Another week of waiting, of hope, of imaginings; of meeting Agent Diana. Every time I look at my email it could be her with good news. News like: Dear Mr. Proops, I’m sorry but we cannot represent you at .. Blah blah.
But this is a small skirmish – a little foray into Agentland; just a prod.
The daggers are coming out. Thirty agents are out there, doing their agent things, eating their agent food, living their agent lives.
I’m going to approach them all.
Feel anxious thinking about it. No, not anxiety – terror. Someone said failure didn’t bother him, but the fear of failure did. That’s what’s going on here.
I wish I’d written thrillers, or vampire books, or zombie books. If I wrote thrillers and got published, I could sell millions and get raised gold lettering on the front of the books. Then I could get film deals, and buy a nice place in Beverly Hills.
I could hang out with Johnny Depp! Think of that – I would go out to his house wearing a white linen suit and designer shades. I’d be with my goddess model/actress girlfriend, Tiffany.
We would slip into my sleek black Lamborghini and drive down winding roads, passing huge white houses. Evening sun would be in her hair. Then we would arrive at Mr. Depp’s house.
Me : “Hi Johnny – this is my girlfriend, Tiffany.”
Johnny: “Hi Tiffany. Good to see you again Dan. Nice suit.”
Me: “Thanks. Really excited that you’re starring in my new movie: Sunset on Machine Guns – it only took four months to write. I knew you’d be good for the part.”
Johnny: “Loved the script. Can’t wait to play Brad Steele; perfect part. I love the fact that he turns into a cyborg halfway through the film.”
Johnny: “And a car chase through a jungle in flying saucers, like the Star Wars film. Love the end, when I turn into a zombie, and then a vampire, and go round eating machine guns. Great idea. Drink?”
It’s a sullen day in Café Nero. Red London buses pull up in front of the windows every now and again. I think it’s going to rain. The sky is heavy and dark. There’s a pretty girl opposite; she’s listening to her IPhone and texting.
In my younger years, I would make an approach. I was good at that – when I was in my twenties. I did it mainly on the Underground.
It was like carpet-bombing. I would go up to a girl and say:
“Hi – wanna go for dinner.”
That was the line; never coffee or tea, always dinner.
My testosterone levels were altitudinous. My sex drive drove me around. There would be all sorts of reactions. Some good. Some bad.
I was waiting for a Tube at Earl’s Court. It was a rainy, god awful day.
She was short, mousy hair, black coat. I said the line. She looked up at me; her eyes widened. Then she ran, yes ran up the platform. I looked on as she scuttled off.
A week later, I went up to a girl at Marble Arch Underground. There were loads of people around. She was tall, blonde, black pencil skirt, white shirt, elegant slender neck, heels.
“Hi – wanna go for dinner.”
“Em, well I – I thought you were going to ask me the time.”
“Nope. Gotta watch. Where you off to?”
“I’ve got an interview. An advertising agency.”
Then she looked at her watch, and the train approached. She gave me her number, and we went for dinner in some nice Chinese place in Chinatown.
It was all going great until she started talking about star signs. I can take most things from a girl: depression, OCD, attitude, arrogance, a television addict. But star signs – what the fuck is all that about?
Anyway, she asked me if Scorpio was aligned with Taurus, or something like that. She went on and on about astrology. I tried to change the subject, but she had a canny knack of swinging it back. That was the end of that.
Anyway we had a nice dinner.
I’d like to finish this post with a few questions. Because I’ve read it’s good for the blog, as it increases interactivity, which helps with SEO.
1. Would you like to go for dinner with Johnny Depp?
2. Have you been to dinner with Johnny Depp?
3. Do you have a cute beardy thing like Johnny Depp?