Being a good listener is like the being the guy selling umbrellas on the corner when it starts to rain. The lady selling flowers when you're late for an anniversary dinner. The vendor selling fire extinguishers when your underwear bursts into flames.
Most days, I’ve got mad listening skills. Maybe to a fault.
Last night, as “Dateline” played a 911 call from a frantic husband about his murdered wife, I immediately thought: I don’t believe him.
At a wedding reception a couple weeks ago, my friend, the groom, put his arm around his new wife and stated “I’m the luckiest guy on the planet”. I wasn’t buying it.
By religiously attending acting classes and workshops six days a week, I’ve watched hundreds of actors perform thousands of scenes. And I watch for real moments, when actors can convince me they’re really feeling what their characters are going through. The result has turned my ear into a true meter of crap. I cannot be lied to.
Come to think of it, if I wasn’t using my acting skills to get out of hellish events like jury duty, I’d be a prosecutor’s dream. Sorry, justice.
From Inside the Actor’s Studio Apartment.