New York is tough on lonely people.

My father was a sergeant with the Connecticut state police. My mother was a hairstylist.

We're all pretty ordinary on paper.

I spent two weeks prancing around a studio in Queens in my underwear with nine other guys. They were long days. But what the hell, it was Calvin Klein.

I guess that's what I was: a set of abs. And they lit the abs and shot the abs and sent the abs on their way. The photographer didn't look at my face once. I was humiliated.

I wanted to grow up to be just like my father.

Thank God for little miracles, right?