Last night, as I was heading home, I was standing on the median of Park Avenue at 59th Street, waiting for the light to chane. Across the street, I could see two women trying to hail a cab. Two guys walked up and stood at the corner, about forty feet further down, and they stuck out their arms to hail a cab too.

A cab stopped for the guys on the corner, and one of them leaned forward and told the cabbie that the women down the block were there first, and pointed to them. Nice gesture, I thought. The light changed, and I started across the street. As I drew closer, I realized that the heavy-set guy, the one who had talked to the cabbie, looked incredibly familiar. I nodded at him, and as he nodded back, I realized that it was Michael Moore, the filmmaker/activist. "Like your work!" I said. He thanked me and seemed like a genuinely nice guy. I asked him what he thought of his profile in the current New Yorker. (I'd link, but they have a shitty website.) Coincindentally, I'd just finished reading the profile that morning, on the subway to work.

He replied that he hadn't read it because "I've been shooting all week, haven't had much time, and it's like twelve thousand words! Maybe I'll get to it this weekend." He then asked me to summarize it for him...so this was a bit weird for me, summarizing an article to its subject. I told him about both the positive and negative things it said about him (c'mon, like he hasn't heard it all before already.) He seemed to take it all with equanimity, and thanked me as a cab pulled up. He and the other guy sped away, and I walked to the N train reflecting on what an odd encounter it had been.