Ron and I had a good time at the parade. We sat atop one of those street sign flowerpots on Cornelia (I doubt they are called flowerpots: those big huge mega-cauldrons that have flowers in them and then a steel lattice leading up to a metal platform?). I was worried the police would tell us to get down but when the Cook County Sheriff waved at us as he strode by I guess he had other things on his mind.
There is nothing more All-American than a pride parade. It really does show off a cross-section of the country. Of course George Takei was cuter than cute, waving to the crowd and flashing us the ‘Live long and prosper.’ Vulcan salute.
The morning had started with rain and I thought maybe Brian’s old adage that God never let’s it rain on a pride parade would be broken – but the rain cleared in time for the promenade. I was glad because I could see the muscleboys getting antsy as all of their careful dieting would have been dashed if they couldn’t have their shirts off on the floats (before the rain cleared I heard one growling ‘RAR! Gorl, just gimme a baguette!’).
Going to have a few colleagues look at book proposal #3 while my agent is away on vacation. Gotta figure out what #4 would be about. I figure I’ll keep writing proposals until they sell – then I’ll probably have them all due at the same time. But that’s what ghost writers are for right?
Went to the dermatologist yesterday. He’s giving me something for my foot itchies. Of course this will only bring teasing from Ron a la the Seinfeld episode where Jerry dates the girl that has fungicide (Jerry: ‘What would she have that she needs fungicide?’ Kramer: ‘FUNGUS.’). Of course, when I mentioned this to the doc he thought I was referencing the episode where Elaine is dating the dermatologist (Dermatologist: ‘That’s why I’m a doctor!’ Elaine: ‘Well… dermatologist…’). I do think that if I were to go into medicine I would do dermatology because it seems like you never have any emergencies, half the time you’re throwing acne meds at teens, the other half your beating your head against the wall trying to keep white people from tanning. Or a radiologist. Come in, pick up the films, mark them up, and leave.
Anyway all my moles are safety-assured and there’s nothing to worry about. I was hoping to get the mole in my left armpit removed because I feel like every time I do a lat pulldown it peeks at me in the mirror and says, ‘Buon giorno!’
I need to finish reading David’s newest script. I’m hoping to be a candidate to direct it. I’d love to get my hands on the Handbag folks – they have such a rousing camp sensibility. I’d like to fuse it with my usual creative intensity. And I think Dave may have a more corrosive sense of humor than I do. I’ll never forget the last production of Rudolph the Red-Hosed Reindeer they did. It was just after the Bush re-election. It was a mean, mean holiday show. But I loved it.