Thu - July 29, 2004
Chelsea
"Maybe in a month or two. Maybe when things are
different for me. Maybe when things are different for
you."
Meeting with JC Spink is being rescheduled. It's cool. I know we'll connect. I know it will go well. I'm not worried. This just gives me more time to work up new ideas for all concerned. Made some progress today. Will make more tomorrow. Goal is three fleshed stories by the end of the weekend for a Monday e-mail.
Called Matthew. He's hanging out with Kacy.
Called Drew. He's over at Laura's.
Curt called me to say he was going over to Regina's.
I hung out alone. Drove around for awhile just listening to music.
"Is anything different these days?"
Wonder how Danielle's doing tonight?
Meeting with JC Spink is being rescheduled. It's cool. I know we'll connect. I know it will go well. I'm not worried. This just gives me more time to work up new ideas for all concerned. Made some progress today. Will make more tomorrow. Goal is three fleshed stories by the end of the weekend for a Monday e-mail.
Called Matthew. He's hanging out with Kacy.
Called Drew. He's over at Laura's.
Curt called me to say he was going over to Regina's.
I hung out alone. Drove around for awhile just listening to music.
"Is anything different these days?"
Wonder how Danielle's doing tonight?
Posted at 12:58 AM Read More
Tue - July 27, 2004
Sway
I somehow managed to overdose on B Vitamins today.
One B-50 superdose and a bottle of B-Vitamin enriched "Vitamin Water" (I live in
L.A., cut me some fucking slack) and I was about to pass out. Turns out I had
something like 4,000% of the US RDA of B Vitamins today. Brain filled with
chatter. Couldn't concentrate, could barely think at all. Never mind Frank,
the creepy homeless dude I 'met' in a nicotine patch dream last night who tried
to steal all my guitars and computers and hold them for ransom until I woke
up.
It's now almost ten and I can finally focus enough to take a stab at getting some work done. I've abandoned the "Old spy vs. Young spy" idea that my agents and managers liked. Instead, I'm going to flesh out the female "Bourne" thing I found over the weekend and see if I can do something fresh and cool with the UFO movie -- because they are right, it does play out in a predictable "STARMAN" kind of way once you get out of the first act.
After I made this decision I spent about ten minutes yelling at my good-for-nothing-idiot manager(s). Alison called to see what I was thinking after yesterday's call. I told her the truth. I told her that I thought the whole point of running my ideas up the flagpole was to find something that had an actual chance of selling. She said that, yes, that was the idea. Then I said that if that's the case, why on earth would they want me to write a movie about some fifty year old guy with a twenty five year old daughter getting chased by Colin Farrell or someone? We would associate with the wrong character. We'd all be rooting for the bad guy -- the young, hot dude with the big gun and the fast car. No question who we'd want to win. Why would I write a movie for a demographic that goes to the movies so infrequently their numbers don't even track?
Alison told me not to write it. I said, "Don't worry. I won't. Instead, I'll come up with a couple of other things and try to find a new angle on the UFO movie. And I'll do it all quickly." She said, "Fine." Then she went into what she thought was wrong with the UFO movie and threw out the same freakin' note she and her partner Tracie have used on every single project I've ever done "It just feels like two different movies to me."
I told her that she says that about everything. She said, "Maybe it's just a problem you have." I told that I didn't think so considering that she and Tracie are the only people in my entire career who've ever said that. I said, "I don't even know what note means!"
She didn't want to argue and neither did I. I didn't bother to tell her that I'm meeting with J.C. Spink tomorrow afternoon about management at Benderspink. It's nothing personal. It's purely business. Benderspink has reach, authority, the make hit movies. I can't remember the last time I saw Alison and Tracie in the Trades associated with a deal or a sale. I think I saw J.C.'s name in Variety last Friday.
Another day has passed on "Operation Danielle Weeks". About two and a half weeks from now I will call to 'check in'.
This girl Curt's been seeing now has her own toothbrush in our bathroom. He's done for.
It's now almost ten and I can finally focus enough to take a stab at getting some work done. I've abandoned the "Old spy vs. Young spy" idea that my agents and managers liked. Instead, I'm going to flesh out the female "Bourne" thing I found over the weekend and see if I can do something fresh and cool with the UFO movie -- because they are right, it does play out in a predictable "STARMAN" kind of way once you get out of the first act.
After I made this decision I spent about ten minutes yelling at my good-for-nothing-idiot manager(s). Alison called to see what I was thinking after yesterday's call. I told her the truth. I told her that I thought the whole point of running my ideas up the flagpole was to find something that had an actual chance of selling. She said that, yes, that was the idea. Then I said that if that's the case, why on earth would they want me to write a movie about some fifty year old guy with a twenty five year old daughter getting chased by Colin Farrell or someone? We would associate with the wrong character. We'd all be rooting for the bad guy -- the young, hot dude with the big gun and the fast car. No question who we'd want to win. Why would I write a movie for a demographic that goes to the movies so infrequently their numbers don't even track?
