Ever since I started blogging, I have become a bit of a celebrity. I get many opportunities to meet with powerful people, and attend outrageous celebrity parties. After one such party (don’t worry, I survived), I was approached by an elderly man, who I assumed wanted to assault me over things I had written. Fortunately, he has friendly, as I was in no shape to fight a senior-citizen (I never am. I’m much too weak from years of drinking).
He was of average height, but held a little extra weight on his frame, as though he had spent the last 60 years drinking scotch and performing manual labor. His wispy black-greying hair twitched as he walked, and his arms stayed taut at his sides, giving him a bizarre, pendulum like gait. He rumbled over beside me, and rested his forearm on my shoulder, leaning into me with all his weight, so that I nearly fell over.
Noticing this, he abruptly threw his other arm around me, and pulled my body into a bear-hug. We now stood face-to-face, in an awfully awkward embrace. His belly was crushing my chest, his smoky, alcohol laced breath nearly suffocating me. I know he was staring into my eyes, but mine were clenched shut due to the pain. After what seemed like an eternity, he released me from his grasp. I let out a gasping sigh of relief, and slumped slightly as my rib cage radiated with pain.
“I’m Ivan Reitman… are you drunk or something?”
“I should ask you the same question. You nearly strangled me with your gut!”
Ivan began slowly pacing towards me, which was entirely unnecessary, since we were only 3 feet apart, and I could still smell his sweat.
“You write on that shitty website, right?”
I immediately jumped into crisis-control mode. I began apologizing for nearly every post I had ever made, except for the one about sandwiches, as I couldn’t imagine how he could be offended by that.
“Oh, no, no, no. When I said shitty, I meant that I like it. Shitty is a good thing in Hollywood. Have you seen the movies I direct? SHITTY!”
“Well, I really liked Stripes and Ghostbusters…” I hesitated and looked to the stars as I tried to think of another movie he had made. “OH, you made that superhero one, with the Kill Bill girl, and the lesser talented Wilson brother!”
“Luke Wilson.” He corrected. “Was that the movie where I finger-blasted his ass?”
“I don’t remember that being in the movie…”
“Maybe I’m thinking of a different movie. It was Fathers’ Day! Did you see that one?”
“Yeah, it was, umm… shitty.”
“Damn straight. Now, let’s get down to business. I didn’t only come over here to crush your ribs and spread my scent. I want you to interview me, as promotion for my new film, No Strings Attached. You interested?”
I was entirely shocked that he would ask me, but I somehow stuttered my way to accepting. We agreed to meet at my house in two days, and I would publish the exclusive interview within two days.
There was one more condition, I had to post the interview unedited. He insisted that I do not paraphrase him, or cut any questions or answers, as “my words are like the gospel, man. You have to record every word. Future generations are gonna worship this stuff.” Ivan somehow had gotten more drunk since I had started talking to him. Could his body have somehow reabsorbed his booze sweat?
With that, he was gone. I have no idea how a man as drunk as he could have disappeared so quickly (it probably had something to do with how drunk I was), but I knew we would meet again, hopefully with less booze-stench.
Check back this week for Part 2, which will include the entire, unedited interview with one of the most mythical film directors of our generation!