Tuesday, 07 October 2003 | Similie

I won't talk about the film I was in Sunday night except to say that my only scripted line was, "This is a freaky bar." And that the film was so bad that it was actually pretty funny, albeit unintentionally. Prior to shooting, I'd made the joke that I needed to review the film before deciding whether I'd agree to be in it (implying that I could afford to be choosy). Foreshadowing.

Tomorrow I will come unstitched, at the hand of one of the nurses I distrust. She will pull out the thread like she's letting out the waistband of a tight pair of pants, transforming my Frankenstein elbow into what I imagine to be a scarred Freddy Krueger elbow. My elbow is nervous; it gets comfortable in its imperfect state, and it fears change and pain. Personification.

We watched homemade airplanes get shoved off of a platform and fall, nose-first, into the Hudson River. The various crews sometimes jumped in after their motherships, chasing them to the depths of the Hudson and then bobbing back up again. From my angle, the airplanes—which were flamboyant and didn't appear to be especially aerodynamic—refused coast on the wind at all. Instead, they rather hopelessly stepped off the ledge like deliberate suicides. Simile.