Alison told me not to write it. I said, "Don't worry. I won't. Instead, I'll come up with a couple of other things and try to find a new angle on the UFO movie. And I'll do it all quickly." She said, "Fine." Then she went into what she thought was wrong with the UFO movie and threw out the same freakin' note she and her partner Tracie have used on every single project I've ever done "It just feels like two different movies to me."
I told her that she says that about everything. She said, "Maybe it's just a problem you have." I told that I didn't think so considering that she and Tracie are the only people in my entire career who've ever said that. I said, "I don't even know what note means!"
She didn't want to argue and neither did I. I didn't bother to tell her that I'm meeting with J.C. Spink tomorrow afternoon about management at Benderspink. It's nothing personal. It's purely business. Benderspink has reach, authority, the make hit movies. I can't remember the last time I saw Alison and Tracie in the Trades associated with a deal or a sale. I think I saw J.C.'s name in Variety last Friday.
Another day has passed on "Operation Danielle Weeks". About two and a half weeks from now I will call to 'check in'.
This girl Curt's been seeing now has her own toothbrush in our bathroom. He's done for.
Posted at 10:03 PM Read More
Mon - July 26, 2004
Conference Call
This call was rescheduled a number of times. It was
supposed to be
last
Monday but was then moved to Tuesday at 11 AM (which is probably a good thing,
because last Monday I hadn't yet made my 'no negativity' decision and was
seriously bummed out and the call would have sucked anyway). Then it was moved
to Friday at 11 AM. At 11 AM on Friday, it was moved to 3:30 Friday afternoon
and at 3:15 Friday afternoon it was moved to today at 3 -- and then again to
3:30 -- when it actually did take
place.
So, I now have the new mandate from my ass kicking agents at Broder with regard to the new spec. Gonna hafta do some serious thinking and plotting as the idea they like the most was one of the more half-baked ones -- and over the weekend I came up with something else that could be sort of a female "BOURNE" movie and I wanna flesh that one out, too.
For the moment, the plan is to flesh out both ideas, trade e-mails with my team for a week or so and move forward from there. Just as well. Everyone's on vacation in August anyway and I can't try to sell the thing until September. So, it's off to work.
Oh, and as part of this whole new positive thinking thing:
On Friday night I had a little chat with the universe. I said, "Universe, I'll do my very best to kick ass every day and tackle whatever you put in front of me. I will make you a deal right now to do this every day for the rest of my life. All I ask is that you make that girl a part of that life." I know. Cheesy -- but not disingenuous. So then I go out to dinner with friends. When I come home, my apartment is totally fucking flooded! Water leaking in through the dining room ceiling, a pipe bursts in the shower, a shower knob blows out and like a ton of water is cascading everywhere. I'm up until three in the morning trying to contain the damage. I do actually manage to put the knob back -- fighting crazy water pressure with nothing but brute force and no tools -- and stop the major flood. As no one from my building's management company calls me back until the next morning, the smaller leak inside the walls is allowed to run amok for about 13 hours. Part of the ceiling caves in. The chandelier is gushing water. It is very, very bad. But, aside from a suede jacket I got at Barney's, nothing (of ours) is really ruined.
Guess the Universe decided to test my bona fides.
Knowing that, I'm gonna throw this one out, too. Positive energy all around, please:
Benderspink will take me on as a management client.
My next spec will sell for an ass-load of cash.
I will get to date Danielle for real.
I will buy a house and a Porsche Cayenne and be nauseatingly happy.
So, I now have the new mandate from my ass kicking agents at Broder with regard to the new spec. Gonna hafta do some serious thinking and plotting as the idea they like the most was one of the more half-baked ones -- and over the weekend I came up with something else that could be sort of a female "BOURNE" movie and I wanna flesh that one out, too.
For the moment, the plan is to flesh out both ideas, trade e-mails with my team for a week or so and move forward from there. Just as well. Everyone's on vacation in August anyway and I can't try to sell the thing until September. So, it's off to work.
Oh, and as part of this whole new positive thinking thing:
On Friday night I had a little chat with the universe. I said, "Universe, I'll do my very best to kick ass every day and tackle whatever you put in front of me. I will make you a deal right now to do this every day for the rest of my life. All I ask is that you make that girl a part of that life." I know. Cheesy -- but not disingenuous. So then I go out to dinner with friends. When I come home, my apartment is totally fucking flooded! Water leaking in through the dining room ceiling, a pipe bursts in the shower, a shower knob blows out and like a ton of water is cascading everywhere. I'm up until three in the morning trying to contain the damage. I do actually manage to put the knob back -- fighting crazy water pressure with nothing but brute force and no tools -- and stop the major flood. As no one from my building's management company calls me back until the next morning, the smaller leak inside the walls is allowed to run amok for about 13 hours. Part of the ceiling caves in. The chandelier is gushing water. It is very, very bad. But, aside from a suede jacket I got at Barney's, nothing (of ours) is really ruined.
Guess the Universe decided to test my bona fides.
Knowing that, I'm gonna throw this one out, too. Positive energy all around, please:
Benderspink will take me on as a management client.
My next spec will sell for an ass-load of cash.
I will get to date Danielle for real.
I will buy a house and a Porsche Cayenne and be nauseatingly happy.
