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Description
"He may be without a home, but he is not without a shelter."

This, apart from being the subway ad slogan put up by the fabled Homeless Outreach Program of MTA in NYC, was something that I considered to be a part of my extended family during my 3+ years in there. To better illustrate my point (which I think I have) picture yourself a homeless person curled up in a subway station corner, looking expressively insecure and lost, quite unlike any of those homeless people you have seen thus far (unless of course they are actively begging.). Enter a hand on the right, reaching out (ergo the name of the program) to lend a hand, in order to give support, and perhaps to jerk a tear or two. That's one way of feeling good about those 50 000 or so homeless people living in the metro city area as of 2005.

Whenever I see a homeless person, my less than refined photography instincts kick in, prompting me to take a picture. Once I am exorcised and "the spirit of sophomore photography" shoots back to the great plains in the sky to smoke some weed, I am left alone to wonder briefly whatever happens to homeless people once they make their way into my portfolio. That is how a window opens in my mind to a safe place I thought I have once seen while looking at a subway ad in some near past. I see a shelter, where MTA Homeless Outreach Programme reassures me of the hand that is still hovering in the air and the shelter the homeless are not left without. As I look deeper into the window, somewhere in the distance, I make out a white spot, and that's how he comes back to me. I see him. I see, Dr. Z.

Dr. Z is the short for Jonathan Zizmor, the self proclaimed leading dermatologist of the city and nothing less than a household name in NYC thanks to his long running subway ads. With droopy caring eyes a la Hugh Grant and his professional mannerism paired with his alarmingly exercised beatific smile (the kind that is restricted only to Doctors and healthcare personnel) Dr. Z has "professional care" written all over him (both literally and figuratively). Dr. Z claims to "see" all of his patients; that, I am not so sure. But I am sure anyone who rode with NY subway more than twice has seen Dr. Z and occasionally his significant other (pun intended), a Stepford Wife coronated with a white circular hat, standing shoulder to shoulder both congratulating us New Yorkers for our courage. Quite possible for our courage to endure Dr. Z every fucking day of our lives. (According to one theory this courage business stemmed from the ashes of ground zero. However, given the fact that this version manifested circa 2003, I think the 9/11 interpretation is dwindling.)

Being a part of the idiosyncrasies of a true blue blood New Yorker (granted, if any such thing is possible), Dr. Z ads go well with the one I mentioned right before that, yet as made obvious by my flair to tell you about them, you can make a learned guess and deduce that they are entitled to a longer coverage. If I was to pick two words to describe them "Obnoxious" would be the first metaphorical jack in the box, and "colorful" would be the other. Though this second jack would be a defected one, somehow remaining inside the box, being something of a "box case". Given the predominant rainbow color scheme of the ads paired with Dr.Z's clean shave, well maintained outline, and his protruding rosy lips... one wonders.

Dr. Z ads also contain the same Alicia A. who repeatedly expresses her gratitude to Dr. Z for her transition from "before" to "after". In her memorable kindergarten verse written in ugly hand writing it goes something like this: "Dear Dr.Z, thank your for improving my life, thank you for everything. Love, Alicia A."

What a splendid opportunity fate had me so that I can thank Dr. Z, whom I have personally seen for years free of charge, Dr. Z who used to congratulate me for my courage. But that's when I was brave, ready and determined. Where are you now Dr. Z? Now that I am scared shitless, insecure and lost do I still have something left to be congratulated? Bring me the rainbows Dr. Z, your photoshop gradient rainbows, your xoom personal web page aesthetics and your Skittle typefaces, and congratulate me for something I still have. Congratulate me for my burning desire to go back to who I was, my "before" which should come after my "after" want, my will to reverse order things to the way they were. Congratulate me for the hand that is mine as it reaches out to find me, curled up in a corner insecure and lost, looking at a subway ad that is not there. Finally I can have beautiful skin.

Oh, but what was my point? For a moment I thought I had a sharp one. But even though I might be without a point, I am not without a shelter.

Thank you for improving my life. Thank you for everything.

Otis A.

----

Picture taken on my first night out in Istanbul after many moons. 2006, a month and a half before my father died.

