A sleepy coffee-less morn; Oscar hangovers abound. (I trolled the web and found this Grease parody clip, apparently deleted from the broadcast at the last minute. It's a little generic, but at least Franco and Hathaway are making eye contact. It made me wonder why the writers didn't even attempt to give their partnership a witty, flirtacious vibe. It could have been "the awards show as romantic comedy"--the relationship would deepen and deepen over the course of the show, finally culminating in a post-Best-Picture smooch.)
Anywho: the denizens (both paying and nonpaying) of 401 Wick are all asymptotically schlumping towards the kitchen table. Jake in particular is quite groggy, having been up late wrestling. I've been told to wake up Jamie at all costs, despite the fact that we're not much more than strangers.
Nicole and I angrily discuss a familiar topic: our disappointment with the self-seriousness of actors at Brown. I divulge that my backstory for the chorus member I played in Leavittsburg was that he coached a Little League team and was possibly a child molester.
me: "Everyone in the cast was shocked when I told them that. Because it didn't show."
Nicole (wisely): "It never does, does it?"
Then ennui set in.
Daniella: "I feel like I'm living week to week."
Nicole: "I'm living day to day."
(pause)
me: "You trying to top her?"
Nicole: "Yes. I see your week to week, and raise you an even MORE unpredictable lifestyle."
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