Dear Catherine Keener,
I must return the sled you sent me. It was a very nice gesture and I appreciate the sincerity and “no-strings”
attached phrasing on the card, but I simply must refuse. I will certainly treasure the time you took me sledding and how we drank so much cocoa that our urine turned slightly brown, but, Catherine, that time has passed. And I can’t help, but think that there was a hidden attempt to tug at some nostalgic heartstrings with that gift. I’m not accusing you of anything, Catherine Keener, but I am drawing a boundary.
Reading the rest of your note, I DO appreciate that you have never tried to use my showbusiness connections to further your career.
I know that struggling as you have can not have been easy. Toiling in the massive shadow of the Matt Kaye juggernaut must have been maddening, knowing that with a snap of my Hollywood manicured fingers, I could have saved you from having to donate plasma weekly for noodle money. Trust me when I say, that you’ll appreciate stardom more once you’ve earned it for yourself.
Catherine, I did read “Ricky’s Rowboat” (I promised I would) and as far as screenplays go, it’s pretty good. You asked for my thoughts so here they are: 1. I don’t think a raccoon would feel that strongly about a watercraft. 2. I like the grandma/pancake/hairbrush scene. It’s poignant and feels real. That’s what movieing is all about. 3. Less wizards.
In general, it’s good. I’m actually going to pass it along to Morty because he knows some people at Pixar, no promises, but we’ll see what happens. I will call YOU. YOU don’t call me anymore. I can’t stress this enough. Yesterday, I had 6 messages from you. Six.
I don’t want to block your number in case you have a REAL emergency, but this many calls to see if I want to come over to see a new yoga position you’ve been working on is not a legitimate emergency. I realize Creeping Tree Frog is challenging and I’m impressed that your pelvis has developed that much flexibility, but one call is sufficient. Take a picture and post it on my myspace comments if you want.
Finally, my driver, Tyrese, found one of your mittens by the tire stack in my main garage. I hope you weren’t sneaking into the laundry room there to smell my dirty clothes again. That terrified the help last time. Please no more with the smelling things.
Hope you have a good Halloween. Your FRIEND (only),
Matt
