The Fox lot, circa 1950
I broke several land speed records across the desert flats of Death Valley today, trying to get back to Santa Monica for the first massive reading of the entire Fox/Naked Angels evening. Stunningly, I was on time, probably the first time that has happened since prep school.
Tessa and I walked into Fox’s packed reading room, actually a boardroom that had the faint whiff of Important Decisions imbued in the walls. Truly this was a chamber where careers were made and destroyed, where the Simpsons were greenlit, George Lucas was canonized, and champagne was uncorked after the first airing of “American Idol.”
After listening to all seven short plays, I found myself a little lost inside each one, picturing my teenage psyche craving next week’s episode. Sure, it is so easy and depressingly ironic to make fun of sitcoms now, but they occupy fully 68% of my cognitive memory regardless (right next to constellations and the French subjunctive). I saw more episodes of “Flo” than you can imagine. “Too Close for Comfort,” “Carter Country,” “Phyllis”