Posted at 10:37 PM Read More
Thu - July 22, 2004
Therapy
So, after thinking and bitching and blah blah blah,
I've come to a decision. I'm not going to give up. I'm not going to obsess.
I'm not going to speculate, or throw negative energy at this. I know that this
girl impacted me and I remember what she said. I forget that I make an
impression, too, and that she probably also remembers what I said to her. She's
coming at it from a different place, right now, but I said some honest and very
sweet things. Girls don't forget that shit. So I'm going to go about my
business. I'm going to write my stupid carnivorous locust movie and finish the
new spec for my agents. I'm going to try to wrangle a new manager. Mid-August,
I'm going to call her. Just to check in. I'm going to take it from there. I
forget that I'm a smart, sweet, sensitive, attractive, successful guy. That a
lot of women would consider me a good catch -- and as my career prospects keep
rising, I will become an even better catch. I'm not the only one who would be
lucky should this work out. So I'm going to stay present in the moment and
present in her mind and keep on it until I win her heart. And I finally found
a copy of "Notting Hill".
Posted at 12:55 PM Read More
Wed - July 21, 2004
Recovering the Satellites
So, I'm hanging out alone. Torturing myself with
cheesy pop songs and repeat viewings of "SAY ANYTHING". I think video stores in
L.A. are conspiring against me. I've been to several to find a copy of "NOTTING
HILL". That's the one I can really torture myself with. Every copy is checked
out. Trust me when I say, the search
will
continue.
I don't want to be at my shitty soul-sucking day job right now. Although I don't know why I care. Aside from spurts of pain I can't feel anything and I'm pretty sure my soul is already on life support.
All of my friends think I'm nuts. That I'm just obsessing about Danielle because she's the "girl of the moment". I disagree. They all tell me a barely know her. Some of them think her whole "emotionally unavailable" bit was just a line to get rid of me. They're probably right and I'm just a sucker. And they're also right in that I don't know her very well at all. Time spent and mentioned in previous posts being it. So, trying to separate what might be a pure projection on my part from what I really, actually know about her based on conversations, not speculation, conjecture or hearsay, I decide to make a list. Doing this, the list comes out at two full single-spaced pages.
Considering that I've only dated four girls since my divorce, the sheer number of items on this list comes in second only to my ex-wife. The fact that I actually like and/or agree with everything on her list has to mean something. Doesn't it? I mean other than that I'm totally obsessing about a girl who has made it clear that she is totally unavailable. At least to me. At least for now.
I set an alarm on my cell phone to call her in a few weeks. The only way I will ignore this alarm is if: A) Somehow I'm not thinking about her anymore. B) I've met someone else -- someone I'm even more excited about. C) She calls me before then.
I figure C is highly unlikely. I actually figure A & B are pretty fucking unlikely too. Although, I admit, this thing actually working out the way I want it to seems the most unlikely of all.
Shit.
I don't want to be at my shitty soul-sucking day job right now. Although I don't know why I care. Aside from spurts of pain I can't feel anything and I'm pretty sure my soul is already on life support.
All of my friends think I'm nuts. That I'm just obsessing about Danielle because she's the "girl of the moment". I disagree. They all tell me a barely know her. Some of them think her whole "emotionally unavailable" bit was just a line to get rid of me. They're probably right and I'm just a sucker. And they're also right in that I don't know her very well at all. Time spent and mentioned in previous posts being it. So, trying to separate what might be a pure projection on my part from what I really, actually know about her based on conversations, not speculation, conjecture or hearsay, I decide to make a list. Doing this, the list comes out at two full single-spaced pages.
Considering that I've only dated four girls since my divorce, the sheer number of items on this list comes in second only to my ex-wife. The fact that I actually like and/or agree with everything on her list has to mean something. Doesn't it? I mean other than that I'm totally obsessing about a girl who has made it clear that she is totally unavailable. At least to me. At least for now.
I set an alarm on my cell phone to call her in a few weeks. The only way I will ignore this alarm is if: A) Somehow I'm not thinking about her anymore. B) I've met someone else -- someone I'm even more excited about. C) She calls me before then.
I figure C is highly unlikely. I actually figure A & B are pretty fucking unlikely too. Although, I admit, this thing actually working out the way I want it to seems the most unlikely of all.
Shit.
Posted at 02:16 PM Read More
Tue - July 20, 2004
July 18th and Everything After
God has a sick sense of
humor.
Sunday, Danielle and I have plans to make plans -- perhaps even for Sunday night. So, I don't make any other plans for the evening, and go about my day. My old friend Brian and I have a standing Sunday coffee appointment where we talk work, girls, bitch and moan and consume mass quantities of caffeine. Somewhere around 11:30 on Sunday morning, I call Danielle -- knowing I will get voicemail -- and leave the requisite message asking her to call me so we can make plans. It is the one and only time I've ever called when I did not leave my number.
A few hours pass. No call. I go to lunch with my friend Sasha. I take as long as I can to eat. No call. The afternoon wears on. Still no call. I'm becoming convinced that she forgave me for the drunk dial yesterday but has since changed her mind. She now thinks I'm a fucking asshole. Of course, I realize this makes no sense but I'm getting worried.
