494--Your Man Godfrey

I spent part of today handing champagne to Blythe Danner and Mario Batalli. I couldn't have had a better time, plus, at the end, the woman handed me 200 dollars. At which point, with a rush, the feelings that I'm nothing if not a mammoth whore came flooding back.

I'd share photographic evidence of this claim except Rich has my camera until Monday. I gave it to him on Tuesday. Today he tells me he wasn't planning on using it until Saturday. Whatthefuck is certainly a word that jumps to mind.

Anyway, up until the point where she handed me the money all I could think about was how much fun it was pretending to be William Powell pretending to be Godfrey the butler. I particularly liked calling the women Madam.

Yes, Madam.
Gladly, sir.
Indubitably, Madam.
Splendid, sir.



That's me on the left, pretending to be William Powell. You can't tell, but that look on my face is me wishing "My Man Godfrey" was a vampire movie. And, by the way, I got the indubitably from Jeeves, not Powell. Anyway, it was all good clean fun and I would have really enjoyed myself but for my pistachio thumb.

Do you ever get it? Pistachio thumb? The partial (and usually extremely painful) separation of the thumbnail on your left hand from the tissue of the finger itself, gotten, typically, by prying open pistachio nuts that, like the Germans with their 88s at the beginning of Saving Private Ryan, just didn't want to let go.

I will say this. "Cheerleader with Banana (Fallen Angel) I" is finished. Completed. And it has exceeded my expectations. I could not be more delighted. I'd post a picture but Rich has my camera til Monday. Turns out he doesn't need it til the weekend, but he has it.

Whatthefuck?