Western set, circa the early 1800s, filmed on a ranch in 99 degree weather: I'm garbed in layers of skirts and blouses, saddled with boots, basket, and hat. To my rescue: the set medic. His equipment: a latex glove filled with ice. Take my hand...
Just think how lovely it will be when I spend more time working as a principal actor than my side hustle in the background. As in this episode of "Friends With Benefits," rather than being an ogling bystander ("Stop laughing at me," Ryan Hansen pleaded with me), I too could be a naked man hailing a taxi.
Today marks four years since I moved to Los Angeles. Here's to hoping this year, as my Hollywood life heads towards kindergarten, that I land a glorious alphabet of great roles. (And that nap time ends soon, so I can go run around the yard and play.)
Through all portals of the internet, I am being stalked by a Spanish-speaking piece of frosted wheat. He enjoys doing a balancing act with a pencil and furrowing his brows for emphasis. Not merely a static picture, he moves through his frame, enticing me with his breakfast concept...himself. I close the browser and sneak off to have a banana, which has neither face nor foreign tongue, proposition, or circus act.
In case you ever get tired of growing your own, the machine at my laundromat will provide. Note: extreme chin cleft may or may not be included. Fuzzy eyebrows sold separately. Machine wash warm, dry flat.
Faith in gods or angels leaves us wondering how we can be sure they're watching over us. As for faith in science, where's the face that watches? Faith in the chipmunk lurking in a casting studio window? I trust he will keep an eye on that parking meter for me.