Yesterday brought news of director Amir Bar-Lev’s insanity brought about by the Grateful Dead, but before a semi-defunct, choogly-type band drove him bonkers, he made at least one great documentary. My Kid Could Paint That is about a child prodigy, a very young painter; coincidentally her father was a failed artist. She began producing work far beyond her age; the paintings weren’t all that good, but: hey, a four-year-old painted them!

The young painter’s work sold for hundreds of thousands of dollars, and attracted the attention of the press, and also a documentarian who asked, “May I watch her paint?”

You’ll be shocked at what happens next.

I saw this a few years back and loved it; it’s three bucks from YouTube or you could be some filthy pirate and steal hummus out of Amir Bar-Lev’s mouth.

I don’t think he’s Israeli.

What would make you think that?

His Wikipedia page.

Those can’t be trusted.

He has an American accent.

Those can be faked. Maybe he’s Mossad.

You want him to be Israeli because it’s funnier.

He was going to have an Uzi.

Yeah, no. California kid.

Northern or Southern?

Berkeley.

Wait, okay, yeah. Now his name makes sense. It’s not “the son of Lev” in Hebrew, it’s that hippie thing where a guy named Barrison and a gal named Levinson come up with a new amalgam name when the guru marries them.

Could be.

I’m gonna–

You’re gonna pretend he’s Israeli, anyway.

–pretend that he’s…yeah.

Writing is about choices.

And coffee.