By six o'clock, I'm back at the Coffee Bean for my fifth coffee of the day and I still haven't heard from Danielle. I'm severely bummed. I don't know the half of it. I get an Ice Blended and window shop up and down both sides of Robertson, from Beverly all the way to 3rd and back -- and then up and down Beverly past all the design shops there. I walk slow. I manage to kill almost 45 minutes doing this. My phone does not ring.
It is now officially too late to really think there will be any sort of date on this night. Right this moment, I'll settle for a phone call -- although I really was looking forward to seeing her and had considered several options: movies, shabu-shabu or fondue, gelato, all of the above. I wondered if on the second date I might actually rate a kiss?
At about 7:15, after sitting in my car listening to music and staring at my phone, I decide to go for a drive. Next thing I know, I'm racing down Sunset Blvd. toward the beach blasting vintage U2 and glancing at my phone when not negotiating winding roads at high speed. A million things are going through my mind. None of them particularly good. None of them even close to what was actually about to happen -- which wasn't nearly as bad and yet also a million times worse.
I end up turning around on the PCH just above the Colony as the sun really starts to set. It's almost 8:15 now and I'm becoming pretty hopeless. The return trip down Sunset isn't satisfying. The vintage U2 is just making me sad. As I cruise back into Hollywood and stop for a burrito at my local Baja Fresh, I call her again. Fuck it. I say that it's like 8:30 and I guess I misunderstood -- I thought we had plans to make plans. I ask her to call me. I say I'll be up late.
I go home. Now in a total funk I try to find something to do. It's the weekend, so I'm not going to hear from my agents. As a result, I have nothing to write. I quit smoking a week ago, stopped drinking on Thursday and have been taking B-12 vitamins for several days. Between that new regimen and the ten-thousand gallons of coffee I've consume so far today, I'm going out of my fucking mind with boredom!
I try watching one movie, get about ten minutes into it and change discs. Repeat. I try to screw around on the internet, but the guy whose WiFi connection I pirate isn't on-line at the moment so I have no signal. It's now creeping up on 10 PM and my phone is silent. Fidgety and annoyed, I grab a little notebook and a pen, throw on a jacket and set out for...yet another coffee.
This time I order de-caf and start writing, journaling really, about my experiences with Danielle -- about how I feel -- about what happened in Vegas and what's happened since. I parse every recollected word for missed meaning. I find none.
At 11:30, after I've given up all hope of hearing from her -- at least for today -- the phone rings. It's her. I'll give her this -- just about anyone else I know would've waited and called the next day.
So we talk. It still comes easy. I apologize again for the drunken phone call and, wanting to be honest, explain what happened that night -- or what I remember of what happened. I tell her it had never happened before. That it scared the shit out of me. That I was making sure it never happened again. We talked a little bit about our shadow-selves and how they don't like to exist outside of a certain "comfort zone", even if that comfort zone isn't a good place. She forgives me again. Then she slices open my chest and carves out my heart.
I stand there, helpless, as the blood courses out of my shredded aorta and spurts all over my clothes and the sidewalk below. I listen and wonder how I'm still standing. How the human body only circulates something like seven pints of blood at any given time and I've surely lost more than that. But I listen and the words come. Not so easy this time. From either of us. She tells me that she isn't over her ex-boyfriend yet. Not at all. She thought she was. She isn't. She doesn't want to lead me on. She didn't know this was going to happen. She never would've gone out with me if she had known. It was an honest mistake -- but old feelings are still there. He wants nothing to do with her but she can't let go. Her body won't let her rebound she says. She can't even bring herself to kiss a guy. She wishes it were done, but it isn't. She tells me how wonderful she thinks I am. She tells me that she's old enough to know that the, "We could just be friends for now" thing is bullshit. How I would have a different intention and she would know it and that would make things weird. She's right. I don't want to just be her friend. I tell her how excited I was to get to know her. I felt a connection with her. How I've always been a gut thinker and my gut tells me that she is someone I could get into a great deal of trouble with. I tell her that our first date was quite possibly the best first date of my life. She tells me I'm sweet and great and smart and funny (the adult version of "You're a great guy...but...). And, as she's talking, I'm trying to figure out how I'll reassemble the bits of cardiac muscle dangling out of my chest cavity. Will superglue really stick to skin? After all, it was designed as a battlefield surgical adhesive. She tells me she's so sorry. She likes me. She wishes she was over it. Ready to see someone new. See me. She tells me that I really am the only guy she's given her number to. The only guy she's gone out with since the breakup. The only guy she's wanted to. I tell her I'm crushed. She just needs time. She can't make any promises. I ask her to keep my number.
I say, "When you're ready, I mean really ready, to start something new, I would hope that you'd call me."
She tells me that she hopes she would call me, too. I tell her I'm serious. That she's made quite an impression. She won't be easy to forget. I ask her to call me anyway -- even if it's to tell me she isn't interested. That she's decided to go with Bachelor Number Two instead. I just want to hear from her. Someday.
