yeah so last night i was at this party for scenarios usa, a very cool organization for young filmmakers, and i saw some people who get this pseudo-jaded girl all excited.
tom fontana, for instance. the man who brought us adebisi and lots of male full-frontal nudity.
i also saw my #1 crush from oz, dean winters.
please don't tell me how cheesy it is that i took a picture with him, i already know. but i couldn't help myself.
also in the house was griffin dunne, who has accomplished a lot in his life but will always be louden trott from my second favorite madonna movie. (the first being desperately seeking susan).
on our way out we ran into dominick dunne and all we stood together on the random corner in tribeca in the damp, foggy, warm new york night.
"mr. dunne..." my brother started, and i finished.
"i always read you in vanity fair. i just love you," i said, wondering if, in fact, i did love him, or just the *idea* of him. so small and white haired with those very old-school prep tortoiseshell glasses. i was trying to remember if his oj book was offensive or not.
"thank you, thanks so much," he said. he looked hopelessly down the street.
"this is a bad place to find a cab," i said.
"yes, yes. a very bad place to find a cab," he agreed.
dominick dunne just agreed with me!
he spotted a cab and skittered away.
"thanks, thanks for what you said!"
"good night!" i called.
it's the dreams stuff are made of.
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