This Has To Stop Right Now Because I Don’t Want To Do It Anymore


This has to stop right now because I don’t want to do it anymore. You know what I’d rather do than direct another film? Be a delouser. Comb through hair and pick out nits. Which I’m very good at. Roman had lice. I found the whole process mesmerizing. And while I was doing it I realized how happy I was. Nothing I had done in a decade had made me as happy as delousing Roman’s nappy hair. I could open a shop in Marin. I could charge parents one hundred bucks a pop for a delousing. And they would pay it, too. I’d rather be covered in bugs than have to direct another moment of this miserable show, stuck in this miserable town, with all you miserable kids. But now you. You’re not miserable Diane. You’re a princess. I don’t know how you put up with everyone. Especially Nic. The next time Nic bothers you you let me know. Are you listening to me? Let me know. Because Nic has to be, you know, it’s not right, the way he speaks to you, it’s just not right. But see he thinks he’s being cute. That’s just his way. He thinks he can shock you into loving him. Not loving. That’s not the right word for what it is Nic is feeling for you. Or maybe it is. I don’t know. All I know is that if I was young I would be in love with you too. I mean you really are the most beautiful girl in the world, you know that, right? Right now I swear to God, Diane, I’ll leave my Eleanor, right now, for you, we can just get on a plane and go to Venice for a few weeks, and then we’ll come back and I’ll get a place for the two of us, somewhere in L.A., I still have a lot of money, don’t believe what you hear, okay? I socked some of it away, and we can open a delousing salon, or not you, just me, and you can still do the acting thing, I don’t care. If you still want to see that Bongiovi guy on the side that’s fine with me too, I understand, I’m old and fat and hairy and I haven’t made a film worth a shit in forever, but I can’t help it. When I look at you I want to, I don’t know, I want to punch a hole in my chest and rip out my heart and give it you. Let’s do it, let’s really do it, right now, let’s get the fuck out of Omaha, because this place, it, it, it, it stinks, I hate it, no one serves a sabayon worth a damn, it’s awful. Oh, wait, who just came in? Who’s that? Is that Matt? Is he ready? He’s ready? Is everyone ready? Okay, well, then places everyone.

Thomas Struth, Tokyo, 1986

Shinju-ku (Skyscrapers), Tokyo 1986 1986 by Thomas Struth born 1954

It had been almost six months since Toda disappeared, and his family had finally begun to accept that they would never see him again. Then, one day, an ordinary day devoid of portent, the front door opened and in walked Toda, only he looked different and spoke with a German accent. Gone was his spiky black hair, replaced by a blonde Prince Valiant hairdo. Gone was his clean, baby smooth face, as it was now covered in a thick, blonde beard. Toda sat on a tatami mat in the kitchen, uttered several gnomic pronouncements which his family did not comprehend (“I put on shoes so that I can walk; I make food so that I can eat; I sing so that I can be heard; and I read so that I can be alone”), drank a cup of tea, and retired to his bedroom. He locked the door and did not come out for another six months. When he did come out, though, he resembled the Toda of old. “Please do not ask what happened to me, because I do not have any answers for you,” Toda said to his family one night as they sat and watched a game show. Toda’s family granted his request and never asked him any questions about his disappearance, return, and semi-disappearance upon his return. They were just happy to have him back. They were happy to be a family once again.