Today’s soundtrack: No sweeping exits or offstage lines
Today at 11:02pm: Southbound and shivering.


It’s freezing out and my nose is all stuffed up, meaning I am now with only four senses.

T.R.: Can you smell what The Rock is cooking?

ME: I can’t, I’m sure it’s delicious though. Do you have any kleenex?

What a weird evening I had, I’ll get to it in a minute. The day started off un-promisingly: Rather than being awakened by my alarm at seven a.m., I was jolted into consciousness by a nightmare at six.

Had this horrible dream where witnessed my own (obviously revised) birth. It took place in dark forest during a nuclear bombing strike, I’m not sure what country I was in. I came out of the womb slightly larger than a fetus but was unable to speak.

Shit was blowing up everywhere so we had to run immediately after I came out. Like on those nature programs where a zebra gives birth to a little baby zebra, but then a tiger comes around and everyone, baby included, has to pack up and jet. Running and running and dark trees and bomb blasts and fire, then suddenly I’m in my bed in Manhattan, the room dark, the down comforter twisted into an awful mess.

I rolled over and turned on the news-radio, reassuring myself that there was no nuclear war because the traffic guy was talking about back-ups on the Gowanus. You never hear good things about the Gowanus. Whoever the Gowanus Expressway is named after must be getting a hard time of it up in heaven.


ANGEL VERRAZANO: Well well well, if it isn’t Angel Gowanus! Hey how’s that expressway of yours doing?

ANGEL GOWANUS: Shut, up. At least my shit doesn’t cost seven dollars.

ANGEL PACIFIC COAST HIGHWAY: Like it matters--face it, Gowanus, you got shafted.

Despite getting up early, I fell back asleep and overslept. I got on the train 30 minutes late but was lucky enough to find a seat. Midway through the ride an elderly black woman got on and I got up to give her my seat but she refused and started reading her paper, standing. I sat back down and read her headlines.

Two of my bosses were giving me shit about how I had to stay late to finish their fucking projects. I know I was tardy. Nevertheless I couldn’t stay late today because Wendy is putting me in her latest film short/exercise and tonight I had to read opposite some women she was auditioning for my counterpart.

At 5:30 I still hadn’t finished the projects, so I told my bosses I’d come back at night and I left shortly after they did.

I get outside The Corporation and it’s already dark outside, fucking daylight savings time. You know they don’t do this shit in Japan? I dunno about Korea though.

I put headphones on and take the train home, listening to “Wild Horses” over and over again.

Back at the house I rip the suit and tie off and cover myself in brown clothing. Wish all clothes came in brown. I hurriedly eat a banana for dinner and head up to NYU.

In the studio audition space Wendy introduces me to an Asian-American actress and a bald black guy whom it turns out I know, from way back.

“Oh shit, [bald black man,]” I say. “What’s it been, five years? You look just the same.” That last line was a lie; he totally looked five years older but I didn’t know what else to say. Back then he was bald ‘cause he shaved his head; now he was bald because God or Allah shaved his head.

Basically my “role” requires me sit across a table from this woman and interact with her. After a few moments I’m supposed to get up to leave, and then we have this smoldering, staring “moment,” and then I’m supposed to stride over confidently and:

- lock eyes with her
- gently, slowly touch her cheek with one hand
- gently do the same with the other hand
- lean in and plant a big fat kiss on her.

The kiss is supposed to be interrupted, though. The second before our lips make contact she is supposed to change her mind and punch me in the chest. (What can I say, it’s not Shakespeare.)

For some bizarre reason, I wasn’t nervous. When the moment came I strode over to her like I’d spent the past two weeks waiting in a Parisian train station for her, and then I looked into her eyes, and gently cradled her face in my hands, and slowwwwly started leaning in.

I focused on her right eye, trying to keep my expression soft and not betray the fact that I was getting alarmingly close to a complete stranger, I mean in a minute I’d know what kind of toothpaste she used. I wondered if my gaze looked real or dead to her. Then our faces came within eight inches of each other and she hit me.

It was kind of a tense moment, so afterwards we laughed a little and Wendy looked at me to see if I (the non-actor) was okay to do it again. “Yeah yeah I’m fine, it’s just that this, you know, closely mirrors my real life...”

After the first actress left a second appeared and I had to do the whole thing again. A Japanese expatriate, she was much more animated and bouncy than the first, even just sitting across the table.

When it came time for our “moment,” I was surprised by how suddenly and surely she became “soft.” I don’t mean physically, I mean she just totally relaxed and created this sort of, like, inviting aura. I don’t know how to describe it.

I strode over, and did the slow-motion face-in-hands thing and leaned in super-slowly, the way Wendy had directed me to. The Japanese girl had a very different sense of timing from the first girl and she let me get super-close, way too close!

T-minus six inches.

T-minus five inches.

T-minus four inches.

T-minus three inches.

T-minus two inches.

I had no fucking idea what to do after two inches, so I parted my lips like I was really going to kiss her. On cue she screamed and buried a fist in my chest, knocking me back.

Interrupted Fake Kissing is the most bizarre thing ever. Of course you can rationalize it with your brain, but immediately after the moment you feel a bizarre mixture of relief tinged with something like guilty disappointment. At least I do because I’m not an actor. I don’t know how these people do this.

Wendy chose the second girl so I’d better get ready to do this again. You know what the funny thing is? Right now I can not for the life of me remember what either of these women looked like.

Afterwards we all went our separate ways on Waverly Place. I walked over to the garage and pulled the car out, figured I’d drive up to the office. Traffic on Park Ave was light and I fairly flew.

The Corporation was dead and dark, just me and the cleaning lady (an elderly Russian). At my desk I was sliding the mouse this way and that while cranking Frank Sinatra singing “Witchcraft” and she stuck her head into my office. Lucky for me she came in a split-second before I was about to start singing along.

I left at 10:30pm but she was still cleaning. After I got home I dropped By Mike’s studio, where he was waiting for some DJ to show up for a shoot. We talked about photography lights for forty-five and then I came home.