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Breakfast: toasted baguette with strawberry jam and butter

I was staring at the cheese spread trying to figure out the different kinds. The Charles Shaw chardonnay I was swigging was so-so. Trader Joe’s goes through wine hype and Charles Shaw is definitely on a long run. I pretty much like all cheese, so I don’t know why I was vacillating. A smarmy guy was taking liberal slices of them all.

“It’s good, try some,” he said while chewing.

“Do you know what kind of cheese that is?” I asked pointing to a brick of feta-looking cheese.

“Some type of goat cheese*.”

I sliced some off and it was tasty, but needed some fruit or crackers to accompany it.

“So, how did you end up here?” I was curious.

“The movie business.”

Wow, I must live in a cave. I had no idea that the movie business could magically transport people to parties. I made eye contact with him and there wasn’t a hint of irony.

“Actually I came because I knew you’d be here. And my assistant had it on my schedule.”

I blushed and was feeling shy all of a sudden—strange, since I had no interest in him. “What do you do in the movie business?” I asked.

“I’m a screenwriter.”

Again, that seemed like an unfitting answer.

“Yeah, when I was working on The Stepdaughter 2** I…”

I stopped listening. If you have to name drop an obviously direct-to-video movie, you’re pathetic. Richard Rushfield’s A-hole Screenwriters posts came to mind. I still didn’t believe that this guy was a writer. Someone called him on his cell phone. He hesitated before walking outside.

“Hey, we met at The Viceroy,” a nice looking man said just as the screenwriter walked back in. Oh, it was R. He was a movie producer and you’d never know it. R and his girlfriend are two of the nicest people I’ve met in the last few months.

I introduced R to “the screenwriter.”

“Well, I’ve got to go. Here’s my card,” said screenwriter.

He was off to more places where he could spread his cards.

The card was plain and unimportant looking with an alumni e-mail address—tres pretentious. Plus his company's name was an acronym of a car I loathed.

“Do you have a card?”

“No.”

I’m currently out of cards, but wouldn’t have given one to him. I only give my number to people that I want to call me (i.e. infrequently) That’s why I get annoyed when I give my number to a guy and he doesn’t call.

I went back to my conversation with R. “That guy was horrible.”

“Yeah, I was hoping he wasn’t a friend of yours. Earlier, when there was no cheese left, he was going to leave. Someone mentioned there was more cheese coming out and he stayed.”

“No!”

“Yes, that’s what you get when you use a publicist.”

Maybe publicists were the enemy. I popped another slice of cheese in my mouth and contemplated it.

P.S. I looked up "the screenwriter" on IMDB and he only had producer credits.

*The next night I again questioned a partygoer about another kind of cheese. I’ve learned that if I don’t know the cheese, the person I’m asking probably doesn’t either, yet the will act like they do.

**not the real name

Cool Bloggers:

I met some cool bloggers at BoiFromTroy's birthday bash. Charming Matt and N have written entertaining vignettes about it.