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About three months ago while in Los Angeles, Jon and I met with an old friend at the Roosevelt to catch up over drinks. Upon leaving, I thought I recognized a familiar face in the lobby. She was an older woman, probably in her late sixties; an actress I’d seen several times before, but I couldn’t place my finger on exactly where. Whereas I’d normally continue on my way unconcerned, something (several vodka sodas) was telling me to get to the bottom of it. I asked my friend if perhaps she recognized the woman, to which she confidently replied, “You’re hurting my arm.”
I decided to get a closer look.
Unfortunately, subtlety is not the art of a drunk. What I thought was merely stealing a couple glances evolved into a Larry David-esque stare down that quickly ended with a distinct look of panic settling across her face. Like any grown man who inadvertently frightens an old woman, I sprinted in the opposite direction and hid behind the largest piece of furniture I could find.
Once the coast was clear, I emerged to show my friends that I had found her on IMDB. Mystery solved! With her headshot plastered on my iPhone, I declared, “I think it’s Grace…”
“WHAT are you doing?!” an exasperated Grace Zabriskie cried over my shoulder.
I turned around to a horrified expression that I’d previously only seen reserved for George Costanza on Seinfeld.
“I was in Toronto and went to see “Life is Beautiful” by myself. When I came out, I had a craving for blood unlike anything I’d ever experienced since I decided to go vegetarian at the age of 7. I went to several restaurants…and got the biggest, bloodiest steaks I could get my hands on.”—Christian Bale, officially scaring the shit out of everyone.
Alec Baldwin Assumes I'm a Coffee Drinker, and I Assume He Thinks I'm a Chill-Ass Dude
Today, Alec Baldwin asked me for some very important advice. What kind of advice could I possibly impart on Alec Baldwin? Some very important advice: where to get a good cup of coffee.
It was around 6pm and I was walking home from work. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, but like a cat, I suddenly sensed a Baldwin in the area. Being near a Baldwin is a difficult sensation to describe, especially when it is of the Alec variety. However, I would say it’s something like hearing a child’s laughter, if that child was Jesus, and his laughter was the Beatles’ White Album.
As I made eye contact with him, he quickly approached me and my friend and asked if we were “very familiar with the area.” We were, in fact, very familiar with the area, merely one block away from our apartment. We swiftly replied, “Holy shit that’s Alec fuckin’ Baldwin.”
He then asked if we knew where he could get a good coffee. “I assume you’re a coffee drinker,” he followed.
Some people turn to a friend for help, some turn to their family, others may turn to God. When Alec Baldwin needs help, he turns and asks me where he can find a good-ass cup of coffee.
But why me? Being assumed as a coffee drinker could mean he thought I had bad breath, yellow teeth, or a nervous irritability. It could also just mean that he thought I was a chill dude who looked like he knew about a sweet place for a good cup of coffee. I assumed the latter.
I told him that right around the corner, in fact, was a great coffee place. I suppose in my excitement, this might have sounded to him like, “Come with me around the corner and I’ll tell you for two hours how your baritone voice is only matched in its full-bodied richness by this awesome coffee that I recommended to you not ten minutes ago,” because he politely thanked me before hailing a cab. Or perhaps he was just in a rush and changed his mind. I’ll assume the latter.