Humorist Henry Alford cut his teeth at Spy magazine, where he specialized in participatory journalism: He wouldn't just interview the staff at a nude maid service; he'd hire the maids and then ask them to do some heavy lifting. Alford's new memoir Big Kiss details his pursuit of a childhood dream to become an actor. The eager New Yorker spends a summer at the Royal Academy Of Dramatic Arts in London, attends an improv camp in Wisconsin, takes classes to become an Olympic-caliber ballroom dancer, hawks perfume in a department store, and performs as an extra in Godzilla, among other adventures. When all else fails, Alford tries to gain the perks of acting without doing the work by getting local businesses to hang up his autographed headshot. These episodes are strewn loosely throughout Big Kiss, presented in not-quite-chronological order and yoked together with comments about the state of Alford's relationship with his boyfriend Jess, a literary agent. Perhaps due to the off-the-cuff nature of the stories, the book is frustratingly uneven. Some incidents in the author's life pass by with too little comment, while others drag on long enough to raise the question of their relevance. Many chapters seem like excuses for clever bon mots—which, granted, are pretty clever. About his audition for a part in an outdoor musical retelling of the life of Noah, Alford notes, "Upon seeing that the 40 days of rain have subsided, (we) launch into a frenzy of precision choreography." But, like other contemporary New York humorists, Alford is inclined to use his one good comment as the excuse to tell a story, rarely imparting anything meaningful or insightful about his experiences. There are glorious exceptions. A reminiscence about two days spent as a phone-sex operator is both hilarious and poignant, and the combination of anxiety and exhilaration Alford feels when he actually lands a steady performing gig (as the host of VH1's Rock Of Ages) has an honesty that only occasionally flashes in the writer's other glib anecdotes. For the few moments when he's actually trying to describe a feeling—to engage his topic rather than score points off it—Alford actually earns the adulation he cops to craving.