April 16 2010

4am. Alarm sounds. 219 miles from Rinaldi in Granada Hills to Shields Ave in Fresno. We have a 930am interview. I can’t throw the shirt on because someone once said never wear shirts with writing in the booth. I like that advice, so I’ll listen to it.

Maybe I should wear it on my flight to Mexico City on Monday. It would mean changing the standard Basquiat-black-jeans-black-puma-bag flight uniform. And it would tell everyone once I’ve landed que soy del otro lado.