...apparently, I'm getting married then. And changing my last name to Frito.* Ah, if only I had been able to spend the last week touring the wine country of California with my failed-writer friend instead of having to go to Boston to search for housing. (Incidentally, my best pal Julia has apparently flown into town and I'm worried she might launch some man-stealing hijinks in an effort to keep me from my afternoon date with destiny.)
It will be fun having a Bastille Day anniversary. Maybe I should wear a beret to the courthouse. I hope Tonya wears one of those fetching little scarves like French women do. (Don't worry, I won't go into some longer disquisition on French women--or, as I guess we are still supposed to call them, Freedom women--but let me say that I left Paris being very pro-scarf.)
Incidentally, speaking of marriage, the other night I watched the movie Bride & Prejudice, which got two thumbs up from Ebert & Roeper, as final, conclusive proof that those guys can be bribed. The device of having a title that is a play on another title is of course common, especially when the new work is based on/related to the new work, and then the pun usually indicates what is distinct about the new work relative to the old. G.I. Jane, you know, is going to have a female in the supersoldier role; Fahrenheit 911 might play about themes of freedom and government manipulation but be about 9/11. Meanwhile, Bride & Prejudice: it's like Pride and Prejudice, only it's about finding a husband!
* DreamWorks has already purchased the rights to Meet the Fritos, a uproarious romp where my bride and I are the wacky, karaoke-loving neighbors of Ben Stiller and Teri Polo who are called into the rescue the couple when a infant-liberation commando operation led by Robert DiNiro goes hilariously awry.