Soap Opera

October 29, 2002

I ran out at lunchtime to pick up some frames for my paintings and while I was out, decided to get lunch.

There is a McDonald's near the art supply store, so I went in—but walked right out again. McDonald's in New York City at lunchtime is fucking anarchy! Standing at the counter is like being in front of the stage at a hardcore show—a total mosh pit! And I don't need the fucking attitude. I think if I had to serve the jackasses that come in there day in and day out, I'd be bitchy too—but the food isn't that good. So I left. I had pizza instead. A Hispanic lady there asked in broken English if I was a TV actor. No. I mean, yeah, I'm an actor— I act stupid, I act surprised, I act interested, I act concerned. But I don't do any of it on TV. Being mistaken for an actor is no big compliment in my book. Then again, my favorite compliment of all time came while at a dive bar visiting my bartender friend Kimmy. I can hardly stand to go into this bar. I mean, it is a DIVE! Not in a cool "lots of character" way. Although yes, it is full of characters. But go in anyway from time to time to say hi to my friend. There was this local cokehead girl from the projects who was a regular there. I’d seen her before, but we’d never spoken to each other. She saw me talking to Kimmy and asked Kimmy if she was "hittin' dat?"

"No," said Kimmy, "he's my friend."

"Ooooh!—Can I come over and sit witchoo?" She asked me.

"Sure, why not?"

"Damn!" she said, looking me up and down. "You look one a dem soap opera niggas!"