“Davis staged and filmed a kidnapping (‘I checked with a lawyer first to make sure I wouldn’t get in trouble’) to post on the website, then sent an e-mail to a wide variety of agents. It began: ‘By the time you receive this, I will have already kidnapped your child.’
‘The first phone call I received the next day was at 7:30 in the morning, from an agent,’ Davis recalled. ‘She was yelling at me, saying, “Are you crazy?”
We talked for a little while, though, and I told her: “The most important thing for any novelist these days is to stand out, to attract attention. Based on the fact that you’re calling me this early, I’m assuming I’ve accomplished that goal.”’
Davis said the woman then responded: ‘If you knew anything about publishing, you’d know that you can’t get a book out in 90 days.’
‘I’ve got your child,’ Davis said. ‘This is day one, which leaves you 89 days.’
‘Point taken,’ the agent responded.”—Boy, some people have all the good ideas.
I met a woman who said to me, “Hmmm, that is an interesting necklace,” but I could tell by her voice that she knew exactly what was interesting about it, so I cut her a break and said, “Yes. It’s a Golden Snitch.” She got very excited and pointed out the seven stars tattooed on her neck (“For Horcruxes!” she said [and I was like, “Death Eater, please!”]) and then bemoaned the fact the Time-Turner facsimile offered in SkyMall did not come in colors other than yellow gold. This next month is going to be emotional for me, I think.
My friend Caitlin is coming to visit in a week for a really important reason, and she sent me an e-mail this morning stating that since this will be her only vacation this summer, she is planning to turn Pittsburgh into her island paradise. I explained that this is a city that benefits from low expectations, and so to come prepared for a reasonably-priced-drinks-and-more-trees-than-anticipated paradise is the best way to find yourself both satisfied and surprised.
Last night we watched Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade in a park while eating delicious bowls of Korean food. Pittsburgh’s version of Leslie Knope apologized for the small-ish screen on which it was projected; the large screen was out of commission due to what he repeatedly called “a catastrophe.” Kevin identified a man dressed vaguely like Indiana Jones; the man kept his fedora under his seat until another man dressed vaguely like Indiana Jones set up a blanket nearby, at which point he wore it proudly.
A day with intermittent sun is a day to be celebrated. I’ve learned here that the sun is a privilege, not a right. I’ve learned to appreciate it thusly.
“I loved playing those characters; I didn’t play one, I played a lot. If I were Bart Simpson and I were animated, I’d still be on the air right now. Trust me. But the fact is that I was maturing. I knew physically I had made certain sacrifices to keep that property alive that just couldn’t be made anymore. I wasn’t changing my hair; I was staying out of the gym. To be honest, I was retarding my own growth as a man in order to maintain the authenticity to what I thought that character should be.”—
(A couple of weeks ago during a car trip Kevin and I were discussing Family Matters in some detail [as couples do], focusing particularly on how weird it was when Stefan Urquelle started to exist, and when he proposed to Laura in Disneyland, and did Steve and Laura end up together because that would probably be pretty weird? Anyway, as a result, Kevin accidentally pronounced “Urkel” as “Urquelle” repeatedly throughout the conversation and it made me laugh a lot and then last night we remembered this and I laughed a lot again and then Kevin said “What if I pronounced it that way because I had never actually seen the show and had just read novelizations and thought that was how Urkel was pronounced?” and then I had an image of a wee little Kevin in glasses with a stack of Family Matters novelizations at his side and I laughed so hard I thought I’d die. In conclusion, thanks for everything, Jaleel White.)
The "Writing" Life: Part One Thousand Out of An Infinite Number
The power went out in our apartment a couple of hours ago, so now I am Writing in a Starbucks, which, ugh, you guys! It makes me feel so dirty. I also feel dirty because the power went out before I took a shower and I was too scared to shower in the dark.
Anyway, is there any way to roll my eyes at strangers but let them know that I am actually just rolling my eyes on their behalf?
The days when I eat breakfast correlate mysteriously with the days I feel optimistic about the world and my place in it. So far there have been maybe 8 of these days.
The number of adaptations of Jane Eyre that I am planning is 2. The number of stories which feature a grown-up Nancy Drew as a background character that I am writing is 1.
The number of stories I have had rejected so far this year is 5. The number of rejections that included unbelievably kind and encouraging notes is 1.
There are 5 weeks until the last movie adaptation of my favorite book series premieres. There are 7 books to re-read in said series. There are countless tears to be cried. There is presumably a finite amount of tears in my body. Ergo, death.
This Is a Post About Politics And a Post About Men Taking Pictures of Their Penises and Sending Them to Women:
If I still lived in New York, I’d probably be very angry about Anthony Weiner, because I’d have more invested in him. I have watched many videos of Anthony Weiner yelling sarcastically, and I have chuckled appreciatively at all of them, but I was so angry most of the time I lived in New York that I think I would have identified with his sarcastic yelling, cherished it, made it my own. Since I don’t live in New York anymore, this just makes me kind of tired.
But I can’t get on board the “I don’t care what my politicians do in their personal lives as long as it doesn’t interfere with their jobs” train, because sending unsolicited pictures of your penis to women on Twitter is possibly one of the dumbest things anyone can do with their personal lives. Sending solicited ones is slightly less dumb, unless you are a politician with a rapidly increasing profile who makes a point of letting these women know that the penis they are looking at is the one belonging to you, Anthony Weiner, increasingly high-profile politician. In that case, it goes back to being one of the dumbest things you can do. So dumb! I want my politicians to be slightly smarter than this.
In sum, take your creepy personal life off the internet if you are famous. If you don’t, you are the stupidest.