THIS IS A DAY OFF? TIARRA THE TEENAGE PR GODDESS IS GOING TO HAVE TO BE PUNISHED. SHE HAS SCHEDULED FIVE INTERVIEWS TODAY, BUT WHAT BUGS ME IS SHE PUT ONE IN AT NINE-THIRTY. IT’S BAD ENOUGH STAGGERING up early after a late night and a hard show but to have to talk enthusiastically about myself at that hour is cruel and unusual punishment. No gentleman talks to anyone before noon. (See Go Fuck Yourself: The Idle Book of Etiquette.) One of the reasons I write alone is that I can’t bear speaking to anyone first thing in the morning. I’d much rather get up at dawn with a pencil and a sheet of paper and see what happens. Writing is like fishing: You have to go to the river every morning, or you won’t catch anything. You can’t predict what sort of fish you’ll catch, but if you’re not there you’ll get nothing. Keith Richards said that he couldn’t claim credit for writing his songs, only for being awake when they came in. So I resent having to waste time talking enthusiastically about how great my show is to adrenaline-driven deejays. I curse Tiarra roundly in Hindi, but only in my imagination. I threaten her instead that she is going to be punished by being lightly rubbed in oil and spanked with feathers. She says that doesn’t seem so bad. She adds she has been sick, and isn’t that punishment enough? I agree that perhaps it is, but I’d still like to go ahead with the oil thing. She thanks me for making her laugh, which means that laughter is the best medicine and I can probably charge her insurance for medical expenses. Maybe I can even get the oil discounted.
It turns out that the interviews are actually fun and, speedy on tea, I natter away happily to several reporters from Pittsburgh to Poughkeepsie. I am asked about the new Bill Murray film (Lost in Translation), which I say I loved. I am predisposed to enjoy a story about an elderly fame victim suffering from accidie (Boredom with life.—Ed.) drawn toward the freshness and vitality of a young married woman in a foreign hotel. It’s Brief Encounter, of course, but I thought it was very finely acted by Bill, and the lovely Scarlett Johansson is an utter doll. In fact she is so lovely I checked whether she was downstairs in the hotel lobby, but sadly Bill has better luck in foreign hotels. …I remember him well from the early days of Saturday Night Live, when he came in to replace Chevy Chase. He improvised wonderfully for me as Bill Murray the K. in my 1977 mocumentary All You Need Is Cash, the story of the Prefab Four, the semi-legendary Rutles, which I made for NBC. When I was making the sequel (Can’t Buy Me Lunch) a couple of years ago, I found some of the original unused footage in an old warehouse in New Jersey and promptly used it. As an actor Bill was very fond of Richard Burton, but now he seems to have matured into Trevor Howard. A good choice. He has such a lived-in face, and how rare it is to see a decent wrinkle on the screen. Hollywood is into facial prejudice in a big way. Age denial is the national sport.
I ’m just trying to earn enough to get my daughter through college and my wife through collagen.
Someone once said of Americans that they think death is optional. Here in Canada it’s very refreshing to see older faces on television. Some of them are even allowed to read the news. I think you should never trust newsreaders who are wearing makeup and wigs. If they’re lying about their appearance, why would you trust what they say?