The Tale of Two Christophers

This morning I met my friend Chris and his companion in the West Village for brunch. Our conversation was animated, focused mostly on the 2008 presidential election, Eliot's indiscretions, and possible running mates for Obama and Clinton. My comments, I must admit, were informed by watching Hardball with Chris Matthews. 

 On a few occasions my friend Chris has bumped into Mr. Matthews at various Washington D.C. political events. Each time Chris has received a dismissive response from Matthews. Matthews name came up during our brunch because my friend hasn't forgiven the commentator for his derogatory remarks about Hillary. 

After our meal at Westville on 10th Street, as Gavino and I walked up 9th Ave, my ears perked up when I heard the distinct voice of Chris Matthews behind us. Yes, it was a Chris immersed in conversation with another person and walking with a sense of purpose. Gavino and I trailed behind them for five blocks, following the sound of a familiar, upbeat voice of a person that we listen to each night at home.

Brooke

On the train last night, a stunning woman pushing a stroller entered the car with her two children and husband. Once seated most of the couple's energy was directed towards calming their restless girls.

I recognized the face from under the newsboy hat. Brooke Shields looks fantastic at 42.

She made eye contact with me (probably because I was gazing again) and then smiled. I returned the smiled and nodded in respect for privacy. No one noticed them.

Her public appearance left me thinking about how her emergence in the media of the 1970s shaped my life. Having been taunted by my peers for having a "uni-brow," among other things, in my youth, I was suddenly transformed into the "exotic" largely due to Brooke because of changing public perception of thick eyebrows.

Kudos for taking public transportation.

Celebrity Sitings

Tuesday, Oct. 16, 2007: As I was walking through Tribeca, approaching Franklin Street station when I could hear the distinct voice of Harvey Keitel passing me as he talked on his cell phone. His gate, body language, unshaven face, and loose-fitting tropical shirt made him appear as course as most of the characters he portrays on film.


Saturday, Oct. 21, 2007: Passed Whoopi Goldberg, dressed in white, walking down a SoHo side street with a female friend who was carrying a bunch of shopping bags. Whoopi looked shorter and smaller than I imagined her to be. She kept her head down as not to make eye contact with us as we brushed shoulders.

Cold stone stare from Naomi Wolf

As I was sharing an ice cream with family at Cold Stone on 6th Ave and 4th Street this afternoon, my eyes fell upon a familiar face. Fixed on trying to place this woman with piercing blue eyes, pale white skin, and thick flowing hair, I was greeted with her long fierce stare, as if to signal that I must stop intruding on her privacy. Galvino, who was seated next to me, noticed how the woman was staring directly to his right, only then to realize that I was locked in a staring match with her.

Was she a high school mean girl whom I had long forgotten from my days in the Framingham school system or was she a dorm room foe from college? Maybe, I thought, she was a 1980s sitcom star who had disappeared into the "where are they now" annals. When I looked away and then tried to discreetly refocus my gaze, she caught me again.

On the train home her portrait struck me as the author Naomi Wolf. Someone whom I have never thought too seriously about as a feminist and writer, but since seeing her interview with Steve Colbert, I suspect she is feeling a bit paranoid these days for taking such a risk with her new book.

Face Recognition

One of my special talents involves recognizing mediated faces or those that I haven't seen in many year. While riding the subway last week, I made eye contact with a woman who was seated across from me. Both of us said out loud that we knew each other. Ti-- moved over next to me and then we figured out our lives intersected ten years ago when she was a student at Syracuse University and I was her graduate student TA.

Don't be surprised that I am about to cite who I've spotted on the street. The worst of it is that I search their eyes as I am trying to place their mediated image in my real life, and I am not too discreet about it.


In late May, as I awaited to board a flight same Chicago O'Hare to NY LaGuardia I discovered that Anthony Bourdain would be flying first class on the same flight. At the luggage claim area, I stalked him while contemplating how I would deliver the following message to him: "F@3&% Rachel Ray, you're the best thing on cable." Needless to say I didn't utter such profanity in the name of emphatic respect for his work. Instead, I stared at his black sneaker shoes and leather jacket.

On the evening of August 22, after dinner in the East Village with Gavino, his former Dutch boss, and his wife, on our way back to Christopher Street/4th Street Station, a well dressed Jacqueline Bisset, along with her small entourage, emerged from a restaurant. My eyes locked onto hers. It was as if she mistook me for someone she knew. She was wearing theater makeup and a beige pantsuit. Little did I know that she has always been my father's favorite actress. I must have been the conduit for his unrequited love that night. I, however, have always respected her for remaining unmarried in an era of high divorce rates.

Celebrity sitings on www.gawker.com rarely elicit name dropping above W76th street, but one day last week around W101st. Street, I passed a fast moving Kate Mulgrew in a long black, sleeveless summer dress. She was walking determinedly with a burly companion. I have never watched her on Star Trek: Voyager but remember her fondly as Mary Ryan on Ryan's Hope.