Victimized by bitter circumstance.

This morning, Simon and I had breakfast at the Roxy next to Barbara Cook's Hirschfield. His idea. I thought only tourists who didn't know any better ate at the Roxy, but he looked super cool in the kind of outfit an Asian Raver kid who drives a Honda might wear, so I was delighted to be in his company, especially in public, even at the Roxy.

They were his travel clothes. Simon feels like there's more work for him in Los Angeles.

When we finished up at the Roxy, I rode with him and his TUMI luggage to the airport to say goodbye. (I'm an actor and I use Louis Vuitton. Why is he a STYLIST and carrying that krap? He's cute as a button though, so who cares.) I brazenly kissed him goodbye in the American Airlines terminal, but I was trembling a little because I felt so sad. As I watched Simon board the plane, tears were rolling down my cheek, and I was trapped in a John Denver song.

This is interesting: I can't ever make myself cry in acting class, but now that I've experienced the type of crying that goes along with a broken heart, I feel invincible as an actor and as a man. Even though I blew off a callback today and pissed my agent off, I can still use this.

I certainly wasn't taking any of that into consideration when I was publicly losing my shit. This is something many Americans simply do not do because emotions are scary to us. Emotional outbursts are old hat to most New Yorkers since the World Trade Center exploded in 2001, so I really didn't care. Mind you, I wasn't wailing. I was just standing there with a wet face.

I was racking up oceans of self pity and must have had a real sour puss on my face, because an elderly Korean Man and his elderly Korean Woman approached. As they walked past me, he handed me a handkerchief and she patted me on the cheek. "You hang in there, Kid" she called out behind her as I dried my face. I headed home, and boarded the Sky Train. I'll never eat at the fucking Roxy again.