Once upon a time I had a date with the guy that created Thirtysomething. The genius behind some of my all time favorite shows – I cried when that went off the air – thinks I’m funny. He was almost 20 years older than me, I was too flattered to notice.
Forget love, I wanted to talk about his work.
He was polite, but surely disappointed. I was silly and talkative. I was wearing jeans from the Gap, hoping my cute hair might do the rest. There were lots of good stories from him and yes yes yes, I let him know how much his shows meant to me. I even (insert gasp of shame here) mentioned a specific episode of My So Called Life that I practically knew by heart. He gave lots of credit to his great writer Winnie, who he said had a vivid imagination and a way with details. HELLO Mister TV Man. That’s me.
The audition wasn’t going well. In the back of my mind I hoped he would want me, for a job. But no, he didn’t even want me for a second drink.
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