Just before I drifted unconscious last night, I recalled that I had neglected to write down an idea I had that afternoon. Since my mind works like I’m like Guy Pearce in Memento, I knew I had to write the idea down now or risk losing it forever. But my computer was switched off and my notebook stuffed in my bag for tomorrow. I grabbed the closest writing implement I could find: my cell phone.
Wow, modern technology! I could use the power of text messaging to type this idea and send it off in a letter to myself! Nevermind that it took longer to navigate through the menus, “thumb” in my e-mail address and idea, and send the message than it would have taken to write it with pen and paper. That would have meant getting out of bed.
Morning came, and as expected I had no recollection of these events. I got to work, turned on the computer, and saw that I had one new e-mail message waiting for me. I opened it:
Date: Thu, 20 May 2004 1:04am
CHANEL: I shaved my pubes for this?
Hitchcock told Truffaut a story like this, in which the “brilliant idea” a man has before bed turns out to be “boy meets girl” in the morning. I had no illusions of being brilliant, and I ended up with a pornographic riff on the title of a country music album (which has already been riffed upon with a Cledus T. Judd parody).
Just one more step in the playwriting process that you probably don’t want demystified.
PS: Who’s Chanel? You’ll find out….