Spy and The New Yorker, as savvy as a charmer of snakes. His illuminatingly humiliating odyssey as an aspiring actor mines a comedy vein akin to that of David Sedaris or Joe Queenan, with a bit of George Plimpton's participatory reportage. First, Alford tries to win fame without achievement by talking Manhattan deli owners into posting his glossy next to photos of Telly Savalas and Kaye Ballard. Despite Alford's offer to write "Big kiss!" on it with his autograph, it's mostly no sale. So he studies Shakespeare at London's Royal Academy of Dramatic Art, soap opera at the Weist-Barron School of Television, improv comedy with the guy who trained Nichols and May. Despite Alford's hard-won ability to play "Winona Ryder pretending to be Wynonna Judd" and "an actress who is unsure if she is Karen Allen or Brooke Adams and thus has changed her name to Karen Adams," success arrives slow as sludge. He blows his chance to be on the first U.S. Olympic ballroom dance team ("my floor craft was uneven, and I was chesty through my topline"). He flops as a salesman of Thierry Mugler's chocolate-based perfume at Saks and as a TCR (telecommunications representative) at a phone-sex firm. His performances as an extra in Godzilla and on Bobcat Goldthwait's Big Ass Show earn no Oscars (though he does win a $199 ottoman). At last, he scores a gig on VH1, screening rock videos for old folks and Hells Angels to comic effect. He follows his big-deal Hollywood agent boyfriend, Jess, to L.A., and his book becomes a straightforward memoir. When it's not overtly funny (the "sadopedagogy" of his cruel New York acting coach is authentically ghastly), Alford's autobiography is ever alert, witty, and penned in the nimblest prose. --Tim Appelo
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