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About Just out. (Portland, OR) 1983-2013 | View Entire Issue (Feb. 6, 2004)
HUMOR S o I’m in Los Angeles, shopping for slutwear in West Hollywtxxi, when I see him coming right toward me in a pair of designer shades talking on his cell phone: a toddler in a stroller. Like the song says, “I love L.A .!” eyed Sally Struthers to go on the air Now, there’s an immediate and say, “For just pennies a day you assumption among us pale, doughy can feed Lara Flynn Boyle.” Parents Northwestemers that people who live of picky eaters can now say to their in a warm, sunny climate must he children: “Finish your food. There incredibly vapid (as if choosing to live are starving actresses in Hollywood.” where it rains 300 days a year demon strates our superior intelligence). And ut I wasn’t in L.A. to make fun with the warm, sunny climate, of by Marc Acito of people, although that was course, comes scantily clad bodies, definitely a side benefit. I was which gives one the opportunity to admire the there for a week of meetings with movie execu skillful work of ambitious plastic surgeons. I mean, tives who had read and fallen in love with my the boohs in L.A. are so firm you could serve novel. appetizers on them. And that’s just the men. One of my meetings was at Art’s Deli in O f course, no one in L.A. would eat those Studio City. I could tell Art’s is a popular spot appetizers because everyone is so skinny. I find for meetings because it was full of well- this especially strange since you can get such groomed, overcaffeinated patrons seated alone yummy Jewish soul food there. Even the Mexi and eyeing their watches. At 8:30 a.m. on the can restaurants serve kreplach, tzimmes and dot, the phone started to ring and the host borscht, which sound less like focxJ and more ess wandered around telling people their like a full-service law firm. party would he late because the 405 was a For instance, I’m in Canter’s Deli waiting parking lot. for a Reuben sandwich behind a 60-ish guy The guy in the booth behind me got really with his arm around a woman young enough to cranky about it. “Did he say how late he’d be?” be his granddaughter, which means, of course, he huffed, as if his party could predict traffic it’s his girlfriend. patterns from the inside of a Lexus. Waiting in “Y’know-ow,” she says, popping her gum, “I L.A. is a sign of weakness. The longer you wait, the less important you are. never ate sandwiches before I met you.” From the looks of her, she’s never eaten Me, I couldn’t care. I’m a writer. It’s my job much of anything. to sit around and eavesdrop. Plus, it gives me I’m thinking of starting a not-for-profit dedi time to prepare witty bons mots I can insert cated to bringing the obesity epidemic to L.A. spontaneously into a conversation. I’ll call it Feed the Actresses. We’ll hire a teary- I had also prepared for these meetings by ask Hello, deli The Gospel’s goin’ Hollywood The Gospel According to Marc B OfteacKf 'Day cveeáaulf rß S&è UCTlo Ha. it? Ten unbelievably hot vignettes fe a tu rin g ^ t v S<i2«r»»>e B i c t n e r Q c y b e r o rg a s m s , la p b is e x u a lity , a t u r k e y f a s t e r . February 13 to March 6.2004 and mant Box O ffice 503-239-5919 O nline a t w w w .trlp ro.org t ic k e t s w e s t 5 0 3 -2 2 4 -8 4 9 9 The a te r! Theatre! 3430 SE Belm ont, Portland, OR 97214 ing advice of my experienced writer friends. And every one of them had a cautionary tale about the legendary insipidness of movie executives. One of them warned me, “Don’t use any three-syllable words.” Another told about the time he referenced Jane Eyre in a pitch, only to he interrupted when a develop ment person asked: “Jane Eyre? What would I have Still another told me the story about Dame Maggie Smith being led into a m eet ing by a bubble-headed assistant who chirped, “Everybody, this is Dame; Dame, this is everybody.” And, of course, there’s the writer with a screenplay adaptation of Anton Chekhov’s The Cherry Orchard who received a rejection letter that read: “Dear Mr. Chekhov: Thank you for your submission. While we can’t use your cur rent script, please let us know if you have any thing else....” (Sure! There are these three sisters who want to go to Moscow, see? I’m thinking Cameron, Julia and J-Lo.) So you can imagine my surprise and delight when I discovered that movie executives actu ally have brains (the producers of Gigli notwithstanding). I took 12 meetings in five days, and every person I met was vital, passion ate and exceedingly intelligent. And I’m not just saying that because I want them to hire me (although I should add that they were all enormously charismatic and charming). Seriously, these people READ for a living— not just scripts, but stacks of books...hard, serious books, many of which I’m too bubble-headed to comprehend. So let’s recap: L.A .’s got a warm, sunny climate, yummy Jewish soul ftxxi and surpris ingly sharp people. Like the song says, “Hooray for Hollywood!” And that, my friends, is The Gospel According to Marc. J H M arc A cito s novel, How I Paid for College, will be published in September. 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