7:30 a.m. My alarm goes off and I hit snooze. I doze in bed for the next hour while everyone else in my building rushes to catch the last morning express trains before 9:00 a.m. A one point I roll over and stare at my ceiling. I contemplate writing the next great American screenplay, or just staring at the ceiling for the next hour. I opt to at least get out of bed and make myself some coffee. Soundtrack: "Don't Panic" by Coldplay.
9:45 a.m. I sit in my apartment reading the newspaper. In the back of my head, I'm making a "To Do" list. My toast is ready. I keep telling myself I have to stay on-task today because I have a lot of important things that need doing. My mom calls me. The conversation somehow goes on for an hour and revolves around the real questions: "When am I going to be on TV?" and "When am I going to find a decent 9 to 5 that allows me to audition in the middle of the day?" Soundtrack: "Manhole" by Ani DiFranco.
10:30 a.m. I finally get out of the house. Drop-off laundry: check. Mail rent: check. Buy second cup of coffee at local coffee shop while staring longingly at the cute lipstick lesbian barista and damning genetic science: check. Just barely make the F train at 4 Ave.-9 St. Soundtrack: "M79" by Vampire Weekend.
10:59 a.m. Transferring to the C train at West 4th Street. I try to ignore the frustration I now have for the cute girl on the subway - the newest titleholder of "Slowest Walker In New York." I miss the C. I wait ten minutes for another C to show-up. Soundtrack: "Sky Blue Sky" by Wilco.
11:20 a.m. I arrive at a casting studio to find that there is nothing worth auditioning for: it's all callbacks and musicals. I run into a friend from my improv class. He is 6' 1", chiseled features, and has made several appearances on soap operas in the "handsome asshole" roles. He could pass for Patrick Wilson's little brother. Nice guy. After I leave, I contemplate the destiny of our embryotic friendship. Maybe we could one day form an improv duo where all of our scenes are buddy comedies about the cool jock and the quirky nerd helping each other meet girls and get into college. It's a thought. Soundtrack: "Heavy Metal" by Clap Your Hands Say Yeah.
11:45 a.m. Crossing through Time's Square to get to the subway. I don't hate midtown, but I'm reminded of why I avoid it until completely necessary. I am in the only part of New York that looks like a giant shopping mall. You can always tell who's a tourist here. The bright lights and heavy crowds make me feel like Scarlett Johansson in Lost In Translation. Soundtrack: "Remember" by The Raveonettes.
12:00 p.m. I'm on the 1 train. It smells like pee and I think I'm standing on dried vomit. Soundtrack: "Jigsaw Falling Into Place" by Radiohead.
12:20 p.m. While walking down 7th Avenue in the heart of Chelsea to another casting studio, two men walking together very blatantly check me out. If this were two years ago, I would be bothered. However, I've become too busy to date in the last month. I gladly take what I can get on this one. Soundtrack: "Island On The Coast" by Band of Horses.
12:30 p.m. I'm jammed into an elevator with six extremely hot dancers. One of the very few unrealized fantasies I've had since high school would be hooking up with a ballerina. Even one of my best friends who came out of the closet in college got a half-decent make-out session with one freshmen year. The median age of the group is twenty-four, two of them are blondes. I'm noticing however that we stand in the elevator for about a minute before one of them finally realizes she didn't push the button for our floor. Half of them, I also see, are sporting diamond engagement rings. All of them are talking about the most inane subjects I've ever heard. I can feel my adolescent sex drive dying a slow death inside of me. Soundtrack "Valerie" by Amy Winehouse.
1:15 p.m. Sitting over a grilled chicken sandwich with mango salsa and fries in New York Burger Company. I'm kicking myself for ordering an iced tea (I'm trying to see what drinking just water and coffee for a while is like), though it is unsweetened. Not too bad of a trade-off. I take my time eating the fries while reading Eat, Pray, Love. Yes, I'm on a self-improvement kick. Good news: Wes Anderson is my authorized biographer. Soundtrack: "These Days" by Nico.
2:30 p.m. I'm hiking up 8th Avenue for seventeen blocks, listening to the only Dave Matthews album I have on my iPod. I hated Dave Matthews in high school. Listening to this album makes me question my state-of-mind when I flirted with his music in college. I switch to Loaded by The Velvet Underground. At 8th and 28th Street, I see two guys walking towards me; one is wearing matching navy blue polo shirt, cargo shorts, and flip flops. He sports freshly manicured eyebrows. He also checks me out. I can only think "Dude, it's not that warm." Soundtrack: "Rock and Roll" by The Velvet Underground.
3:00 p.m. I get to a rehearsal studio and reserve space for a rehearsal I have tomorrow. I run into another actor friend I haven't seen since I used to do the Equity audition circuit last year. He tells me he just got back from North Carolina where he played Tom in The Glass Menagerie. When I tell him I'm do comedy now, he responds with a smile and says "Oh, that's fun, I guess." I realize there's a reason why we haven't seen each other for a while. Don't ever insult a blogger, prick. Soundtrack: "Don't Let This Mean Old World Swallow You" by Andre Either.
3:30 p.m. Walking to a coffee house to finally sit down and write, I run into a dancer friend I took a few on-camera classes with last summer. There was always some chemistry between us but we'd both always flaked on getting together outside of class. Even without make-up, she still looks very beautiful. We somehow end up talking about Heather Mills' divorce from Paul McCartney. This is, without question, the coolest moment of my day. Soundtrack: "Go Kid Go" by Bears Repeating.
3:59 p.m. Order an iced tall coffee at Starbucks. I put some soy milk and pure sugar in it. Nothing incredibly significant. Soundtrack: "My Curse" by The Afghan Whigs.
4:30 p.m. I begin writing this blog. I delete my original idea, having no confidence in it. I start a new entry with complete confidence. I realize that I wrote about the exact same thing a month ago. My head is beginning to hurt. I feel completely unoriginal and talentless right now. I look to my right and notice that an older woman who looks like Willem Dafoe with breasts in a track suit is staring at me. I start typing anything in a desperate attempt to look busy. Soundtrack: "Cumberland Gap" by Oxford Collapse.
6:38 p.m. I finish writing the blog. Willem Dafoe is still there, but staring at someone else. I scan my iPod for an appropriate closer song. Soundtrack: "Southtown Girls" by The Hold Steady.
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