She says she will call me. Sometime. Even if it's just to say, "Hi". We hang up. I get into my car and turn up the stereo. The tears come hot and wet down my face as I wonder why I have to be the one feeling this way. I gun the engine into Hollywood.
I wonder if I'll ever hear from her again?
Sunday, Danielle and I have plans to make plans -- perhaps even for Sunday night. So, I don't make any other plans for the evening, and go about my day. My old friend Brian and I have a standing Sunday coffee appointment where we talk work, girls, bitch and moan and consume mass quantities of caffeine. Somewhere around 11:30 on Sunday morning, I call Danielle -- knowing I will get voicemail -- and leave the requisite message asking her to call me so we can make plans. It is the one and only time I've ever called when I did not leave my number.
A few hours pass. No call. I go to lunch with my friend Sasha. I take as long as I can to eat. No call. The afternoon wears on. Still no call. I'm becoming convinced that she forgave me for the drunk dial yesterday but has since changed her mind. She now thinks I'm a fucking asshole. Of course, I realize this makes no sense but I'm getting worried.
By six o'clock, I'm back at the Coffee Bean for my fifth coffee of the day and I still haven't heard from Danielle. I'm severely bummed. I don't know the half of it. I get an Ice Blended and window shop up and down both sides of Robertson, from Beverly all the way to 3rd and back -- and then up and down Beverly past all the design shops there. I walk slow. I manage to kill almost 45 minutes doing this. My phone does not ring.
It is now officially too late to really think there will be any sort of date on this night. Right this moment, I'll settle for a phone call -- although I really was looking forward to seeing her and had considered several options: movies, shabu-shabu or fondue, gelato, all of the above. I wondered if on the second date I might actually rate a kiss?
At about 7:15, after sitting in my car listening to music and staring at my phone, I decide to go for a drive. Next thing I know, I'm racing down Sunset Blvd. toward the beach blasting vintage U2 and glancing at my phone when not negotiating winding roads at high speed. A million things are going through my mind. None of them particularly good. None of them even close to what was actually about to happen -- which wasn't nearly as bad and yet also a million times worse.
I end up turning around on the PCH just above the Colony as the sun really starts to set. It's almost 8:15 now and I'm becoming pretty hopeless. The return trip down Sunset isn't satisfying. The vintage U2 is just making me sad. As I cruise back into Hollywood and stop for a burrito at my local Baja Fresh, I call her again. Fuck it. I say that it's like 8:30 and I guess I misunderstood -- I thought we had plans to make plans. I ask her to call me. I say I'll be up late.
I go home. Now in a total funk I try to find something to do. It's the weekend, so I'm not going to hear from my agents. As a result, I have nothing to write. I quit smoking a week ago, stopped drinking on Thursday and have been taking B-12 vitamins for several days. Between that new regimen and the ten-thousand gallons of coffee I've consume so far today, I'm going out of my fucking mind with boredom!
I try watching one movie, get about ten minutes into it and change discs. Repeat. I try to screw around on the internet, but the guy whose WiFi connection I pirate isn't on-line at the moment so I have no signal. It's now creeping up on 10 PM and my phone is silent. Fidgety and annoyed, I grab a little notebook and a pen, throw on a jacket and set out for...yet another coffee.
This time I order de-caf and start writing, journaling really, about my experiences with Danielle -- about how I feel -- about what happened in Vegas and what's happened since. I parse every recollected word for missed meaning. I find none.
At 11:30, after I've given up all hope of hearing from her -- at least for today -- the phone rings. It's her. I'll give her this -- just about anyone else I know would've waited and called the next day.
So we talk. It still comes easy. I apologize again for the drunken phone call and, wanting to be honest, explain what happened that night -- or what I remember of what happened. I tell her it had never happened before. That it scared the shit out of me. That I was making sure it never happened again. We talked a little bit about our shadow-selves and how they don't like to exist outside of a certain "comfort zone", even if that comfort zone isn't a good place. She forgives me again. Then she slices open my chest and carves out my heart.
I stand there, helpless, as the blood courses out of my shredded aorta and spurts all over my clothes and the sidewalk below. I listen and wonder how I'm still standing. How the human body only circulates something like seven pints of blood at any given time and I've surely lost more than that. But I listen and the words come. Not so easy this time. From either of us. She tells me that she isn't over her ex-boyfriend yet. Not at all. She thought she was. She isn't. She doesn't want to lead me on. She didn't know this was going to happen. She never would've gone out with me if she had known. It was an honest mistake -- but old feelings are still there. He wants nothing to do with her but she can't let go. Her body won't let her rebound she says. She can't even bring herself to kiss a guy. She wishes it were done, but it isn't. She tells me how wonderful she thinks I am. She tells me that she's old enough to know that the, "We could just be friends for now" thing is bullshit. How I would have a different intention and she would know it and that would make things weird. She's right. I don't want to just be her friend. I tell her how excited I was to get to know her. I felt a connection with her. How I've always been a gut thinker and my gut tells me that she is someone I could get into a great deal of trouble with. I tell her that our first date was quite possibly the best first date of my life. She tells me I'm sweet and great and smart and funny (the adult version of "You're a great guy...but...). And, as she's talking, I'm trying to figure out how I'll reassemble the bits of cardiac muscle dangling out of my chest cavity. Will superglue really stick to skin? After all, it was designed as a battlefield surgical adhesive. She tells me she's so sorry. She likes me. She wishes she was over it. Ready to see someone new. See me. She tells me that I really am the only guy she's given her number to. The only guy she's gone out with since the breakup. The only guy she's wanted to. I tell her I'm crushed. She just needs time. She can't make any promises. I ask her to keep my number.
