I wake to the drone of an airplane engine and the feeling of something warm dripping down my chin.

That’s the first sentence of James Frey’s groundbreaking memoir, ‘A Million Little Pieces.’ I have no idea at this point if Frey has ever heard an airplane or felt anything dripping down his chin, of course, since, as he pointed out on ‘Larry King Live’ last night, memoirs and fiction are the exact same thing. In fact, memoirs are less reality-based than fiction, because if you submit a work of fiction to publishers, they’ll reject it if it doesn’t ring true, but with a memoir that feels false, you can be all, like, “Hey! This is my life!!” and then you will make a zillion dollars.

Anyway, Frey’s book is now the talk of Hollywood, or at least the talk of the Coffee Bean on Hillhurst, where this morning I heard one guy on the patio say to another guy, “Have you read this book about the dude on crack?” He had. I suspect that by next week, everyone will have forgotten this little scandal. Note, however, that according to the Publishers’ Lunch email newsletter, Frey’s next book will be about LA: “a multi-voiced, multi-threaded story of contemporary Los Angeles.” So we’ll be able to mock him again when it comes out in 2007.