I'm supposed to be, at this very minute, reading the screenplay for Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind for tonight's advanced screenwriting class. But first I thought I'd clear out some of the clutter preoccupying my mind. 1. I'm thoroughly enjoying Rupert Everett's book, Red Carpets. He's a truly fine writer and it's so much more than your standard autobiography, providing insider glimpses into the world of theater and celebrity, anecdotes about strange acquaintances in a truly remarkable lifetime, and setting it all within historical contest - a childhood spent with the end of the Empire looming large, coming-of-age in the underground gay bars of London, rebelling as a teen in Paris keeping company with transgendered hookers. It would be the finest form of gossip memoir - namechecking everyone (so far) from Ian McKellan to Andy Warhol to Bob Geldof - were it not elevated by Everett's literary prowess, sly sense of humor and heartachingly keen penchant for detail.
2. I've always been a bit self-conscious here in Ann Arbor, noticing that there don't seem to be any fat people here. I discovered this weekend that they're all at the Meijer in Scio Township where, I can only guess, there are special secret discounts if you weigh in at over 300 pounds.
3. No matter how many times I try to figure out how this story happened, I can't. I can barely fit my hand or, say, a cat behind any of our bookcases, let alone a relative. Believe me, I've tried.
And that said, it's obviously time I return to doing something productive.