The Miramax film based on my life is finally being released, now that Miramax is falling apart on the inside. They let the film sit on a shelf for a couple of years while they waited for another national disaster so they could silently release it to the theaters unnoticed, like they did Glitter. I guess things have been too good, since the mama company is making them release it within the next year or they’re going to have to pay me out the money for the contract I signed.

I tried to get one of the Weinsteins on the phone at Miramax, but they had already left the company. I did get a Steinwein on the phone, but he said he worked in the kitchen and didn’t know shit. He had seen my movie, though, he was part of the focus group they showed it to. He was the focus group, actually. He thought it needed more ketchup.

The next guy I got on the phone knew more. He said they were going to take the film to Cannes next year. Or was it Cans, the strip club down the block? I’ve been to one of them and can’t remember which. They said they had a lot of hope it would win the audience choice award, the Itty Bitty Titty Twister statue, but they were worried my tits were too big.

I know enough about it to know it was a troubled production from day one. After I signed away all the rights to my life, they said there was no way the production couldn’t make money. But I showed them. They went $200 million over budget. It was the worst script William Goldman ever turned in, a studio insider said. It may have been Goldie Willman, now that I think of it… I met her at Cans.

And casting me was no easy task. They asked Freddy Fender to do it, and he punched them out. The director said he acted too well anyway, no one who knew me would believe the performance. They managed to cast Hal Linden as my dad, which is a much easier role to play since no one knows what he looks like. For me, they eventually went with Robin Williams in severe make-up. He said he had to get into the make-up chair earlier each morning than when he was filming Mrs. Doubtfire. I didn’t like being kicked out of the make-up chair when I was in a deep sleep, either, and they wouldn’t hear any excuses about how I had locked myself out of my apartment, which didn’t exist, but they didn’t know that.

I hear the director couldn’t decide if it were a comedy or a tragedy, so he made a tragicomedy, even though the studio says he wasn’t trying to. Think Doogie Howser, M.D., mixed with a little School House Rock. My movie’s nothing like that, but I love to think about stuff like that. A 16-year-old doctor who goes around telling people how bills become laws in song. That’s the best idea I’ve ever had, and my mom agrees.

If the movie hits big, though, don’t expect me to change. I’ll basically be myself, except much richer and probably well-bathed. So yeah, I suppose I’ll change significantly. I can’t wait. By this time next year, hopefully, everyone will know the name Taylor Hutch. They decided not to go with Alamo Cruise—“too Jewish,” said Steinwein.