Strange Sunday

So I often debate on how much of my personal life I should put in here. On one hand, I like to read about things people experience that I either can not or had never had the opportunity. Sort of like Big Grizz's tales of Lightning Bingo, or someone going to eat in a fancy restaurant, going to an event, or this blogger's first hand narrative of being at Lamar Odom's end of the season party. Cool stuff happens to people, and its fun to read about.

On the other hand, blogs are still public forum and while I don't think twice about any of my illogical sports theories and predictions, real life is a different beast.

But with the realization that 90% of you probably won't experience what happened to me last Sunday, and the fact that only about 10 people read this, I present to you, my Sunday.

I am in the process of designing a website from somebody in the fashion industry. She has appeared on television before and various people reckonize her name when I tell them, so I guess she is big in come circles. I obviously had never heard of her until she hired me.

On Sunday, we were scheduled to take photographs for her website. And since this is the fashion industry, there was no half-assing this. They had hired 5 or 6 models from agencies around the city, and a photographer whose works have appeared in Vogue, Essence, and the like. He had a really cool picture he took of Halle Berry in his place (apparently she was real nice, but not too outgoing when it came to poses. She just stuck with the same 4 or 5 looks, publicist approved).

So the shoot was scheduled to take place in the photographer's apartment and rooftop. I took my lovely assistant with me and we headed down there. I should have realized it before hand, but we were set to get started at the same time The Pope was set to have a ceremony at Ground Zero a few blocks away.

The first sign I totally ignored was that we had to get off the subway 2 stops early. Which meant for a few minutes of confused walking before I figured out the direction we needed to be headed. We got to a point where I could see exactly where we needed to be across the street. Sadly, every cross street had at least 2 or 3 police officers directing people away. There was no crossing this street. It then dawned on me that The Pope was making an appearance.

After walking the length of the West Side Highway to Battery Park, we found a spot where they were letting people pass. So we made our way back around and to the correct building.

An assistant met us at the ground level and took us to the 26th floor where everyone was getting prepped. It was a strange seen. From what I could see, there were 2 hair stylists, and each one of those had at least 1 assistant (one girl was just there to do eye lashes). There were also make up artists with big suitcases sort of milling about.

Sorry to break a lot of bubbles here, but models are not really attractive in person. They all came in one at a time, looking like they had just had a long night of booze and crack, and puking up breakfast. Once hair and make up were done, they looked much better, but still, it was like finding out there was no Santa Claus.

Outside the window, something began to catch everyone's attention, the Papal motorcade was pulling up. We just happened to have a front and center view of the entire proceedings (except, 26 stories high). The Papal limo drove into this tent and out the other side drove the always awesome Pope Mobile. He rode that for something like 100 feet (tops) and then got out. He met the governor, the mayor, some 9/11 people, and then got back into the Pope Mobile, back into the tent, the limo came out the other side again (Pope magic!), and the whole motorcade drove off again.

And that was that. At least outside the window.

Inside the apartment was still nuts. It was lunch time now, so they brought out a tray of sandwiches. Not wanting to be "that guy", I let other people pick first. BIG MISTAKE. It looked like a bunch of small woodland creatures were there. The models just took the ham and the lettuce from the sandwiches, and left a tray of croissant scraps and cheese.

Luckily the tray of cookies went untouched.

The rest of the day (I left soon after lunch) went about what you expect. The photographer kept telling them how to act ("You are suspicious!"), the models all made the same, disinterested face, and somehow, we will end up with amazing pictures.

So the Pope and a Photoshoot, all before noon on a Sunday.

Oh, and I forgot to mention the creepiest thing--hair extensions. I don't know if any of our female readers have had these before, but it gave me nightmares that night. The hairstylist just busted out a Gristedes bag full of hair. All different colors and what not. I can't even write about this, I am gagging.