I always enjoyed being awakened by the sound of a woman’s voice. But only when it’s a girlfriend and the voice is coming from within the same room. Not when it’s over the phone and it’s just a female friend.

At 5:19am I have my eyes closed but the phone is on, and pressed to my ear. “I’m downstairs,” Wendy’s voice crackles.

“I’ll be right down,” I lie.

Ten minutes later I’m stuffing pineapple in my mouth and stumbling downstairs, where I collapse into Wendy’s car. Mornings are not good for me, particularly when I’ve had less than 120 minutes of sleep. To take time off work for Wendy’s shoot, I’m going into The Corporation at night to get my projects done.

“Sorry’m late,” I mumble. It’s 5:30 in the morning, dark out, and the diner isn’t even open yet. Nothing worse than a closed diner.

“That’s okay,” says Wendy. “I actually want to give you a little pep-talk, since now is our only time to be alone.”

“Goforit,” I mumble, unaware I’m about to receive my very first director-to-actor speech, which is of note largely because I’m not a real actor.

“You have to trust me,” says Wendy, referring to the times when she’s giving me offscreen guidance. “You have to listen to me.

“I need you to disconnect, to forget about Rain the Writer,” she continues, driving over the Manhattan Bridge. “I need you to disconnect the cerebral side, the questioning side and just trust me.

“I don’t want you to be that Rain. I want you to get in touch with a certain side of yourself. I want you to be the cocky Rain that knows New York like the back of his hand. I want you to be the Rain that’s always on time, the Rain that throws dinner parties flawlessly. The Rain that everyone listens to.”

I’m awake now, but silent. I don’t know how to tell Wendy that the Rain she’s talking about expired several years ago. I went to Japan, Wendy went to China, and things changed. The Rain that’s always on time, in particular, seems to have gone very far away, I think he’s still stuck on some Japanese train platform.

The conversation goes deeper, I won’t print it here. Wendy continues talking and I continue listening.

We get to Vincenzo’s empty-ass apartment around 6am. All of the crew is already there--except the girl who’s supposed to bring the fucking coffee. While the crew begins setting up on the roof, I head to the bodega on the corner to get my fix.

Hot coffee in hand, I sit on the stoop in front of Vincenzo’s. Freezing, tired, miserable and happy at the same time. You know that feeling? It only comes when you wake up early in the morning to do something important. I put the headphones on and sat listening to “Wild Horses.”

Some songs are only good for some situations; Steppenwolf’s “Magic Carpet Ride,” for instance, should only be played in a car exceeding sixty miles an hour, and Parliament’s “Pussycat” is something you want to blare after you rob a bank. But “Wild Horses” is one of those songs that’s perfect for many situations.

Perfect song for...

...being cold/miserable/happy on a stoop: Wild Horses

...having a crush on a girl: Wild Horses

...just been rejected or dumped: Wild Horses

...just got a raise: Wild Horses

...car’s been towed: Wild Horses

...feeling contempt for life’s larger issues: Wild Horses

...having just won a bar fight: Wild Horses

You get the idea.

Working on a film, even just a student short, is like applying for a green card; there’s a lot of waiting. The female principal is in plenty of scenes without me so when they shoot those I’ve got nothing to do. I traipse down the four flights of stairs and sleep on Vincenzo’s comfortable hardwood floors. Nothing cradles your body and gives you that restful slumber like fucking pine.

Miraculously, my ability to sleep on floors returned to me and I got a couple hours in. One of the co-stars told me I was snoring.

It’s fucking freezing up on the roof but I’m required to take my jacket(s) off for the sparring scene. Then there are the scenes I’m in with the chick, where I have to act warm but my teeth are chattering. I’m not very good at this acting thing. I mean I can pretend I’m angry or sad (not much of a stretch) but I can’t pretend I’m warm when I can practically feel my penis shrinking in my pants.

Back on the floor, drifting in and out of consciousness. Back up the stairs, doing my best to live up to what Wendy asks me to do. Sitting in Vincenzo’s kitchen, furiously scribbling notes for a lecture. Got a college gig in two days and I’m pretty damn underprepared.

We “wrap” around 6:30pm. I was hoping Wendy would say “Okay people that’s a wrap” but she didn’t, which was disappointing for me because I love clichés. I took the subway home, trying not to listen to “Wild Horses,” but the view of Manhattan got to me.

Okay people that’s a wrap. Though technically I guess it’s not, since I’m on my way to The Corporation now and we’re shooting again tomorrow.

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