So C. and I took a drive tonight to see Mona Lisa, the big local buzz.  Two miles out of town there’s a “Wreck Ahead” sign and we’re all backed up.  Yep, someone wiped out, flipped into the ditch right across the street from the 60-foot da Vinci.  It’s going to be a serious hazard, I can see already.  They’ve got the shoulder roped off so art lovers won’t stop and gawk on the skinny strip of gravel.  Anyway … we got a picture of Mona, and a picture of the bedazzled and upended driver, from out the windows of a moving minivan.  Wheeee!

The fun of writing, the really fun part, of course, is making stuff up.  There are two books batting around in this house by the sea — one, a treatise on dating, the other on marriage, both tragicomic farce.  “Revolutionary Road with sight gags!” I said of mine … “Jane Austen with sight gags!” she said of hers.   

Anyway, we have just tonight killed off an annoying character with a Giacometti to the head, and a fake at that.  We dropped it from an upper floor of a bald billionaire’s townhouse.  (Graham Greene did the same thing, not with a Giacometti, though, a pig.)  Drop.  Smash.  Dead.  Fun. 

Gosford Park meets Erica Jong … or something.  Not really.  Not even close.  Who’s checking?

What are you doing today?