Wednesday, April 14, 2010


This week continues to be a sort of surreal/funny nightmare.  The cops still have my car, back in L.A.  It's positively Kafka-esque. From my former high school teacher: Ahhh, ain't reality grand? You had, what I like to call, a reality moment!  It's when the "real" world butts into our lives--like, where the fuck did this cop come from anyway and why is he doing this?  I used to tell Mark that the cops can do whatever they want--legal or not--and the object is always to make money.  So it seems...

Remember, DON'T TALK.

On a more pleasing note, the Paris Review Revel was last night.  I got a Paris Review t-shirt.  Philip Roth talked about his life, which sounded like a series of miracles and affirmations.  Other folks spoke as well--Gourevitch, Stein (the new editor).  I drank quite a lot.  I was still thinking about my car much of the time but overall I had a lovely evening.  James Salter wasn't there.  I'm to be interviewed sooner or later for a documentary being made about him by Checkerboard Films and the wonderful Sandy Meehan.  I met one of my favorite screenwriter/directors.  I got home late and had a philly cheesesteak for breakfast this morning.

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