1. Change of Plan: My much-anticipated interview today fell through because of miscommunication, but here’s hoping for a re-sked soon. Note to self: always confirm and re-confirm everything with everyone, via as many communication vehicles as possible, as many times as possible.
2. Distractions: I’m in the Coral Tree Cafe in Encino, attempting to start NaNoWriMoing. Terribly distracting, though, is the actor sitting across the room that I can’t place. He is black with a goatee but I cannot remember anything he’s been in, so IMDB is useless. I don’t even know why I care. You can’t do anything in the Valley without running into some B-lister. He is sitting with someone that looks like a television writer or reality TV producer: second-day scruff, bed-head, striped shirt, slouchy “cool” jeans, Chucks, face generically handsome and so forgettable you can’t even remember it when you’re looking right at him. Next to me is a lady who looks like a screenwriter - awkward-length khakis, clashing blue shirt, messy hair, very nice blue-framed glasses. Writers always have nice glasses, or should. The clincher on that one is that she’s actually looking at a screenplay on her laptop, so I’m not really projecting so much.
3. Reading: Review copy (for Pars Arts) of Sholeh Wolpé’s translated Forough Farrokhzad poems, entitled Sin. Amazing, amazing poems, and, I think, a nice translation. Hard to judge the translation though, as I am only halfway through page one of my book of Persian Forough poems. Incidentally, every time I think of Forough Farrokhzad or read her poems, I want to start writing poetry again. I wrote some good ones in college, sorta. Maybe I’ll make one of the characters of my NaNoWriMoing a poet. Yes, yes, I think I will.
4. Rhyme: Also, whenever I think of Forough Farrokhzad I think of my mom, who told great stories when I was little. She always ended them with this saying that I got a real kick out of (thanks to my early, ongoing, and admittedly slightly unhealthy but clearly genetic obsession with rhyme): “Gheseye man doorugh-e, zan-e Majid Forough-e.” That means: “My story was a lie, Forough is Majid’s wife,” because the stories were made up, and our family friend Majid’s wife is Forough.
5. When I was a kid, my mom also told a freaking sweet series of stories about a girl named Natalie, who had a clever donkey named… Patalie. Patalie always insisted on doing everything Natalie did, like buying a backpack for the first day of school or going to the public swimming pool or playing cards with the neighborhood kids. I know, your childhood is totally jealous of my childhood right now.
6. Remember pogs? I’m trying to recall how, exactly, we played with them. Something about slammers and losing pogs because of slammers, and lots of fights in the school yard.
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