You. You’re like a tall, skinny chameleon. You’re an earnest hunter who hugs everyone in Supernatural. You’re in The Big Bang Theory as an actor playing an actor playing a cousin. You’re in Lost and Monk and Scrubs and you play Joy’s sister’s husband in My Name is Earl. You’re in Breaking Bad! Hawaii Five-O! Memphis Beat! Perception! Z Nation! Anyone who’s ever watched television has seen you in something.
Look at that smile!
Look at that slightly smaller smile!
Look at you all scruffy with an even smaller smile. These are the Russian nesting dolls of smiles.
You’re my favorite actor. Sometimes, as I am a frail human, I forget about you, then I see you and my world brightens up again, like a dial turning up the resolution in my brain. You bring a vulnerability and honesty to your roles that make you stand out.
You’re also nice! I was scared to look up your interviews, because learning about your heroes is rarely a good idea, but you’re down to earth and centered. I want to be your friend.
My qualifications for being a best friend: I’m not a stalker I’m nice. I hardly ever make skin suits out of people. (Skin suits are dry-clean only, and that’s cumbersome.) I’m an author. Did I mention I don’t make skin suits out of people?
Me and you sitting in a tree. Probably not kay eye ess ess eye en gee because that’s a dangerous pastime to have in a tree. Probably we’d just look down on the grass below us and the leaves above us with our backs against scratchy bark of the trunk, and we’d watch swallows dive and zip through the air and we’d look out over the expanse of the world and talk about our favorite snacks.
You’re cool with small roles, because you just want to be part of something, and I respect that, because that’s the way I feel. Audition for the role of my best friend. I have some pull with the casting director.
Waiting in anxious anticipation and not wearing a skin suit,