left column like kisses and hugs. kiss left column ladies. c'mon. left column so sad.

meeting old people is easy

So for a good period of time when I first moved to L.A., I never answered the phone. Not once. I always let the machine pick up, mainly because I did not want to talk to an ex-girlfriend, and probably because I had recently received the bad news of my father’s sudden demise via the phone and was now scared of the thing. Now, I still hate the phone, but I’ve been picking up lately. It’s only bad when certain people call who are TALKERS and I sigh and get comfortable, knowing I will be a LISTENER for the next hour. That’s me, I’m a listener with these people. Going off on phone monologues just doesn’t interest me. Talking about the minutiae of my life doesn’t interest me (except here!), so while I dislike the phone, it’s probably good that I have some CHAMPIONSHIP TALKERS for friends because I can just pretend I’m listening to the radio.

(Tangent #1: Interesting acting/life exercise: Get with a partner, boyfriend, crack whore and sit down. One person then talks for 10 minutes, while the other person just listens. JUST listens. No "hmmms" no "uh-huhs", no nodding. Nothing. Just listen. And then switch. I’m telling you, it’s fucking disconcerting to have someone not giving us our little meaningless reassurances that they’re listening. It’s also a bit freeing. Try it.)

Anyhoo, one of the Last Remaining Stee Relatives (death surrounds me – nothing I can do about it) is a 92 year-old Great Aunt who lives in a retirement community somewhere in Indiana. So during my yearly Christmas conversation with the still fairly lucid but increasingly batty woman, she decides she loves talking to me so much she’s going get my phone number from my mother and call me in Los Angeles. Well, I figured she’d forget about it…

So early last night I was home from work and a friend had just given me a videotape to watch – a porno she said was particularly good. So I’m relaxing, watching a little humping when the phone rings. I hit mute and pick up the phone. Yup, I spent the next 45 minutes talking to a batty 92 year-old woman while people fucked silently on my TV. Mostly I was just listening and laughing at the juxtaposition. And maybe it’s cruel, but for someone who hates talking on the phone in the first place, the notion that any time the phone rings it could easily be a bored nonagenarian makes me want to rip the unit from the wall and rig up a good old fashioned tin can and string system that couldn’t possibly reach all the way to Indiana. I think next time I get caught by the damned call waiting and it’s her, I’m going to talk to her the way I would to Todd or Shannon. Funny thing is it probably wouldn’t freak her out. She’s one of them tough old broads.

Incidentally, while I’m on a hell-bound roll here: why is it that old people, when you stupidly ask them how they are, can’t just say "fine"? Nooooooooo. They have to list the litany of their ailments and increasingly common brain misfirings, leaving you with nothing to say but, "Huh. That sucks."

Meanwhile…

…OK, on a less complete asshole thread, last night I had a bit of a stray cat situation. Frank and I were having a meeting at my place, drinking beers, giving each other script notes and discussing the continued life of the short we co-directed.

(Tangent #2: I don’t think I mentioned this to you pw readers, but the night before I left for Christmas, I was at Staples buying a ream of paper [heh, you said ream] when a guy stops me and is all, "are you stee?" Turns out homeboy is Director of Something at BIG OL’ PRODUCTION COMPANY. He’d a while ago wanted to read my script and since he’d never gotten around to reading it, I sent him the short as a prod, as I did to others who’d read the script. So he goes on to basically stroke my cock in the middle of Staples, telling me how much he and the whole office loves the short and they sent it off to New York (?) and I should call him in the new year. This was a good thing because we had not heard much feedback from outsiders. Haven’t yet called him.)

So Frank and I go down to the store and we’re walking back up the hill when this little orange tabby starts following us. He ended up following all the way to my apartment so I put some milk on the back porch, which he drank. He then came inside and basically jumped from lap to lap for the next hour, occasionally licking his balls. He was in good shape but fairly skinny, dirty, and obviously not neutered (man, I forget how big cat’s balls can be, jesus!)

In the end I decided he was much too well-mannered and unskittish to be a stray. So I let him outside and saw if he followed me as I walked Frank to his car. He did, but then didn’t come back to my place, so I’ll just keep an eye out for him. Cool cat.

Elsewhere…

…My lady is doing New York for a couple weeks. (Well, I hope she’s not actually doing New York… Hey, New Yorkers, if you see a blonde making out by the pool table with random guys down at Phebe’s – lemme know. She swears those days are behind her...) And in totally unrelated commemoration of the impending event, I’m having a big-ass poker game at my house tonight. So guyish, I know. But starting tomorrow I’ll have M.’s cat around, and she doesn’t much like people. Plus poker will give me an excuse to clean the 4 inches of dust beneath my table… not to mention to drink and smoke too much.

Incidentally…

…I think this bares repeating from way back in July: the George Clooney Theorem. This is a theorem I created that basically proves that George Clooney is mathematically more important than me.

GC – STEE = +X
STEE – GC = -X

It follows: "Most likely you can plug yourself into the "STEE" integer, and the theorem would also prove true. Sorry to tell you folks, but I think the sooner you realize this fact, the more pleasant life will be for you: Clooney is much more important than you. ‘Wait, to my baby girl, I am much more important than Clooney.’ Nope. Sorry. It seems as if that would be true, but even to your baby girl, Clooney wins."

So the latest evidence that the George Clooney Theorem is indeed correct is that he’s now putting together, through his production company, an effort to bring back live TV. He was one of the main forces behind ER’s 1997 live episode (which I thought suffered from the technical comparison to the rest of the episodes – you were used to seeing these sets and actors on film) and has just announced that he will produce and star in a live black and white production of Fail-Safe. Noah Wylie will also be on board. Clooney plans to do about 3 of these a year – a throwback to the old days of Texaco Star Theatre and such. Once again, Clooney wins.

Finally…

…What does it mean when you haven’t eaten red meat in 11 years and you suddenly crave a huge bloody steak?

The Larry King Happy Song Corner

Let me run with you, tonight. I'll take you on, a moonlight ride. There's someone I used to see. But she don't give a damn for me. But let me get to the point, let's roll another joint. And turn the radio loud, I'm too alone to be proud. You don't know how it feels. You don't know how it feels, to be me. People come, people go. Some grow young, some grow cold. I woke up in between memory and a dream. So let's get to the point. Let's roll, another joint. Let's head on down the road. There's somewhere I gotta go. You don't know how it feels. You don't know how it feels, to be me… speaking of which. I never much went in for the mary jane. But that Charlie Rose, boy. One day we were having lunch at 21 and Charlie rolled a few joints in the bathroom with Phil Donahue, Barbara Walters, and then Mayor Dinkins – and then realized he had to go tape a show! He had the UN delegate from the Congo and Herb Alpert on that day. Boy, that was one funny show.

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