Dear producers who were at the Napa party trying to get Scott Wolf to develop a project with you:
You were dudes. I skipped up to your conversation because you were all dudes, and in my experience we all like a little gender diversity, and three people of one sex will usually appreciate a fourth of the opposite one.
I didn’t know you were talking to Scott Wolf, nor that you were, with an unbroken wall of speech reminiscent of the tsunami in Deep Impact, attempting to get him to develop a project with you. By the time I realized this it was too late and I had been accepted into the circle, having introduced myself as “just randomly saying hello,” which is usually a generous and inviting icebreaker but which sounded in this situation like the apologetic mumblings of someone whose Scott Wolf-related intentions had missed some key quality-control procedures on the way to being executed.
You may wonder why I did not at this point flit away as bizarrely as I had arrived. The answer is: that sounds awful. I needed to hang on, wait graciously for your business to conclude, and eke out a moment of even the most casual human connection with just ONE of you in order to redeem what would otherwise be an experience of pure mortification.
Scott Wolf, for your part in all of this you were very polite.
So thank you for your forbearance, producers who were at the Napa party trying to get Scott Wolf to develop a project with you, or actually maybe just the one who eventually asked me about my movie and not the other one.