On Halloween I was lured to Brooklyn’s Dumbo to help out with a Tisch student film. The cinematographer happened to be Hollywood It boy and newly enrolled NYU film student, James Franco. He was wearing a very intense long green coat that had an odd fur hood—think football coach meets Russian militia meets Prada Sport. I was supposed to play the role of “Jogger,” but I failed to receive the memo and was wearing my Bond-girl tailored white coat and jeans. I was “Girl on Cell Phone” instead. I think it will sound better on my illegitimate acting resume anyways. Since I couldn’t play “Jogger,” James Franco ended up chasing after a random Brooklyn fireman and recruiting him for the part.

In the evening I absconded to my family’s neighborhood in Boston for the famous Beacon Hill Halloween: with the cobblestone streets, gas-lit lamp posts, and Louisburg Square townhouses embellished with ghoulish decorations and multi-colored gourd bouquets, it’s the closest event I can imagine to a Martha Stewart wet dream.

My sister and I shot the footage for a silent film entitled The Mysterious Hatted Woman Escapes into the Night, a tale of Princess Cricket, who “lives in an enchanted urban village untouched by the hypermedia of modern society.” She sleeps soundly in her bed (bathtub) to prepare for the festivities of the monthly Bacchus, when a sinister intruder, Boris, creeps into her chambers and shuns her with the curse of perpetual blindness. The only remedy for her condition: a kiss from a man of the people. We enlisted our favorite cashier at the posh Beacon Hill 7-Eleven to play the man administering the curative kiss. Moral of the story? When one retreats into fantasy there are fewer Wankers of the Week.

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