hubbell. hubbell gardner. you are so many men. we all have one of you in our lives. that intellectual lothario. that dashing deviant. why must you taunt us so?

we, the k-k-k-katies of the world. our sex scenes are all about face, hair and nails. we swallow sleeping pills with a casual, spastic toss of our fabulously straight-ironed hair. a bell-bottomed flower print pants-suit is the perfect uniform for beach volleyball, and you simply can’t escape our brisket.

this one time, i was drunk at the opening of the bryant park film festival - you know, when they show films on a big screen in the park - and they were playing ‘the way we were.’ i was obnoxious - screaming lines at the screen before the characters spoke them. “i want… oh i want… i want us to love eachother!” yelling to babs that she was too good for him! forget him while you can!

it was a mess.

but alas, i always find my hubbell. someone blonde, in character at least. and who writes stupid books that wish they could be films. and yes, someone who always runs off with some pinch-faced bore in the end. but that’s what us big-nosed geniuses always get, eh?

and you’ve always been that nice gentile boy?

oh, hubbell. how you tease.