Last night I dreamed I was auditioning for some project, in an upscale CAA-like building in Los Angeles, all expensive modern glass and steel.  And I was decked out in a beautiful suit, my hair was cut nicely, I smelled good.  But I didn’t have any shoes on.  I’m not self-conscious about this in any way.  I enjoy the fact that I don’t have any shoes on.  Suddenly I’m across from the guy who’s running the audition.  He’s behind a big desk.  He’s a very well put together fellow, 40 or so, perfect hair, great teeth, million-dollar smile, wreaks of casual money.  And it all seemed perfectly normal, given that I spent 20 years of my life doing exactly this, albeit with feet fully shod. He tells me it’s a rather unusual job and they been having lots of trouble casting this particular job.  I feel good.  Successful and attractive. I don’t care if I get this job or not.  So different than I used to feel when I had an audition in these kinds of moneyed auditions.   I can tell he’s waiting for me to ask him about the unusual job and why they’re having such difficulties casting it.  But I don’t.  I feel I will have the power in the room if I don’t say anything.  So I don’t.  And I do.  Have the power.  “I see you aren’t wearing any shoes,” he says, admiring the balls of someone who’d come to a meeting like this with no shoes on.  I smile, totally at ease, and completely shoeless.  Finally he tells me that the job is to put two 16 pound feathers up the ass of the Pillsbury Doughboy.  It’s a crazy new campaign Pillsbury has come up with to attract a more alternative consumer.  The whole thing will be filmed without any special effects, so whoever’s cast will actually have to put two 16 pound feathers up the ass of the Pillsbury Doughboy.  I don’t say anything.  I just smile.  Perfect Hair says he totally understands, but he can see a person of my caliber wouldn’t be interested in the job.  “Wait a minute,” I say.  “How much does it pay?  And more importantly, is there any backend?”  I say it was perfect timing.  So he doesn’t even know I’ve made a joke at first.  Then he gets it and burst out laughing.  I’m so much quicker and smarter and cleverer than he is.  But I am serious about doing the job.  Why not?  So he says he’s going to call Sylvie, my agent, and make an offer.  Next thing asI know I’m on a train.  Going into New York City.  It’s late afternoon.  The train is not crowded, but certainly not empty.  A stunning supermodel is giving me fellatio. I don’t know who she is.  Her features keep changing.  But she’s definitely a supermodel.  And for a model, she’s giving me very good fellatio. I’m enjoying myself alot.  I love taking the train, I should take the train more often, I think to myself.  The train brakes suddenly, and the supermodel gags on my penis.  Some clotted cream comes out of her mouth.  She’s very apologetic, looks embarrassed and ashamed.  Don’t worry about it, I say as I get some Tupperware out of my bag, and scrape all the clotted cream into it.  We can use it later on we have afternoon tea.  It’ll be perfect on the scones.  Then I wake up

One of my earliest and most unfortunate head shots, doesn't it scream: "Please love me"

Then I wake up.