Los Angeles: The sun shines. The waves roll in. Santa Monica is as pretty as she ever was. Last night Richard Gant dropped by the Loews to meet us as the Film market dwindled. This is not Cannes. No parties--though the LA film festival is on at the same time and we did get word from the mysterious Mr Chin aka Jimmy May of a Danish film party at the Roosevelt across from Graumans. We didn't make it. Richard's become a good friend over the last two years and has one of those movie faces people know even if they don't always remember the work. Anyway we sat at the bar in the Loews and watched Richard get interviewed by a Jamaican film crew and sign autographs for about twenty people over the next couple of hours. It was fun. There was something happening. We didn't talk about the movie. Just gave him the stuff and talked about anything else mostly. By ten we were exhausted (from the constant walking smiling talking pitching of the day) and said good night to Richard and Jacek and I walked down toward the beach parking lot. We made fun of a Limey film exec and a girl who claimed to be from Minnesota but was obviously from Wisconsin (like Jan Janson). We turned the wrong way on Washington, something I like to do because Im the devil may care type and ended up half way to downtown before I got us turned round. We ate In and Out burgers with 500 Latino teenagers and found our way back to Marina del Mar . . . Jacek and I looked at each other . . . Well if we only live long enough we might just . . . make a . . . movie . . . and went to sleeping dreaming of the rat woman, Danny Trejo and er . . .
