What a day! I walked into the Gazette and discovered they actually have sold the fucking paper to Larry Flynt. Larry Flynt! I couldn’t believe it. It is weird. They asked me how I felt about it and I said, “Will I get a raise?” It was funny because Paul Hemphill walked in a few minutes later, was hit with the news and asked the same question, “Will I get a raise?” I said, “Ah, Liza, we, your writers, are such an altruistic bunch. Always concerned about truth, honesty, First Amendment and will we get a raise?” I told them I thought they should write an editorial about no demands being made of the writers and then publish a shot of the writers, all nude. I thought that would be great.
Another subject: I think I’m in love. I’m not sure yet if it is Steven Spielberg or Richard Dreyfuss or sweet-faced François Truffaut, but it is definitely a case of love. I saw Close Encounters again today and, Jesus, I was so high coming out of there I thought I’d start floating away of my own accord. I love it. The hand signal is: one, like stop; one flat one, two squeeze into fists and one sideways fish hand. And the music and the skies opening up. Maybe the thing I like is it looks like God is coming out. Who knows? I just love it.
I keep thinking about Larry Flynt owning the Gazette. I know politics makes strange bedfellows, but I don’t think I can be in bed with Larry Damn Flynt.