Last night I had a dream in which my previous life was revealed. I was a naturalist/explorer with a penchant for obscure martial arts, exotic food, and jungle-enshrouded cities. This revelation explains everything, from my minor obsession for preserved specimens (some research reveals the octopus-in-a-jar I recently obtained from a private seller originates from the South Seas, circa 1890) to my love of all things hermetic, to my Spartan workout habits involving feats of unusual strength (two-finger pushups, etc.).
But if I was a naturalist/explorer in a previous life, then my travels took a toll–my seasickness, my bold eating habits resulting in endless bouts of food poisoning. I love home and don’t believe in travel for the sake of travel, so my vacations all have to mean something . There has to be a goal or a quest. There has to be something waiting for discovery, which also explains why I fought against Las Vegas for so many years, and when I finally went…well, it was everything I thought it would be. Las Vegas offered nothing. Carrot Top has already been discovered.
Here in Buffalo the summer is timid–cold nights and warm days that feel more like early May than mid July. We’re in town for a quick visit with friends and family, before editing work begins on Memphis is Burning. The good news is it won’t take long, and the other good news is I’ve nearly finished the partial screenplay. The well-funded, independent producer I’ve been working with actually made my job easier–no small thing considering their usual function is to obscure and delay. But this producer considers himself a throwback, back in the days when studio heads slipped money under the doors of their writers at the end of every week. At some point every writer should feel a little like Ben Hecht, even if we can’t match his talent.
I’ll post The Love of Tigers next week, under the Essays section. Even though it’s not an essay. I’m working on fixing the menu.
