17-Jan-2007
Now where was I? The weekend. Ah, yes. Sunday, I had dinner with the Designated Driver. Not to jab the knife in, but she's always busy working, and I'm always busy not working, so there you have it. On the way home, we drove past the Hilton, then Robinson's May, and, as Kurt Cobain sang to us from the radio, the DD mentioned that So and So was having a Green Party (what?) for the Golden Globes there. Which got me to thinking about my favorite game. Aka, what if? What If has lost me several friends over the years, when I ask questions like, "What if you weren't such a slut?" and "What if I set your hair on fire?" But Sunday was different.
Me: (to DD) What if you had to choose between you never being allowed to recycle again or Kurt Cobain coming back to life?
DD: (thinking, thinking) Well, I like recycling...
Me: But you also like Kurt Cobain.
DD: Right. I'm gonna have to choose recycling.
Me: Recycling over living Kurt Cobain?
DD: Yeah. Because, even if I bring him back to life, he's probably just gonna kill himself.
Me: (amazed) Good point!
Later, since I had finished the pilot, Cliffhanger and I went for celebratory cake. I was still hung up on "What if?"
Me: (to Cliffhanger) What if--
Cliffhanger: -- Don't bother me. I'm pretending to be a peanut butter sandwich.
The future of Hollywood, ladies and gentlemen. Grim. Very grim.
I'm going to quote my headline on myspace in reaction the semi-fabricated quote attributed to me above: "I know that you believe you understand what you think I said, but I'm not sure you realize that what you heard is not what I meant." And you're right, I did change that headline more recently than I'd thought. Mem-or-y of a fly, I tell you.