If we were allowed to choose our own Siamese twin I would of course choose Michael J. Pollard over Anthony Zerbe because with Michael as my Siamese twin I would be known as “the cute one” although Michael would probably still be more popular, while with Anthony one could never be sure; not of anything; Anthony attached to you at the hip or shoulder or back or top of the head or back of the head: Anthony Zerbe’s face talking all night from the back of your head like that girl in the Tom Waites song, talking about terrible things and keeping you awake all night; Anthony Zerbe stopping the cabs, getting the waiter’s attention at the restaurant; Anthony Zerbe sighing with impatience at your ineffectiveness, at your weakness.
Michael J. Pollard would be more forgiving as a Siamese twin.
Also, he has been visiting me at my breakfast table in the mornings lately and telling me shit. On the days when Alpha doesn’t come down, when she sleeps in.
This morning Michael J. Pollard said, You’re not as indecisive as you think, Mig. Everything you do is because of a decision you make, because you decide to do it. His eyes twinkle, even before I’ve had my coffee I can see his eyes twinkling, while mine are bloodshot and my head pounds from a splitting headache that woke me up at four AM.
It’s that cheap American Zinfandel you drank last night, says Michael J. Pollard. He’s not as cute, despite twinkling eyes, in person as he is often required to be in his movie roles. Michael J. Pollard is the most misunderestimated American actor there is. Is he still alive, by the way, or is this his ghost visiting me? And what about Anthony Zerbe?
He says, you’re responsible for all of it. Someone holds a gun to your head and says Do it, it’s your choice to do it or to be shot in the head. And besides, those guys holding guns to your head, they usually shoot you anyway, after you’ve done it, so you don’t tell anyone, you know that. Either way you get shot. It’s always your choice. Everything you do, where you stand now: you’re riding the crest of a wave of choices you’ve made. Or you’re clinging to a half-full motorcycle innertube, trying to keep your head above water, looking for a piece of styrofoam or a cooler lid. You’re not indecisive, you just try to blame other people is all. You’re as decisive as the next guy.
Thanks, Michael I say, and wonder what Anthony Zerbe whispering about hell all night would be like.