March 19, 2005
Had brunch with Paul and Tracy Lee Hutton at the Flapjack Deli (I know, terrible name, but a good breakfast place). We had a grand old time talking about how crazy most history buffs are, starting with ourselves, of course. All Tracy could do is nod her head and smile. Paul bought.
A funny encounter out at the Festival of the West yesterday. A guy dressed in full-Old-West regalia approached our tent just after the park opened and started yelling, "Mr. Bob Boze Bell, I have a bone to pick with you!" I couldn't tell if he was serious or not, so I stepped out to meet him and noticed he was carrying a recent issue of True West. "I count on you, Mr. Bob Boze Bell, to project a good, positive example to the youth of this nation about the Cowboy Way," he continued as he started to turn the pages of the magazine. I wondered what we had done to illicit such concern. "And what am I supposed to tell my kids about this?" he chirped as he turned the page. There, in all its behind glory, was the scandalous buns shot of Marshall Trimble and I (see below) which he had printed out and put in the magazine like it is a full-page feature. We laughed and laughed. He got me good.
Speaking of the buns boondoggle, here's what Jim Hatzell had to say: "You've got a lot of sand." Also, on Wednesday night as I waited for Paul to come down from his room at the Carefree Conference room, I stood in the lobby with my gray Stetson and fringe jacket. Paul said he overheard one door man say to another, looking at me, "That man has a good self image."
Possibly, but it doesn't always add up to nirvana. Sometimes I go too far and regret it. Like today. I was on a panel for Western Writers of America at Festival of the West with the screenwriter for The Shootist (Miles Swarthout), the screenwriter for The Honkers and Kingdom of the Spiders, and Paul Hutton, who writes documentaries and played the doctor who delivered OJ's baby in Naked Gun 2 1/2. We were there to talk about screenwriting and the making of documentaries and I got wound up and started using the F-bomb. So unnecessary, but I was talking about Hollywood, Honkytonk Sue and the obscenity of everything, and out it came. Felt bad. Need to clean up my act. It's just so un-Seneca.
Sprinkled on and off almost all day. Didn't seem to dent the crowds at Rawhide, although I imagine if it had been a pretty day the place would have even been more slammed. Mike Melrose's mom and dad were there from Charles City, Iowa. It was his dad's birthday today, so I gave Andy a True West visor cap. Andy introduced me to a minister from Forest City, Iowa and of course we had an old home week. He and his wife knew of the Hauans "from over Thompson way," and my uncle, Glenn Bell was at Waldorf College in Forest City at the same time he and his wife went there. It's a small world, but I wouldn't want to paint it (not original, but true).
Ben Gazzara is in Scottsdale playing Yogi Berra in the one-man-play Nobody Don't Like Yogi. The Republic printed a long list of the most familiar Yogi-isms. Here's my favorites:
• "I wish I had an answer to that because I'm tired of answering that question."
• "If people don't want to come out to the ballpark, nobody's going to stop 'em."
• "The future ain't what it used to be."
• "I just want to thank everyone who made this day necessary."
• "Half the lies they tell about me aren't true."
• "Always go to other people's funerals, otherwise they won’t come to yours."
• "I always thought that record would stand until it was broken."
• "It gets later early out there."
• "Nobody goes there anymore. It's too crowded."
Came home at four, watched the Cats on the tube. Yelled "Salim!" and "Assad!" so many times I was afraid the neighbors were going to report me as Al Quaida. Made spaghetti, went for a bike ride with the dogs.
Got to get up early tomorrow morning because Joel Klasky and I are going down to Tucson for the unveiling of the Wyatt Earp and Doc Holliday statues. Looking forward to it.
"I write about things I can't explain."
—Paul Haggis, who wrote the screenplay for Million Dollar Baby
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