because i love you
I was writing an entry on coffee and
cigarettes today, only to see Pamie had stolen the shit
right off my computer screen and made it much much funnier. Technology, damn.
Anyway, so then I had to run around on auditions all day, so todays entry shall be a
cut and paste of two different things I never quite finished. Two!!! Not one, but two.
Damn Im nice. Here:
A few days ago I went on ebay to bid on an original copy of the best exploding head movie ever Scanners, and I came across a few electronic scanners, so I bid on one. And won.
So after receiving this device, I headed over to Beverly Hills and, armed with the scanner and the accompanying John Birch Society of Helena Montana Super Whiteman Disciples Of The Apocalypse Anti-Government Bunker pamphlet on capturing radio and cell phone transmission, and broke into a building across the street from famed restaurant Spagos and set up in a second story window facing the restaurants back dining patio and like Oswald just pointed and squeezed the trigger baby. Heres the very first thing I picked up:
"Where are you sweetie?"
"I told you. Im at fucking Spagos."
"Because I felt like it. Because I walked across the
street from fucking ICM where once again there was nothing for me and
"A few fan letters to Snake but thats about it."
"Wait, Kurt. Were talking about me- Can I get another Johnny Walker Red please thanks youre a dear."
"Are you drinking?"
"Oh, theres Matt Damon. Matt!!!"
"Matt ignored me."
"Im sure he didnt ignore you."
"-me the fucking respect I deserve can I get another Johnny Walker Red, please!"
"And yes, I am drinking, Kurt. Why not. Why not drink."
"Because you shouldnt, at least not out."
"Ive give you 4 reasons that I should drink. My last lift was a mess, my lips are all puffy and I cant close my eyes."
"I dont want to hear this. I have a meeting."
"Come meet me."
"Come meet me honey because if you dont Im going to- will someone get me a fucking Johnny Walker Red!"
"Ill be there in half an hour."
"Oh good. Im really- Oh, wait, Matt is coming over."
(faint) "Hey Goldie. I didnt recognize you. You look wicked young."
"Kurt, dont bother coming down."
Heres a short story I apparently started writing about 3 years ago, but never finished. Barely started because I had no idea where to go with it next. Any ideas?
John held a copy of the Hollywood Reporter in his hand, as he stood slumped by his open mailbox, swearing. Though the narrow canyon street on which he lived was all but completely devoid of traffic, foot or otherwise, at this time of day, John still felt reflexively embarrassed at how he must have appeared at that moment: a short, skinny wisp of a man in a Red Sox t-shirt staring at a magazine screaming. Not exactly successful image control. This was forgivable though. This outburst he had no inclination to control, for this was the eighth new subscription of the daily industry rag hed received this month; none of which he had ordered. Someone was fucking with him big time.
The question, naturally, was who? Who cares enough to annoy me, he wondered. By the time he had canceled the second subscription, only to find the third "Welcome to the World of the Hollywood Reporter" letter attached to a copy of the slick daily, he knew for sure that it was not a fluke. Not some glitch in the system, continually looping. Not a repeated burp in the already prone-to-mistakes world of magazine publishing; with its minimum-wage twenty-somethings manning the phones, caring very little whether or not John Guller received his free football phone. The girl on the phone had confirmed it, someone indeed had sent in one of those flimsy no postage necessary postcards requesting yet another subscription for Mr. John Guller. And no, it is not their job to regulate how many subscriptions one household receives. In fact, many addresses in Los Angeles held as many as 1000 concurrent subscriptions of the magazine, thank you very much. Entertainment complexes and studio lots. So a measly 2 or 3 signaled no red flag to the company. And furthermore, we dont John had hung up in disgust before she finished talking.
The Larry King Happy