wouldn’t you love it if
Linda and I saw him play at the US Open today. He lost. But man, did I enjoy watching him. I love athletes’ bodies. He had the kind that just brings a tear to the eye. Hot damn.
I have a lot of work hanging over me … 2 speeches, both of which have to metathesize this week. And tomorrow’s already Tuesday the friggin 5th, so time is short! The good news is: I am a professional writer. A professional writer! I love that! The bad news is, I am a professional writer. Fuck.
When you leave, you don’t leave. There are meat hooks in your brain, always. That sword of Damocles is up there, dangling. Should you be working on it more, you know when people don’t see you working? Should you?
Yes, of course.
But then the last time you did, they ended up rewriting until the last minute, and eventually returning to your original structure. Why labor on it at all if everyone wants to put their stamp on it and morph it and meddle with it to make themselves feel close to it.
Because you have to start somewhere, no? A shitty first draft is superior to no first draft. Fuck. (But gee, isn’t this a cool predicament? Yeah, I like it). Everyone will be in battle mode tomorrow, including me. But at this point, thankfully, I know I have plenty of fight in me. So I am not that worried. (That).
I saw Ethan Hawke again on the street. Talking very very loudly. So fucking obnoxious, that guy. I didn’t see his companion, and acted like I didn’t see him either (I always do this to hot guys and celebs … as if I am too cool … but then I go home and blog about it.)
He was like, “And in the subtlest of ways…”
That’s all I heard. Nothing about Ethan himself is subtle. How did Uma EVER endure that pompous 24-7 Cervantes reading dickwad?
I also saw Topher Grace on 6th Ave around 52nd Street either last week or the week before. I heard his cute cute voice, too. He was wearing a yellow polo shirt and jeans. Nothing stylish at all. He’s hot. I love nerdy skinny boys. But he’s a Scientologist so that pretty much ruins it.