Famous among dozens
This man is walking along the street in a pair of sweats and a rain slicker. His hair is long and gray, bald in patches, and it seems to be reaching away from his scalp in every direction. He is holding a sign that says DOWN WITH DIKS. He passes someone with a video camera, and the man mugs, turning his sign round and round:
DOWN WITH DIKS
UP WITH CHIKS
DOWN WITH DIKS
UP WITH CHIKS
And so on down the street.
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.
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?”
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.
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.
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.
Bryan and I pass two men picketing on the sidewalk. The typeface on their signs is too small to read. “Something is unfair,” Bryan says. And ain’t it the truth.
I’m sorry for the silence, it’s been a busy few days. First there was Bryan’s birthday, then we both did some work for the John Kerry campaign fundraiser in San Francisco.
This was the first campaign event where I got a staff pin, or as I call it, a “don’t shoot me” pin. It’s a little metal badge you wear on your lapel that tells the Secret Service that you’re a goodie. Part of my job was distributing hotel information to the campaign staff hotel rooms. I’d passed the Secret Service room a few times, making sure to face the open door so they could see my pin and ID.
After about the fifth time passing the room, I figured everyone inside had seen me, so I just walked past. Friends, you don’t want to do that. That makes several polite, well-trained people in dark suits very curious about you. By “very curious” I mean “within a foot of you without you knowing it in under 1.5 seconds.” And that’s the kind of thing that will make you swallow your tongue when you turn around. Trust me.
After blogging for more than three years, I finally made some T-shirts. I made them mostly because I wanted one for myself and figured you might want one too. They’re risque, but you’re no milquetoast. So, without further ado…
Maybe you run like a girl, throw like a girl, catch like a girl. But there’s one more thing you do like a girl, and no one’s complaining about that.
A sweet old lady comes out of the bathroom with her cane. A woman waiting for the bathroom has her back turned, and is blocking the path. The old lady raps her cane on the wood floor twice and stares intently at the customer’s back. She raps twice again, nothing. She begins to pound the floor repeatedly until the woman blocking her turns her head slightly and steps to the side.
Mighty Girl 