This is what I am doing here.

Last night...start with yesterday. Yesterday I was Mozart. I spent the morning with children, as many others do...many others who are not paid to. But I am paid for this, and for that I am eternally grateful. The children really appreciate an actor. I sign autographs! There are no agents, no muttering critics, only the faint smell of tater tots and construction paper...and white glue...and cold viruses.

I live on Airborne. And you know what? It turns out, I am a patient person. It turns out, I am good with children. I never imagined...and, you know, I still don't want to have them...ever. I think. But the point is, I love my job. I get to jump around and sweat and make believe for a living. I get to stay in sweet Motels (economy rate) and I am collecting complimentary shampoos and pictures of street signs...this is beside the point.

After performing, I want to jump around. I should be physically exhausted, but I'm keyed up like a coke-y monster. I love staring at the black Hollywood pencils in please let them be wigs and laughing at their plastic. I love the ugly red mess of Oscar setup and all the necks crowding the sidewalk, the indifferent eyes. Liars. I love liars. Far more interesting than those genuine saps.

So, I spent yesterday afternoon walking up and down Hollywood Boulevard taking pictures. I met a tan wrinkled man named John with thick white plastic kneepads. He had his crutches set to the side like fork and knife, blue Windex bottle like a glass of water waiting until the paper towel went dry. He was cleaning Ethel Merman's star when I got to him. I suspect Asperger's syndrome and hallucinogenic drugs...possibly a bit of Vietnam and an unreliable woman. He let me take his picture for a dollar. Twice. (One dollar) I'm pretty sure I'm going to go back and see him. I must know if it was cataracts or is his eye just that blue?

I talked with the hot dog man. He sells Hebrew Nationals near the Metro Station. It takes two hours to set up his cart and you know what? It is disrespectful to the Ed, the homeless man that helps him unload the cart at 3 am, to try and get a free hot dog. Ed works for hot dogs. I nodded in agreement. It is disrespectful. He gave me free chips.

I went to an open mic. A whim. There was a thin balding blonde man in his fifties, dressed all in red. Space music, arms undulating along identical wavelengths. He recited a poem from memory about how his neighbors are insane space worms that are making his brain melt into a cloud of purple gnats bent on nasal intrusion. He was so awesome I almost cried. Word among the regulars is he's there every week. I will be there next Wednesday to see him again. Watching insane people is the best pastime ever. Ever.

Oh, that's another thing. Today, we got all these letters from the kids who had seen our shows. They were really impacted. One kid wrote, I quote:

"You are the great people that I ever see. Ever."

He included a drawing of me as the cowardly lion. It was the great drawing ever. Ever.