Description
"He may be without a home, but he is not without a shelter."

This, apart from being the subway ad slogan put up by the fabled Homeless Outreach Program of MTA in NYC, was something that I considered to be a part of my extended family during my 3+ years in there. To better illustrate my point (which I think I have) picture yourself a homeless person curled up in a subway station corner, looking expressively insecure and lost, quite unlike any of those homeless people you have seen thus far (unless of course they are actively begging.). Enter a hand on the right, reaching out (ergo the name of the program) to lend a hand, in order to give support, and perhaps to jerk a tear or two. That's one way of feeling good about those 50 000 or so homeless people living in the metro city area as of 2005.

Whenever I see a homeless person, my less than refined photography instincts kick in, prompting me to take a picture. Once I am exorcised and "the spirit of sophomore photography" shoots back to the great plains in the sky to smoke some weed, I am left alone to wonder briefly whatever happens to homeless people once they make their way into my portfolio. That is how a window opens in my mind to a safe place I thought I have once seen while looking at a subway ad in some near past. I see a shelter, where MTA Homeless Outreach Programme reassures me of the hand that is still hovering in the air and the shelter the homeless are not left without. As I look deeper into the window, somewhere in the distance, I make out a white spot, and that's how he comes back to me. I see him. I see, Dr. Z.

Dr. Z is the short for Jonathan Zizmor, the self proclaimed leading dermatologist of the city and nothing less than a household name in NYC thanks to his long running subway ads. With droopy caring eyes a la Hugh Grant and his professional mannerism paired with his alarmingly exercised beatific smile (the kind that is restricted only to Doctors and healthcare personnel) Dr. Z has "professional care" written all over him (both literally and figuratively). Dr. Z claims to "see" all of his patients; that, I am not so sure. But I am sure anyone who rode with NY subway more than twice has seen Dr. Z and occasionally his significant other (pun intended), a Stepford Wife coronated with a white circular hat, standing shoulder to shoulder both congratulating us New Yorkers for our courage. Quite possible for our courage to endure Dr. Z every fucking day of our lives. (According to one theory this courage business stemmed from the ashes of ground zero. However, given the fact that this version manifested circa 2003, I think the 9/11 interpretation is dwindling.)

Being a part of the idiosyncrasies of a true blue blood New Yorker (granted, if any such thing is possible), Dr. Z ads go well with the one I mentioned right before that, yet as made obvious by my flair to tell you about them, you can make a learned guess and deduce that they are entitled to a longer coverage. If I was to pick two words to describe them "Obnoxious" would be the first metaphorical jack in the box, and "colorful" would be the other. Though this second jack would be a defected one, somehow remaining inside the box, being something of a "box case". Given the predominant rainbow color scheme of the ads paired with Dr.Z's clean shave, well maintained outline, and his protruding rosy lips... one wonders.

Dr. Z ads also contain the same Alicia A. who repeatedly expresses her gratitude to Dr. Z for her transition from "before" to "after". In her memorable kindergarten verse written in ugly hand writing it goes something like this: "Dear Dr.Z, thank your for improving my life, thank you for everything. Love, Alicia A."

What a splendid opportunity fate had me so that I can thank Dr. Z, whom I have personally seen for years free of charge, Dr. Z who used to congratulate me for my courage. But that's when I was brave, ready and determined. Where are you now Dr. Z? Now that I am scared shitless, insecure and lost do I still have something left to be congratulated? Bring me the rainbows Dr. Z, your photoshop gradient rainbows, your xoom personal web page aesthetics and your Skittle typefaces, and congratulate me for something I still have. Congratulate me for my burning desire to go back to who I was, my "before" which should come after my "after" want, my will to reverse order things to the way they were. Congratulate me for the hand that is mine as it reaches out to find me, curled up in a corner insecure and lost, looking at a subway ad that is not there. Finally I can have beautiful skin.

Oh, but what was my point? For a moment I thought I had a sharp one. But even though I might be without a point, I am not without a shelter.

Thank you for improving my life. Thank you for everything.

Otis A.

----

Picture taken on my first night out in Istanbul after many moons. 2006, a month and a half before my father died.