I say, "When you're ready, I mean really ready, to start something new, I would hope that you'd call me."
She tells me that she hopes she would call me, too. I tell her I'm serious. That she's made quite an impression. She won't be easy to forget. I ask her to call me anyway -- even if it's to tell me she isn't interested. That she's decided to go with Bachelor Number Two instead. I just want to hear from her. Someday.
She says she will call me. Sometime. Even if it's just to say, "Hi". We hang up. I get into my car and turn up the stereo. The tears come hot and wet down my face as I wonder why I have to be the one feeling this way. I gun the engine into Hollywood.
I wonder if I'll ever hear from her again?
Posted at 05:53 PM Read More
Dirty Vegas
Okay, because we've all heard the expression, "What
happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas," I'm just gonna say this much and you can
leave the details to your
imaginations:
I managed to lose my per diem at the Black Jack table and get myself kicked out of Ghost Bar by four very large gentlemen in black suits. I went quietly. At some point during the night, I 'drunk dialed' Danielle. I have no memory of doing this. Oh, and somewhere there is a videotape of at least part of this nightmare which I have asked be erased or burned.
Luckily, I got ahold of Danielle on Saturday after apologizing via voicemail for the Drunk Dial and was immediately forgiven. No big deal. No damage done. Thank God. Everything was going so well, I would be severely pissed off if my hard-charging sub-conscious decided to fuck me up while intoxicated. Make no mistake -- it did try. It also tried to get my ass kicked by several people at Ghost Bar -- but again -- use your imaginations.
So, Danielle and I talk for a few minutes on Saturday while I'm waiting on the terrace of this historic mansion in Hollywood for a wedding to begin. She's got a birthday party to go to. We leave it at "Let's talk tomorrow."
I spend about six hours at the wedding. I'm sure there is a point at which Cranberry juice can become toxic, however, after an entire night of drinking nothing but Cranberry and Pelligrino, I failed to reach it. No more booze for me -- at least not for a good long while. I don't ever want to be in the position I found myself in Thursday night, again. I don't give a shit about the jerkoffs at Ghost Bar. I don't give a shit about Vegas. The whole ugly fucking town can suck it. However, I do care when I get out of control to the point that my subconscious takes over and starts trying to royally fuck up the important things in my life.
So I leave the wedding, wired and happy. Meet my friend Drew at our favorite diner. Have a Diet Coke while he eats a burger. There is another party I could go to, but, instead, I decide to call it a night.
I managed to lose my per diem at the Black Jack table and get myself kicked out of Ghost Bar by four very large gentlemen in black suits. I went quietly. At some point during the night, I 'drunk dialed' Danielle. I have no memory of doing this. Oh, and somewhere there is a videotape of at least part of this nightmare which I have asked be erased or burned.
Luckily, I got ahold of Danielle on Saturday after apologizing via voicemail for the Drunk Dial and was immediately forgiven. No big deal. No damage done. Thank God. Everything was going so well, I would be severely pissed off if my hard-charging sub-conscious decided to fuck me up while intoxicated. Make no mistake -- it did try. It also tried to get my ass kicked by several people at Ghost Bar -- but again -- use your imaginations.
So, Danielle and I talk for a few minutes on Saturday while I'm waiting on the terrace of this historic mansion in Hollywood for a wedding to begin. She's got a birthday party to go to. We leave it at "Let's talk tomorrow."
I spend about six hours at the wedding. I'm sure there is a point at which Cranberry juice can become toxic, however, after an entire night of drinking nothing but Cranberry and Pelligrino, I failed to reach it. No more booze for me -- at least not for a good long while. I don't ever want to be in the position I found myself in Thursday night, again. I don't give a shit about the jerkoffs at Ghost Bar. I don't give a shit about Vegas. The whole ugly fucking town can suck it. However, I do care when I get out of control to the point that my subconscious takes over and starts trying to royally fuck up the important things in my life.
So I leave the wedding, wired and happy. Meet my friend Drew at our favorite diner. Have a Diet Coke while he eats a burger. There is another party I could go to, but, instead, I decide to call it a night.
Posted at 05:26 PM Read More
Thu - July 15, 2004
Therapy
So, my roommate, Curt, and I are hanging out the
Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf at Beverly and Robertson before my therapy appointment
and this very old woman walks by. We watch her pass. It's gotta be fucking
hard to be old in a city like Los Angeles. So, it seems that a couple of dumb
fucking assholes from the City of Beverly Hills have laid a hose across the
sidewalk. A big hose. And so, we're watching this old woman walk toward the
corner and the next thing we know -- BAM! She's on the ground. Lands on her
face. So we run over and she's bleeding and fucked up. Tripped over the hose.
