious party crasher, and has been for years.  He has been arrested for public urination, posing as a female fashion editor, film director/producer, paying for auction items with fake credit cards, and stealing a $1,500 Prada bag.  He was most recently arraigned in Manhattan Criminal Court with bail set at $7,500.

So if you see him, point and laugh. 

I know, I know.  I am like the Psycho Whisperer - these people are just drawn to me.