Footnote: ACTING SCHOOL RULZ!!!!! MUST go to Samuel French and pick up Tenn. Williams play, Small Craft Warning {?}
GIRAUX’S LIST — PANTHEON OF THE ELITE
I wanted to write about SANDRA BULLOCK but I think I may be too tired. I am asking you, dearest Diary, to forgive my brevity. SANDRA is on a Cinderella trajectory and does not need my help, of that I can assure. She is a dream story for all of us who struggle. We must not forget that before the brilliant blockbusters SPEED {CIRCA 1994} and WHILE YOU WERE SLEEPING {CIRCA 1995} there was WHO SHOT PAT? {CIRCA 1990}, THE VANISHING {CIRCA 1993}, THE THING CALLED LOVE {1993} and LOVE POTION #9 {CIRCA 1992}. Sandra reminds me of MARISA TOMEI, in that both have such changeable looks — like well-tanned chameleons, they go from blue-collar “broadiness” to Audrey Hepburn delicacy without a hitch. Sandra’s nose and mouth sometimes remind me of LAURA SAN GIACOMO {SEX, LIES AND VIDEOTAPE {{CIRCA 1989}}. Sandra is legendarily loved by film crews {frequently dating members thereof but not promiscuously}; a notorious junk-food junkie {that’s because her mother, a German opera singer, was a health nut. Sandra has been known to slurp Fresca through licorice straws}; and, I believe, is receiving twelve million $$$ for her next outing. I hope one day she gets over Tate {Donovan} and finds her Prince Charming. {Probably someone on the camera crew! That’s what Holly Hunter did!} {TWO IF BY SEA {{CIRCA 1995}} will do her no harm.}
You’ll Never Eat Me During Lunch…
Taping this on the plane back from Illinois. Wish I hadn’t gone to the funeral. Good to see Mom, though. Calliope talked me through a lot of it, long-distance. I am such an asshole. Better watch out or she’ll fucking fire me. Even therapists have their limits::::::::::Airline food never gets better. There’s a Billy Crystal movie on. God, how I hate him. What is he?::::::::::Think we’re over Kansas — a mid-air collision with Dorothy’s house would be a beautiful thing. That’d be a busman’s holiday; the house already fell down on me. Father died the day I arrived. Three years since I’d last seen him — cancer made him all gray skin and sharp bones. I kept a distance from the bed. Carrie kept going through my mind, the part at the end when Amy’s at the grave and the hand reaches out to grab her — just looked under my seat with a shiver, then remembered the sonofabitch wouldn’t be caught dead in First Class::::::::::Donny Ribkin’s on the plane, coming back from the John Hughes thing. We talked about Obie. (She was supposed to leave the hospital but now she has pneumonia.) He wanted to know what was happening with Teorema and I said Nexus wasn’t involved anymore, that the Gisela Group was financing. Hopefully. Then he gets this creepy agent look on his face and says he heard one of the major Gisela partners was murdered in Milan — someone just told him that on the Airfone! E, my life is insane! I remain cool, awaiting a vacant phone. Of course my credit card won’t work so I borrow Donny’s, oy vay. I call Saul who isn’t there but his assistant says it’s all over CNN::::::::::Vidra’s gonna be pissed. She’s a mercenary cunt — likes the personal shit to offset ShowbizWorld and thought the funeral would be great for some poignantly savage musings on the Bad Father (has anybody actually had a good one?). Maybe I need to get home and, uh, process::::::::::To the Spirit Awards, with Cat-boy. Our very own Katherine won for Imitations! We — Katherine, Pargita, Becky Johnston, Holly and husband, Buck and Gus and like fourteen others including this Hungarian animator Gabor (as in Zsa Zsa) and his girlfriend (a total match for Polanski and Sharon T — she’s Jeanne Crain’s granddaughter. Never mind, you’re too young) limo’d to the Sunset Plaza digs where we talked cybersex (yawn) and Luddites (yawn yawn), drank Stoly and scarfed cups of microwaved cioppino while I called my shrink from the media room and wept. Upped my Zoloft to three-quarters a tab.
You’ll love this: after I’m off the phone, Katherine tells me she got this call from the police because some psycho impersonated her (why hasn’t anyone impersonated me, E? That hurts). This crazy girl went and saw Calliope, pretending she was Katherine — and assaulted her, physically! The motherfucker assaults my shrink! Definitely a new wrinkle in the stalking game. I instantly phone Calliope back to commiserate and she said she was fine, just bruised. I don’t know why she didn’t tell me — guess it’s too pervy a thing to start talking about, therapist-to-patient especially. Plus, Calliope never talks about her life. It made me feel so shitty and weak, this stoic brilliant woman in her sixties actually getting fucking attacked and there I am calling from planes, trains and automobiles, whining. I literally puked when we hung up, hard knees on those hip cold green Spanish tiles. Thought of my father the whole time. Nice, huh?
Cat came in, very sweet, to hold my clammy brow — I’m not even sure if his friends know we’re doing it. We’re not demonstrative, we’re furtive. Hotter that way. Here’s a little bonus for you, E, ‘cause you’ve been such a good dog: he likes it when I lick his butt. It tastes like Equal!::::::::::Katherine was loaded and flirting heavily with Pargita — seems they’re about to have a scene (if they haven’t already). I think K’s actually pissed Vidra never phoned congrats for the Spirit Award, though K denies. Unfortunately, her award won’t help a rat’s ass if the Gisela pyramid goes all-fall-down. First Gucci, now Gisela…is the Vatican behind it or what?
Hello, Columbus
TO: SHARKEE@CLS.OHIO-STATE.EDU (STOCKER VIDRA)
FROM: DOLPH@AOL.COM (KATHERINE GROSSECK)