More About Glamour
Often, when people found out what I did for a living, they’d gush, “You wrote scripts in Hollywood? Paramount? Fox? Universal? That is so glamorous.” To which I’d respond silently, “Glamorous? What the hell did I miss out on?” These people should only have been a fly on the wall in my office pounding out draft after draft, rewrite after rewrite, knuckling to the whims of producers, studio executives, actors, nine o’clock in the morning, ten p.m., three a.m. Glamorous? One day I was in Home Depot and walked past the ductwork department. Hmm, I said as I studied the shelves filled with galvanized steel pipes, goose-neck roof caps, flexible dryer vents. Filling my shopping cart with miscellaneous parts and pieces, I hurried home, built a wood skeleton, and fiddled with my collection of ductwork until, lo and behold, I’d assembled a pretty darned accurate Mini-Me, sitting at a desk in front of my dusty old Olympia Deluxe typewriter, forlorn, drained, indifferent to the bronze plaque tacked onto the back of my wooden neck, “Gary Kott. Self-Portrait. Writing Scripts In Hollywood.” A robot. Me. Oh, so glamorous.
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