Author: maggeh

Josh A. Cagan, Multi-Tousandaire

Josh Cagan, is a peculiarly good guy. The guy to whom you’d give your spare set of keys, the guy who would be extra-careful with your newborn infant, the guy who worries about you when something has you down.

Josh recently sold his first screenplay for a jillion dollars. He was in LA, and he flew up to celebrate with us. We baked cookies, played Scrabble, and drank too much, while Josh shook his head in disbelief. He flew back down… and sold another damn screenplay. For those of you who are counting, that’s two screenplays in two weeks.

This officially makes Josh a rockstar. And, in my book, he is exactly kind of guy to whom that stuff should happen. Thanks, karma.

Tabacco Stains

I had a gyno appointment today.

How did that go?

OK. My vagina is perfectly healthy.

That’s good news.

Yeah. It was funny, the gynecologist was making small talk while she’s examining me. Like, “Oh, you’re a writer? My dad’s a writer too.”

Ha! I had that happen. We were having this conversation and she’s checking things out. Then she says, “Do you smoke?” I’m like, “Wha…? Can you tell?”

Cultural Enrichment

Do you ever watch “Newlyweds?” I’m ashamed of how much I love it.

Yeah. I can’t look away.

She’s so greeeaat.

Yeah, have you seen her latest video?

No.

It’s all about her being a super-cutesy inept housewife. You can tell it’s not an act because at one point she tries to be all sexy by removing her rubber cleaning gloves with her teeth. I just about hurked. That’s a girl who has never scrubbed a toilet in her life.

Ha! Yeah. I love Nick. Like how he can’t believe the things she’s saying sometimes, but he wants to help, you know?

I don’t like him. I think he’s kind of mean to her, especially because she tries so hard. She’s like, “I married my dad.” He’s scratching his head, like, “I want to sleep with her, but I also want to tell her what to do.”

Aaaaaaaa.

Cannot look away.

Totally.

Bel Canto

The best parts of Bel Canto by Ann Patchett:

“The room was filled with the pleasant smell of candles just snuffed, a smoke that was sweet and wholly unthreatening. A smell that meant it was late now, time to go to bed.”

“The room was sugared with promise.”

“They were early [to the opera], but other people were earlier, as part of the luxury that came with the ticket price was the right to sit quietly in this beautiful place and wait.”

“Certainly he knew (though did not completely understand) that opera wasn’t for everyone, but for everyone he hoped there was something.”

“In his day, Oscar himself had made too many girls forget their better instincts and fine training by biting them with tender persistence at the base of their skull, just where the hairline grew in downy wisps. Girls were like kittens in this way, if got them right at the nape of their neck they went easily limp.”

Solid

At the bar, Laura leans against a column to reach for her purse. The column falls against the wall with a plastic thud.

L: So that’s not attached to anything.

B: No, it’s not so much a structural element as a…

M: Big plastic column, made to look like a structural element, that will actually fall over the moment someone touches it.

B: Yeah, every bar needs one of those.

L: Good for drunk people.

M: Keeps ’em guessing.

It’s a Fact

I push past the crowd in the kitchen to get some ice for my drink. He’s standing next to the refrigerator, and I hear him say:

My cat watches me pee…

Then I return to the living room.

Joyous

The best part of Cry the Beloved Country by Alan Paton:

“A boy salutes as he has learned in the school, and cries umfundisi. He waits for no response, but turns away and gives the queer tremulous call, to no person at all, but to the air. He turns away and makes the first slow steps of a dance, for no person at all, but for himself.”

MTV and Me

For the last ten minutes, I have been watching quasi-celebrity commentary on the Williams sisters’ asses. In the last ten minutes I have not begun to learn French, started the next great American novel, or told anyone I loved them. I have not done any sit ups, flossed my teeth, or contemplated my future. Most importantly, I have not reached for the television remote, which is mere inches from my right hand. Projecting this data set to its logical conclusion, it’s probable that I will drown in a puddle of my own drool a few hours from now during an E! documentary on Scarlett Johansen’s lips. Someone pass the Chee-tohs.

Last Call

L: Do motorcycles run on gasoline?

M: Yeah.

L: Where does the gas go?

M: … In the gas tank.

L: Well, yeah, of course.

M: You asked.

L: But, I mean, where? Like does it fill up into the handlebars or something?

R: That doesn’t seem like it would be safe.

M: What did you think it ran on?

S: They should make bikes that run on pee.

L: Like you’d pee into a tube and the bike uses it as fuel?

M: Yuck.

R: I want a car that runs on pee.

M: You’re a dreamer, baby.