Had a surprisingly good time at the Broderbund Christmas party. Michael Baisuck and I had a drunken man-to-man in the parking lot after they kicked us out. “You know why I hate you?” he said. “It’s so goddamned easy for you. You’re rich, you’re creative, you’re good-looking, you speak five fucking languages, you can dance, and you’re not arrogant! If I had your life, I’d be having such a good time… But you don’t even seem to be enjoying it!” He proceeded to give me some good advice about how to spend my money while I’m still young enough to enjoy it. Like, buy a vintage ‘58 Corvette convertible instead of an anonymous current-year Japanese car.
It’s only what Patrick’s been telling me all along. There’s this thing inside me that makes me hold back. That dry adult whisper that counsels prudence, caution, thrift… Why? I’m fighting it on the big stuff, but on the small stuff, it’s winning.
So I bought Mom a really nice sweater for Christmas, and I’m flying to LA on the spur of the moment to hang out with George.
And maybe, just maybe, the next time I see the girl of my dreams at a crosswalk in North Beach, I’ll have the balls to say hello before she crosses the street.
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wonderful entry!