She Was An American Girl.

Spent the Saturday after the show debut shooting our next karaoke opus. Starring the delightful Jerry Miller as a patriotic superhero of sorts and featuring the lovely Becky Yamamoto as his lady love, it was a hoot to create and also, a compelling study into the human pshyche. Highlights included Sara and I cussing out a star-struck 13 year old piece of tourist garbage after he insisted on stepping repeatedly in our frame to take a camera phone picture of Jerry. I think I told him to get his scrawny midwest ass out of the shot. Sara screamed that she hoped his plane home would go down. I still don't know what the big deal was- so what, Jerry was in a unitard? I guess they don't get a lot of actors clearly dressed up because they're filming a bit you're not a part of out in Minden, MI do they Ralph Jr.?!? Now take your sorry ass over to the Billabong store onb 42nd & Broadway and have that shriveled apple-head doll looking thing you call a "mother" shove her fake-nail bedecked paw into that there Pep Boys promotional fanny pack of hers and yank out some of Daddy's Oxycontin money so's you can get a nice new sweatshirt for to wear to church. G'won, git!

The shoot concluded at sunset on the Brooklyn Bridge, and I was struck with some form of patriotism. Or maybe just the need for an ultimate cheer. Either way.

We headed out to a fancy Indian feast in the East Village, where Sara and I were lured with free wine. Free wine, I tell you! It was grand. Thanks to our fantastic cast. If only the crew weren't such a pair of spiteful trolls.