Drinking a pint of London Pride while munching Twiglets and reading about Colin Firth having a critical and box office catastrophe.

Being in love while organizing my closet.

Falling asleep watching a movie on a sofa because I drank too much wine at dinner, my head resting on the thigh of a loved one, who will later explain what happened.

Filling out this Proust Questionnaire. I try to be in the moment.

I hate rich people that feel a need to tell you how hard they had it (“We had the smallest pool on the block”). And I hate poor people that feel a need to puff up their bios so they can better fit in with the rich—you meet a lot of Talented Mr. Ripleys in showbiz.

Barack Obama—just the balls to think he could be president is gangster. People forget that, when he first announced he was running, most black people were for Hillary Clinton. The only person that was laughed at more for a crazy idea was Noah.

I have a child-like fear of being late. I’m a grown man, and I’m scared I’m going to the principal’s office.

August 16, 1985. My dad took me and my brothers Andre and Tony to see the Fresh Fest at the Nassau Coliseum, on Long Island. We saw Whodini, the Fat Boys, and Grandmaster Flash. Greatest day of my life. The births of my children were big days, too, but billions of people have children—only 15,000 people saw that show.