Some people think my life is all play and for the most part ... it decidedly is. The rawer I get, the cleaner I get and the more an expression of moment to moment selective reality I become. I am fascinated and baffled by what happens in an afternoon of my life. I try not to act like even I know what the next moment is probable to bring, else the spontaneous, the miraculous, the fascinating and baffling will cease finding me.

I don't really have time for things I don't like anymore. I don't really have time for arguing or social fluffing. I don't have time to wake up tired and I definitely don't have time to watch television.

Yes, my life, in respect, is all play. But that doesn't mean I don't play hard. I might end up working only 30 hours in an entire month, but like shooting this commercial for Progressive Insurance, those 30 hours might all get lumped into a literal 3 day period. And how many 9 to 5ers who really do work their asses off come home with a - what did the set medic diagnose it as; a "torn" wrist? And a sprained ankle. And a purple and blue mark that covers the entire inside and outside of my thigh. And that's just what you can see. Sore muscles in every crease and crevice formerly undiscovered by magnificent Lover or lonely tour bus lower-bunk finger tips.

Now I know why Chelsea Pictures, the Progressive commercial production company included "stunt" pay in our contracts. My, my - I play hard.

I love what I do. Because it endlessly surprises my childlike curiosity and entertains my fatally adventure-ravenous spirit. At one point yesterday I found myself being coached to drop the “bedroom tongue” and use the “postage stamp tongue by our director as I stabilized painfully atop a precarious pyramid of five actors dressed as gremlins - kinda Clockwork Orange troublemaker, kinda English orphan. I fell out of that pyramid but my heart and massaging hands went out to the man on bottom. Holding us all. Kudos to the strong men whom offer their bodies with only gratitude and private satisfaction as glory. They are the men that hold our world up.

I jumped off some kind of mechanical elevated scaffold into a huge, blue crash pad. I've never jumped and landed like that before, but it was fun. I'd like to do it some more. I'd like to get better at it. I didn't think about it, but after every jump, after the director had moved on, my heart was still open and my smile was still beaming. I was having fun jumping off of things. This is hard play.

But when I scraped out of the 25 foot high, larger than life newspaper boxes, I must’ve torn my wrist then. I was too busy listening to the director, Nicholas Barker, give last minute camera coaching and then silence for ... "action!” I was too busy making "gremlin chatter" and concentrating on the hand grip Bonnie Morgan, a fellow talent (I love how production calls us talent), offered me. I was too busy trying to be safe and still pull off the best shot I personally could for film. I was also busy just feeling what it's like to jump out of a 25 foot high newspaper box. It musta happened then, but I didn’t specifically feel it. All I know now is my wrist is twice its normal size and several shades darker its normal tint.

Plum is quite a nice shade of purple. Quite a bit prettier than a lot of old prison or military tattoos, too. My arm is plum and there are raspberries on my inner thighs. If you'd like to see for yourself, lettuce go back to my place - no dressing for this film and television salad.

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