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Every time I listened to Lux Radio Theatre, I wanted to vomit.
One of the best temporary cures for pride and affectation is seasickness; a man who wants to vomit never puts on airs.
The thematic bucket of vomit that I've been chained to since I was about 9 is the moral complexity of anti-heroism. I have always been interested in good people who do bad things for understandable reasons.
It was dog food. Beef livers with onions in a can. You open it up and it looks like vomit.
When I went to Los Angeles right after high school, I got some acting jobs, and I never, ever wanted to be an actress! Public speaking and acting make me want to vomit. But I have never been nervous singing. When it comes to public speaking, I stumble on my words, sweat, and pull at my clothes.
I do not keep a diary. Never have. To write a diary every day is like returning to one's own vomit.
There we times when everybody in the house has the flu. You're cleaning up vomit and it's 2 in the morning, and you're wishing there was somebody else there to help you.
I've never told anyone this. But I suffer from terrible stage fright. True. You can't tell though, can you? Unbelievable, the panic. I nearly die of fear before I go on stage. Something wicked. I can't eat a thing the day before a gig. It'd make me vomit.
If I read the word 'problematize' one more time, I'm going to vomit.
Picture it in your mind's nostril: you get in a cab in time to catch twin thugs named Vomit and Cologne assaulting a defenseless pine-tree air freshener.