So some girl calls 911 and we get her ice and move an umbrella to shade her and
wait for the paramedics to arrive and then they do, so I leave to go to see my
shrink and in the car I call the City of Beverly Hills and yell at a couple of
people from the Department of Public Works and tell about the woman and the hose
and the ambulance. When I drove by later, the hose was
gone.
I go to therapy. The appointment was early today. We spend most of the time talking again about Danielle and how I'm feeling having not heard from her and I know it's irrational and that there's absolutely no real reason to think I won't hear from her, but I'm still afraid that I won't. And I tell my therapist that both Curt and my friend Drew think I need to wait until at least the weekend before I try calling her and my shrink says that's nice, but that this is really about me and what I want to do and I say I'd kinda like to call her. I mean, what if she lost my number or something really stupid?
So, I leave therapy and call Danielle and leave a message and go off to get ready for my very important meeting with my big bad-ass feature agents at Broder. About ten minutes before I have to go into the meeting...Danielle calls. We talk for a few minutes. I tell her I was about to walk into a meeting and she wants to let me go and so I tell her that, actually, I was hoping she'd call and I would've even taken the call during the meeting -- I just would've had to call her back. But then I have to get to my agents' office so she says to call her tonight or tomorrow morning or something and I say okay and we hang up (and these are silly details that no one else gives a shit about but it's my blog so there!). So I'm feeling like I own the fucking world and I go into the agency and I have my meeting and it lasts almost two hours and I pitch the shit out of about eight ideas and I OWN THE FUCKING WORLD. And my agents are blown away! Love what I've done. One of my agents, Justin, just sits there shaking his head and saying, "Wow." They all have to read the outlines I left with them before we decide on the next spec but we're off to a great start and we'll have a conference call on monday and get down to it. I tell them that my mission in life is to develop the idea for the rest of July and then spend August writing and then we go sell the fucker in September and they're all on board and tell me to have a great weekend and we'll talk.
So, I leave and I'm soaring and I have to leave for Vegas tomorrow and I feel amazing and the world is wonderful and this is how I would like to feel ALL of the time. And I've got a huge grin splashed across my face as I'm driving and Stevie Wonder is still singing and I know I'm going to get to talk to Danielle again and it feels great and my agents love my work and that feels great and right now life is just really fucking great.
I take a little nap. I meet my ex-wife and her boyfriend for dinner and a drink and then I head home and call Danielle from the car and get her voicemail and leave a message saying to call me later if she wants to -- I'll be up until midnight-ish. But I don't know if she'll call that late, which is cool because I know we'll talk tomorrow at the latest. So I get home and pop in "An Officer and a Gentleman" and start watching it and the phone rings and it's her and so I go outside and we end up having another great conversation for like 45 minutes and because I'm leaving town for two days, we decide we'll talk again on Saturday and figure out some kind of a plan.
So, basically, I get to get up in the morning, grab a coffee, go to Vegas, win some cash and have a great time, only to come home for another date with this totally fucking cool girl.
And now it's officially late and I'm beat (pitching at that level for two hours is exhausting) so I'm gonna crash.
Tomorrow:
Two guys, a rented SUV, a night in Vegas, a million dollar guitar and a trunk full of illegal substances. What could possibly go wrong?
But seriously, off to Vegas. Details when I return.
I go to therapy. The appointment was early today. We spend most of the time talking again about Danielle and how I'm feeling having not heard from her and I know it's irrational and that there's absolutely no real reason to think I won't hear from her, but I'm still afraid that I won't. And I tell my therapist that both Curt and my friend Drew think I need to wait until at least the weekend before I try calling her and my shrink says that's nice, but that this is really about me and what I want to do and I say I'd kinda like to call her. I mean, what if she lost my number or something really stupid?
So, I leave therapy and call Danielle and leave a message and go off to get ready for my very important meeting with my big bad-ass feature agents at Broder. About ten minutes before I have to go into the meeting...Danielle calls. We talk for a few minutes. I tell her I was about to walk into a meeting and she wants to let me go and so I tell her that, actually, I was hoping she'd call and I would've even taken the call during the meeting -- I just would've had to call her back. But then I have to get to my agents' office so she says to call her tonight or tomorrow morning or something and I say okay and we hang up (and these are silly details that no one else gives a shit about but it's my blog so there!). So I'm feeling like I own the fucking world and I go into the agency and I have my meeting and it lasts almost two hours and I pitch the shit out of about eight ideas and I OWN THE FUCKING WORLD. And my agents are blown away! Love what I've done. One of my agents, Justin, just sits there shaking his head and saying, "Wow." They all have to read the outlines I left with them before we decide on the next spec but we're off to a great start and we'll have a conference call on monday and get down to it. I tell them that my mission in life is to develop the idea for the rest of July and then spend August writing and then we go sell the fucker in September and they're all on board and tell me to have a great weekend and we'll talk.
So, I leave and I'm soaring and I have to leave for Vegas tomorrow and I feel amazing and the world is wonderful and this is how I would like to feel ALL of the time. And I've got a huge grin splashed across my face as I'm driving and Stevie Wonder is still singing and I know I'm going to get to talk to Danielle again and it feels great and my agents love my work and that feels great and right now life is just really fucking great.
