I went to see the movie Hesher last night. There was a scene near the beginning of the movie where one of the main characters sat down in a diner with Natalie Portman and asked her about the time she went to Harvard and once met with the dean of the college and asked the dean if she could have a job and he said, “You can be president if you want.” Natalie Portman said she couldn’t be president because it was Saturday and on Sunday she was going to hang out with some guy named George. She was excited to hang out with George because he had a beard and owned a bunch of wizards who were good at doing back flips. At some point in the movie a guy began to kick a small boy with his heavy metal bass. I was reminded of the time my dad tried to teach me to play guitar, but my fingers struggled to do anything right so my dad bought me a dog.

After the movie I ate an almond and went to a record store. I asked the guy behind the counter if he had the new Natalie Portman album. He said, “I don’t think she has ever released an album.” I asked him why not. He shrugged. I asked him if he knew anyone who might know her. He said, “Maybe try okcupid.com.”

When I got home I went on okcupid.com and did a search for “Natalie Portman.” There were six girls in my area with the name “Natalie Portman.” I messaged the fourth girl and then went in the kitchen to look for some rice to eat. I found three grains of rice.

My friend Stanley Mosquito called and asked what I was doing. I told him I was looking for some rice. He asked if I was still looking for a job. I told him I was a freelance movie reviewer. Stanley Mosquito asked if I was getting paid. I told him I had not quite been paid. He said he was glad I wasn’t getting paid because he didn’t really like my movie reviews. He said, “I still remember that Will Ferrell review you wrote where instead of talking about the movie you talked about a pick-up basketball game you watched.” I was tired of being friends with Stanley Mosquito. I told him I had a doctor’s appointment in Bolivia. He said, “Okay, I’ll talk to you later.” I told Stanley Mosquito that it was unlikely that we would ever talk to each other again.

Sixteen years later Stanley Mosquito died of a heart attack. His wife called me and asked if I would write his biography. I told her I would even though I stopped trying to write biographies when I was thirty because I didn’t know how to write them. My first attempt to write Stanley Mosquito’s biography was an epic failure. It began, “Stanley Mosquito might have been born. If he was a human he was the type of human who made noises louder than other humans. In 1970, he found a pork bone in his father’s backyard. He told people it was a dinosaur bone. No one believed in him. Stanley Mosquito developed back pain as a result of no one believing in him. Two hundred years later he died of a heart attack.”

After I ate the three grains of rice I went on my computer and saw that the fourth Natalie Portman in my area had returned my message. She said, “My mom just got home and cooked me a bag of McDonalds food. Do you want to come over and eat some onion rings?” I looked at my wall calendar. I was supposed to meet someone downtown to discuss the general style trends of the entire history of white t-shirts. I was not sure what to do so I climbed into bed and took a nap.

When I woke up I was thirteen years old. My mother was dead. My dad was eating pills that made his beard grow bigger. My grandmother would die soon. Some guy with long hair and a van decided to stick his finger in my mashed potatoes and ask if I liked pussy.