Black Power and Panhandlers

Two young black men in PantherWear (complete with berets and buttons with pistols on them) were hustling money at the 42nd Street A/C station Saturday.

"Support Black Power", the one holding the cardboard box said.

I waved him off, as I always do when approached for money. "Don't feed the pigeons" is my motto. When I was about 10 feet away, the kid muttered, "Afraid of Black Power, huh."

First, I have hoot owl hearing. Second, subway stations carry sound better than a tight string between two coffee cans. Third, you want power? Be a man and say it to my face. Don't mutter it like some punk with a mouth full of Tic Tacs.

I stopped. I turned. I laughed. I said, "I don't think so. It's not black I'm afraid of. It's power ... in the hands of anyone."

I don't think that was covered in Black Power Boot Camp. The recruits just sort of stood there, blinking.

Aside from the fact that young militants have resorted to raising money in a cardboard box and mumbling like 7-year-olds in the back of a classroom, it comes on the heels of another incident.

I live in a poor neighborhood that also happens to be a black neighborhood. I know this because 99 percent of the people who live in my neighborhood are poor and black. I did the math. I never have any problem in my neighborhood (outside being called an Eskimo for shoveling dirt in the community garden in a t-shirt in February, with snow on the ground ... and that guy might have a point).

A couple of days ago, I was getting off the subway and this middle-age white guy comes up to me with a story about losing his money and trying to get back to Connecticut, but being stuck in a bad neighborhood. Could I help?

You already know my policy on feeding the pigeons. I waved him off and continued on my merry way.

The next morning, the guy was out there and he approached me with the same story -- Starting with "I've been here a couple of hours and ..." I stopped him.

"Bullshit."

"What?"

"Bullshit. You've been here since yesterday because you hit me up then too, telling me you were stuck in a bad neighborhood. This isn't a bad neighborhood. This is my fucking neighborhood and the only problem with it is you. Carry your ass. Walk if you have to. Connecticut is that way."

"I'm sorry."

"Get outta here." I wanted to add "You fuckin' fuck" but I thought it might be a tad too much.

Two days later I'm accused of being afraid of black power? Well, fuck you, you fuckin' fuck.

Super dupper Easter eye candy, but not ...

I think I saw the most beautiful woman in the world as I walked through the West Village --- someone named Gisele (no curly horns that I could see). I wouldn't have known who she was, but about half a block up the street there was this gay guy gazing toward her. As I walked by, he said, "Do you recognize them?"

"No. Do I have to?"

"That's Tom Brady and Gisele."

"Sorry," I said, not recognizing either name. "I avoid popular culture like a plague."

He looked very disappointed. Apparently, Tom Brady is quarterback for the Patriots and Gisele is the "Most Beautiful Woman in the World", according to Esquire. I know this because several blocks later the cover of Esquire was shining in a shop window. There was Gisele and beside her picture was the caption, "Most Beautiful Woman in the World."

To tell you the truth, when I saw her she just looked like a somewhat haggard -- but well-kempt -- mom with her husband trying to load a family into a minivan on Easter morning. I'm still gonna claim the sighting. I'm gonna trust a gay man to recognize a swarthy 6-foot 4-inch quarterback and a super model. Besides, what are the odds there'd be a married doppelganger?