Superstar

I have long, curly brown hair and a goatee. My nose, a source of ridicule from my button-nosed siblings, is prominent and strong. My eyes are a deep blue. My eyebrows are thick and masculine. My face is wrinkle-free and pale and my cheekbones are high.

I look like Jesus.

Well, Jesus as portrayed by artists from the Renaissance and beyond. Friends joke constantly about my Jesus look. Queen III, upon seeing me again for the first time in six months, paused and said, "How much longer are you going to let this hair thing go on?"

"Why?" I asked.

"Because you're really starting to look like Jesus."

Personally, I love it. I secretly believe most men in business suits wish they could, at some point in their lives, adopt a similar look. Not permanently. That would be ridiculous. Just...for a season or two. Make no mistake, a pair of shiny shears will lop off my locks someday in the near future and I'll shed nary a tear, but for now, it's fun.

And also I feel as though I owe my being cast in these two New York shows to looking like Jesus. Directors are always looking for someone who looks like Christ so they can make some sort of uninformed statement about the Church. These two shows I've done here in New York have had religious elements and the ignorant directors have both leaped at the prospect of having the Son of Man on stage.

Hey, if looking like the Messiah brings home the bacon and allows me to follow my dream AND lets me play around with a completely different look...I mean...hey. Who says you can't have your cake and eat it too?

I was at Morebucks this morning, drinking my pre-workout cup of coffee. This Morebucks is frequented by a few homeless folks. The cleaner, more harmless, less crazy variety. But every now and then...

I sat down with my small half-decaf and was fiddling with my phone.

Crazy Jane: Jesus!

Me: ....

Crazy Jane: Jesus Christ!

Me: ....

Crazy Jane: Jesus Christ! Is that you?!

Me: ! (Holy crap. She's talking to me!)

Crazy Jane: Jesus Christ! Is that you?! Jesus Christ? Jesus? Is it really you?

Me: (Uhh...uhh...look up and say, "Sorry. You've got the wrong guy." No...don't do that. Just...keep looking down. Ignore her.)

Crazy Jane : (standing) Jesus Christ! You're here!

Me: (Ignore, ignore...wait, no! What are you still doing here? LEAVE!)

Crazy Jane: Jesus Christ!! Jesus!

Mannerly George: Excuse me ma'am, are you all right?

Crazy Jane: It's Jesus Christ! Look! He's right over there!

Mannerly George: Oh yes. Actually, I think that's just a man who looks like Jesus.

Crazy Jane: Oh. Yes. He does look like Jesus.

Mannerly George: Yes, he does.

Crazy Jane: Sometimes Jesus comes down and visits us in flesh.

Mannerly George: Yes, that's right. Jesus is with us all the time.

Crazy Jane: But he comes down as a person sometimes and we don't know it's him.

Mannerly George: I don't think I follow.

Crazy Jane: He comes down to see us sometimes, to see how we're doing. Most people don't see him. But I think I see him now. He looks like Jesus. It might be him.

Mannerly George: Will you be all right?

Crazy Jane: I'm leaving now.

(Crazy Jane rises, passes slowly by me.)

Crazy Jane: God bless you.

Me: Same to you.

* * *

Since that happened this morning, walking down the streets of New York has felt a bit like a job. Or at least something I need to be more aware of. I mean, looking like Jesus was all well and good when it was a joke between friends. But when people start to think you're the Man himself...