I think I may have blurted this out when I met him. Not the best way to make an impression on the star, most likely. But I meant it in the best way possible. He gave a talk, signed his book and mingled. He’s great, I thought. Then he appeared in two short plays at the theater last night, one with Sigourney Weaver and I thought. Yeah, he’s really, really great.
Can you tell my writing brain is getting a little fried?
I met Sigourney too. She was thinner than I’d expected, as most celebrities are, and looked like a nice neighbor, someone I’d like to chat with on the porch, especially when she asked me about ME. Very cool, very approachable, very Southampton. The people here are out going and friendly and nothing at all like the snobs you hear about.
Why even last night, as I mortified the 2 young girls in my car by asking out the window, “Whose party is this? Is it for me?” to a valet parking imports in front of a mansion, he smiled, said, “Yeah. It’s all for you,” tapping my arm before waving me on.
Don’t we all want to believe that? That it’s all for us?
I am fighting with the washing machine and the stupid card upload internet savvy system this morning so I can have clean clothes for the rest of the week. After the beach bonfire last night most of my clothes are either smoky or sandy, not exactly the scent I was going for.
The lectures and readings have been great. The workshop with Amy Hempel is incredibly informative. I even snuck away a bit to write new stuff, something most of these workshop/conference goers say they aren’t doing.
It’s kind of like camp.
Except we had Jane Pauley and Garry Trudeau and Roger Rosenblatt in our beer line last night.