I, Model...

So's anyway. So's I packed up all of the luggage I have with clothes, and didn't bother to unpack from Inferno. And loaded up the car to head down to Pennsylvania. First stop was dropping off Baron von Philadelphia in the City of Brotherly Love.

So the Baron and I roll across the Ben Franklin Bridge and into town. We unloaded stuff at the Baronial Homestead deepinnahearta the Gayborhood. Then, as we were starving, we wanted to grab some dinner. So we drove around and found parking on Chestnut Street between 11th and 12th. I decided to give Faithful Companion a walk. And there was I. Goldberg's Army Navy Store!

I. Goldberg's is the best Army Navy store I've ever known. It totally rocks. Bunches of cool military surplus from all over the world. I. Goldberg's pretty much kept me in boots since high school. Since I've been spending more time here, I've been trying to get there to pick up some tank tops and such. Every time I went into Philadelphia, I'd call and see how late they were open. Alas. I. Goldberg has a flaw: they close at 5:45 pm every day. I wanted to find out if perhaps they had a day when they were open later, so the Baron, Faithful Companion and I headed over there to check.

Although they were closed, there was a group of people inside. I found that they did not have a late night, alas, and headed down Chestnut Street. And this guy came out of the store, and chased after me down Chestnut Street. He caught up to me, and asked if I was here for the casting call.

The what?

The casting call. I. Goldberg's was looking for folks to be in a commercial that they're filming. He was the director. Director Guy asked if I would be available to film on Sunday the 21st.

I said, "Sure."

So I followed him back to the store, gave my address and phone number and sizes, and was videotaped saying my name and the number assigned to me, number 37.

Director Guy seemed really enthusiastic about me. (Chased me down the street.) He'll give a call on Monday if I'm selected to be in the I. Goldberg's commercial. (Chased me down the street.) On my way out of the store, he said, "And whatever you do, don't shave those whiskers!"

Chased. Me. Down. The. Street.

So this is the moment that I've always dreamed of. Being approached by a stranger on the street who grabs me and says, "Buddy, I'm gonna make you a star!"

Years ago, I was in Polonia Restaurant in the East Village. An exquisitely dressed woman was sitting with a friend having blintzes. She went over to one of the waitresses and told her that she worked for the Ford Modeling Agency and asked the waitress to please call her to set up an interview the next morning. The newly minted model was sitting with a stun-gunned look on her face, staring at the woman's card. The other waitresses were gathered around her awestruck at her good fortune, like ladies in waiting attending a milkmaid who had been selected as the bride of a prince.

Okay okay okay. We're talking about a commercial for I. Goldberg's. Not only is this not The Big Time, but it's not even remotely possible that it will lead to The Big Time. Or even be the gateway to the Wee Little Time.

But it might get me laid.

If and when I'm hanging at the Bike Stop (that's the leather bar in Philadelphia; Philadelphia has a leather bar; New York used to have a leather bar...) (Okay. I'll stop.) and somebody says, "Omigod! You're the guy in the I. Goldberg commercial!" then there will be no living with me.

Mr. Warhol, I'm ready for my fifteen minutes!

Can't wait to put a modeling credit on my resume!

Oh. Tomorrow I'll work on the account of my Inferno.

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