i thought i'd heard stephen fry had killed himself. happily brannon tells me, at our sylvia plath party, i'm mistaken. my mind eroding.
one time mike nichols and stephen soderbergh are dining together at via quadronno and i'm steppinfetchin'. an old gentleman pulls me over and and down and whispers: "is that mike nichols?" "yeah," i say. after nichols leaves the gentleman tells me: "it was a shock for i was sure he was dead. there was another young director. i always confused them. it must have been him." the old gentleman shrugged elegantly. he was a worldly, soft-spoken, peacefully weary old boy (in my eye).
mike nichols tells paolo one time he figures paoli keeps us locked in the basement at sant ambroeus until we are smileless. last time i see nichols he down de white house suckin' up to bush. i am smileless from experience.
skool of gunky.
11:24:59 AM 
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