I experienced an emotionally leaky moment yesterday. It came from listening to my Sunday in the Park with George cast album, and “Move On” in particular. And I was driving around Westport. I felt so melted down at one point that I pulled over to collect myself.

I’ve only watched this epic Stephen Sondheim-James Lapine musical via You Tube. Never caught the original B’way presentation, and never caught the Jake Gyllenhaal revival. Steven Spielberg really should’ve filmed George rather than West Side Story.

A few days ago it was reported that Ben Affleck and Matt Damon‘s Artists Equity have acquired “Killing Gawker,” a Charles Randolph screenplay about Hulk Hogan‘s victorious legal battle against Gawker Media in 2016.

The script is based on Ryan Holiday’s “Conspiracy: Peter Thiel, Hulk Hogan, Gawker And The Anatomy Of Intrigue.”

Gus Van Sant will apparently direct.

What I missed is the rumor that Affleck, 51, has been rumored to possibly play Hogan (who turns 71 in a few days) in the film. Affleck in Hogan makeup — snow white hair, Fun Manchu handlebar moustache, extremely muscled up? That would be fantastic, if true.

Kamala Harris got heckled last night in Detroit…consider those steely expressions. Her voice said “I am speaking now” but her eyes said “do not fuck with me, Gaza gang!”

I’ve had “words” from time to time with women working in certain official capacities (human resources, airport security, motor vehicle departments, hospitals) and when push came to shove they all gave me the Kamaglare, and it definitely made me feel challenged and off-balance and regretful.

You’ll never convince me that the famously rotund Jack Black, 54, wasn’t more or less playing himself in High Fidelity, School of Rock, Tropic Thunder and Bernie.

I’ve only chatted with him at parties and press junkets but he’s always struck me as an edgy, manic stoner type, suffused with eccentricity and snapdragon instincts. Black is politically liberal, of course, but has never sounded to me like a naive Pollyanna or a cuddly bunny.

Now he sounds like one. Black confided the other night that before Droolin’ Joe dropped out he always believed that American voters would “do the right thing” (i.e., not re-elect Trump). That’s crazy, man. For months the writing on the wall clearly said that Joe was toast. There was nothing but gloom and resignation on the horizon, especially after the assassination attempt.

It depresses me to think that Black may have gone soft in the head.

No, I will not subject myself to Borderlands.

Other than the guy playing Garrett Morris (played by Lamorne Morris), I’m not seeing even slight physical resemblances between these cast members from Jason Reitman’s Saturday Night (Sony, 10.11) and any of the actual, original not-ready-for-prime-time players (John Belushi, Dan Aykroyd, Gilda Radner, Chevy Chase, Bill Murray, Jane Curtin, Laraine Newman, et. al.). Who’s the fair-haired guy supposed to be? Who’s the chick in the red vest playing? Who’s the older black dude in the left far rear?

12:25 pm: Okay, now I see a few similarities:

…is that I’m having trouble remembering Josh Gad’s performance in Ed Zwick’s Love and Other Drugs (‘10), which I overpraised upon my initial viewing. The spark of my ardor was some kind of swoony fascination with Anne Hathaway.

Gad played the annoying younger brother of Jake Gyllenhaal’s pharmaceutical sales rep but nothing specific comes to mind. I’ve blocked it out.

Explanation: In the early Obama era the “f” word was actually allowed in mixed company. Now it’s regarded as a hate speech term. Even I, a proverbial free man in Paris, have abandoned it in favor of this or that substitute. Safer that way.

The only possible way I would begin to even consider watching this pounding headache of a movie would be if Chris Nolan would agree to remix it so you can actually hear the dialogue. Which he would never do, of course, so let’s just forget the whole matter.

Since becoming a Fairfield County limo man I’ve been living an especially rushed and pressured life, and this kind of breathless routine sometimes results in going too quickly with the gut and not sufficiently settling in with this or that issue or person or whatever and listening to the music.

In the matter of yesterday morning’s initial response to Tim Walz, I went almost entirely on visual evidence (friendly but homely face, plumpish, mostly bald, horn-rimmed glasses, ghastly suit-and-tie choices) and physical similarities to Warren Buffett, Will Patton, Tim Kaine, Tom Arnold, etc.

In so doing I hadn’t really listened to Walz other than “Trump-Vance are weird,” and I certainly hadn’t listened to the kind of music playing in his head.

Well, I listened last night and I’ve changed my mind. Walz is obviously smart, scrappy, fearless…that deep, vigorous, slightly sandpaper-y voice is exciting and alive. And he seems to have shed a few pounds. Now, if he could only listen to a clothing and style designer with taste.

I also had an epiphany while driving around yesterday and listening to Walz sound clips and assessment pieces on the dreaded NPR, which really is progressive Soviet state ratio (woke Izvestia Pravda).

It hit me that I really like the vibe of this guy despite his being in league with the woke wackjobbers. That means something, methinks. It’s the man’s chemistry — his basic hum, energy field, life force — despite some of things he’s said (especially regarding trans issues) or is saying. He’s got something combustible going on inside. People like guys like Walz, and as a friend said yesterday, “he may be a home run.”

“And their great power to manipulate.”

Okay, I’ve changed my mind — Walz is very cool. J.D, Vance is going to get slapped around during the forthcoming vp debate,

Governor Tim Walz, announced this morning as Kamala’s vp, looks less like a balding, white-haired Will Patton (a thought I shared earlier) and more like (a) a chubby Warren Buffett and (b) a clean-shaven Santa Claus.