January 1st : I was invited to participate in an official, honest-to-god, George Lucas approved Star Wars trading card art project. My art will appear in random packs of Star Wars Galaxy V trading card packs. Details to follow, but this is the biggest gig I’ve ever scored, in terms of exposure.

January 2nd : Spent the day in the city with a lovely lady. Sushi, toy shopping, dessert.

I don’t recall the name of the place where we had dessert. I was still full from gorging on sushi, so I just ordered a ‘peach nectar’, which was pretty much one of those tiny bottles of thick, dark-colored liquid that you wouldn’t touch at a dollar store, but in a fancy glass with a lot of ice. It was delicious, anyhow. Behind us, a 20-something actor was doing his best exuberant Woody Allen impression at his laptop, ordering hot cocoas for everyone at his table, and at some point, running off and flailing as if infuriated. After this happened two or three times, we were clearly suspicious.

At first, I presumed that he was just a hipster jerkoff, because we WERE in SoHo, after all. You can’t walk two feet without tripping on one. His affectations became so pronounced that we began to assume that he had some severe form of Aspergers. We theorized that he was out with his drama club and couldn’t get out of character. We thought that maybe this was some kind of hidden camera show. We didn’t know what to think after a while. It was fascinating and surreal to watch this absurdist performance.

On the way out, I nudged a waitress and asked what the story was, if only to find out if I’d have to watch for my face on MTV’s Boiling Points in the nest few months. The Woody Allen-ite was actually a player in a guided tour of NYC, and he was playing the role of a NYU student at a hip dessert bar. He’d interact with the tour groups, talk about the area in weird and hilarious detail, and guide the group to their next destination before stumbling off in freakout mode. It was amazing.

This whole experience was a few moments after a tall, skinny white guy was hoisted by his lapels and thrown out of some weird-looking establishment near Houston by a tough looking black guy, yelling ‘I don’t care what you do! Go die in the street!’, missing me by about a foot.

I napped on the Hudson Line, and every random song that came over my headphones felt perfect, all day, even if I’d never heard it before.

January 3rd has a lot to live up to.