(transcribed from a handwritten entry from 12/13/07)

On the tarmac in Chicago, between Minneapolis and New Orleans.
(well, not on the map)
It’s always strange to get on a plane headed to New Orleans.
I find myself scanning the rows for familiar faces.
(I once ran into an ex-girlfriend in the Houston airport,
I think I was going from Minneapolis to New Orleans then too.)
Hearing people talk, hearing that distinctive, peculiar New Orleans accent,
Which, despite my upbringing, I can’t imitate.
Also, you hear non-New Orleanians enthusiastically discussing plans for their trips,
Exchanging restaurant advice and misinformation.

Checking into the Bourbon Orleans hotel tonight.
It’s strange to stay in a hotel in your own hometown.
Tonight is Brad’s bachelor party in the Quarter.
Expect many familiar, high-school-vintage insults and one or two guys sulking like preteens.
If we go to the Cat’s Meow and sing “It’s the End of the World as We Know It,”
We’ll have to get the video or webcam pics,
To go with the ones we got seven years ago.
Same guys doing the same thing, seven years later.
How odd, to have adult memories that are already seven years old.
Seven years ago, seven years felt like a long time.
Now it just sounds like a long time.
They’re de-icing the wings, and we’re about to take off.
It’s in the seventies in New Orleans.
Just so you know.

Just got above the clouds, emerging from the wet, gray day Chicago is having,
Ascending into clear, blue skies.
Maybe I’ll see Jesus!
The sun’s beating on me through the windows, and I welcome the warmth.
I forgot to mention: I’m wearing a suit.
I look like a business traveler, especially with my Frappuccino and my Blackberry.
Little do they know, I’m a starving artist in disguise.
People will ask why I’m wearing a suit:
I’ll need this outfit on my trip, and it’s easier to wear it than pack it.
Wearing a suit is fun; It’s like playing dress-up.
Fortunately, it’s a good, suprisingly hip look for me.
White shirt, black suit, black tie, and my new glasses and short hair.
Maybe for the bachelor party, I’ll keep it on and drink martinis all night.

Really feeling like a man without a country here.
I’m nowhere – not in Mpls, not in NOLA,
And not really feeling like I’m from either of them anyway,
Or truly belong to either in any real way anymore.
An actor looking like a business man.
A New Orleanian that you wouldn’t guess is from New Orleans unless he told you.
Someone inconsequential in both places.
Skirting along the edges of places and groups of people,
Without attachment.

I’m going to miss the read-through for The Sign in Sidney Brustein’s Window,
As well as three or four auditions to which I’ve been invited,
Because of the timing of this trip.
The director dropped off the script with me yesterday, and I just finished it on the plane.
It’s good, and I think it’s a great role for me.
I’m going to start learning lines now.

Last night’s Santaland was great.
My girlfriend and several friends were in the audience, and I could hear each of them laughing.
My own performance was more relaxed and well-timed than it had been, and it felt good,
Like I broke through a block.
I’m glad that’s the show they saw.
I feel like I’m beginning to identify what has gotten in the way of a good performance.
I really hope I can get into that Actor’s Workout class at the Guthrie.
Dropped my application in the mail yesterday.
Fingers crossed.

Well, they’ve turned off the seatbelt sign.
Time to pee.
Good day.