I am a screenwriter. Andy and I met at Kinko's this afternoon, picked up the latest version of our script, formatted with no widdowes and orphans, and walked it up to the Writers' Guild of America, which sits atop a BMW dealership on the West Side. We registered our screenplay, so now we can not only send it to producers and agents, we can talk about it. Andy's an amazing salesman, and already has a spreadsheet made of prospective agents, producers, and stars whom we might grace with our script. Not only that, for lr lunch, we went to the Greek Kitchen, on 10th and 58th, for a delicious celebratory Greek meal of lamb kabob (me), chicken kabob (Andy) and spanikopita (shared). You can spend as much as you want on food in New York, but you can also get a full meal of lamb for $12.95, which to me is a better find than the best meal at any price. Which is not to say that if we sell the screenplay, I'll back down from my demand of a celebratory meal at Craftsteak.

Afterwards, we repaired to Andy's Fifth Avenue apartment, which he's giving up in two weeks to move to Queens, to open the celebratory libation we bought last weekend but didn't drink. We haven't quite come up with our next project yet, but I think we're far enough along to b.s. Bob Weinstein, whom Andy's sure will take a meeting with us. You go, girl!

TV/MA/L/S/V--gov code for "The Riches", my new favorite show after "House" and "The Amazing Race" (whose status is definitely endangered after the elimination of Rob and Amber. I love me some Rob and Ambah, sigh). Just in case anyone thought my ain true love, TV, has taken a back seat to theater now that I'm in New York.