This morning I had a long-overdue eye checkup at Kaiser. The doctor was a little annoyed at my indecision over which line of letters was better (apparently I contradicted myself more than once; the stress of those little dark rooms and forced intimacy makes me nervous). Then he had me read a line of text.

"As I walked along, gazing about..." I read.

"Excellent! Do you know how many folks say 'grazing' or 'glazing'? People don't graze! And, they don't know what glazing even is!"

"Isn't it something you do to a cake instead of frosting?" I asked.

"Well, yes, that's one definition. Do you know the other?"

"Something to do with glass making?" I ventured.

The doctor danced around at my brilliance, and was even happier when I knew what a "haberdasher" was (I told him he should be nice to people, as "haberdasher" seemed an awfully archaic word to expect the general populace to know).

"Well, I read a lot. And i write." I told him.

MISTAKE!

Guess whose eye doctor just happened to be working on "The Great American Novel"? Oh, lucky me. I got to hear the plot (based on his family's history, of course; "My novel is going to be a saga" he said, "I have the outline already done!"). I got to try very very hard not to roll my eyes as he told me in all earnestness, "I'll need my novel published within three to four years after I write it, of course. I want Meryl Streep to play the lead in the movie version. I love her; she's my favorite actress."

I did not tell him how very unlikely publication was, let alone selling the movie rights, let alone it getting made, let alone him having any control over casting. He was really sweet, and he still had yet to use the dreadful glaucoma machine on me, so I wanted him on my side, you know?

I did tell him that he didn't have to quit his day job to write full time on his novel (he said a "friend" told him he'd never write the novel while he had a full-time job), though I agreed it wasn't easy. At this point, since I was leaving soon, I mentioned Tim, and since it seemed harmless enough, mentioned his Nebula nomination last year. After I told him what that was exactly, he said, "Oh! Well! Steven Speilberg will probably want to direct that movie, then!"

I blinked and studied his face for irony (I finally had my glasses on and could focus on his face), but there was none. I finally said, "Dr. ____, if Steven Spielberg wants to make Tim's story into a movie, well, I guess both Tim and I get to quit our day jobs; we're not holding our breath."

Then I wished him well and went to deal with getting my contact prescription filled.

The subject line of this entry was Tim's response to this story, which was so funny I had to use it.

Sigh.