24-Jan-2006

Although the shit is hitting the fan here a bit today (we have yet to see whether it is good or bad shit - such is Hollywood), I did get a call from Oscar Nom.  Some background on Oscar Nom:  I "interned" for him when I lived in NYC.  And by "interned," I mean went drinking with him and watched free cable at his office/apartment.  But I hadn't heard from him in a few weeks. 

Oscar Nom:  Hey, it's me.

Me:  OMG, where have you been?

Oscar Nom:  My cell phone got completely destroyed.  I had to go through old phone bills to find your number.

Me:  Wow.  Creepy.

Oscar Nom:  I know!  (pause)  So listen, I read your script...

Me:  (sitting up, alarmed)  Uh, what script?

Oscar Nom:  The one you sent me three months ago.  YOU KILL ME.

Me:  Holy crap.  That's my least favorite script ever.  I can't believe I sent you that.

Oscar Nom:  Oh.  Well, uh, I really liked it.

So, liking the script aside, his reading totally caught me off guard.  I didn't remember sending him the script, which I've already kind of outgrown - the most applicable analogy here is as follows:  It's like someone seeing you naked back before you got a chance to lose the Freshman 15.  You want another chance.  But you're not gonna get it, cause you were drunk and made a bad decision, and, well, you blew it.  Luckily, I'm pretty sure he still thinks I'm hot, even if he now knows I can't write for shit.  Shit, shit, shit.