I take a little nap. I meet my ex-wife and her boyfriend for dinner and a drink and then I head home and call Danielle from the car and get her voicemail and leave a message saying to call me later if she wants to -- I'll be up until midnight-ish. But I don't know if she'll call that late, which is cool because I know we'll talk tomorrow at the latest. So I get home and pop in "An Officer and a Gentleman" and start watching it and the phone rings and it's her and so I go outside and we end up having another great conversation for like 45 minutes and because I'm leaving town for two days, we decide we'll talk again on Saturday and figure out some kind of a plan.
So, basically, I get to get up in the morning, grab a coffee, go to Vegas, win some cash and have a great time, only to come home for another date with this totally fucking cool girl.
And now it's officially late and I'm beat (pitching at that level for two hours is exhausting) so I'm gonna crash.
Tomorrow:
Two guys, a rented SUV, a night in Vegas, a million dollar guitar and a trunk full of illegal substances. What could possibly go wrong?
But seriously, off to Vegas. Details when I return.
Posted at 12:25 AM Read More
Tue - July 13, 2004
Monday
Felt like I owned the world most of the day. Drove
around listening to Stevie Wonder sing about how, he believes, when he falls in
love, this time it will be forever. Waited for the phone to ring. Rented a
suite at The Palm (Hard Rock was booked), arranged for an Expedition. I hear
the Ghost Bar on top of The Palm is the shit. Barry's already thinking about
what substances he can fuck himself up on in addition to the unopened bottle of
Makers Mark that I KNOW is going to end up in the truck. (And if this girl
doesn't call me, I'm gonna fucking well join him in as much abuse as I possibly
can.)
So, Jen, the girl I was seeing, comes into my office and she knows I'm going to Vegas and she may have heard talk about Danielle (the other girl) floating through the back room or whatever and so, she comes in says, "So, um, if you get a hooker or something in Vegas, I really don't wanna hear about it. I just don't wanna know. Okay?"
And so I say, "What? Do you really think I would get a hooker in Vegas?" And she just looks at me and her eyes are watering and she says, "Well, I mean, I don't know what's going on in your life right now, but if you do anything like that, I just don't wanna hear about it here. I don't want to know."
So I say, "Okay, I'm gonna ask again. Do you really think that I would get a hooker in Vegas?" And she says, "No." And then tells me that she had a really bad weekend. That she hasn't cried about me/us in weeks and this weekend she couldn't help herself. And it's flattering and kind of sweet that she's so attached, but I don't feel the same way and I feel bad but there isn't anything I can do about it. So, I just tell her I won't be getting any hookers in Vegas -- that my goal for Vegas is to gamble my per-diem into enough cash to meet some bills. I tell her I hope she feels better -- cause I sure as hell don't want to give her a sense of hope. I mean, she is a great girl -- but not the girl for me. I'd love to be her friend. Just her friend.
Finished outlining a rough but totally pitchable version of the UFO movie. I know it absolutely KICKS FUCKING ASS. I think I can get my agents excited about it. (I know, repeating myself)
Spent the night shooting a spoof version of a VH1 BEHIND THE MUSIC interview segment for a friend's one-man comedy show.
She didn't call. (Although I realize she just got back yesterday or something and she's probably gotta settle in. Fuck man, I hope she calls. I'm strung out and jonesing here.)
Did I mention that she didn't call?
So, Jen, the girl I was seeing, comes into my office and she knows I'm going to Vegas and she may have heard talk about Danielle (the other girl) floating through the back room or whatever and so, she comes in says, "So, um, if you get a hooker or something in Vegas, I really don't wanna hear about it. I just don't wanna know. Okay?"
And so I say, "What? Do you really think I would get a hooker in Vegas?" And she just looks at me and her eyes are watering and she says, "Well, I mean, I don't know what's going on in your life right now, but if you do anything like that, I just don't wanna hear about it here. I don't want to know."
So I say, "Okay, I'm gonna ask again. Do you really think that I would get a hooker in Vegas?" And she says, "No." And then tells me that she had a really bad weekend. That she hasn't cried about me/us in weeks and this weekend she couldn't help herself. And it's flattering and kind of sweet that she's so attached, but I don't feel the same way and I feel bad but there isn't anything I can do about it. So, I just tell her I won't be getting any hookers in Vegas -- that my goal for Vegas is to gamble my per-diem into enough cash to meet some bills. I tell her I hope she feels better -- cause I sure as hell don't want to give her a sense of hope. I mean, she is a great girl -- but not the girl for me. I'd love to be her friend. Just her friend.
Finished outlining a rough but totally pitchable version of the UFO movie. I know it absolutely KICKS FUCKING ASS. I think I can get my agents excited about it. (I know, repeating myself)
Spent the night shooting a spoof version of a VH1 BEHIND THE MUSIC interview segment for a friend's one-man comedy show.
She didn't call. (Although I realize she just got back yesterday or something and she's probably gotta settle in. Fuck man, I hope she calls. I'm strung out and jonesing here.)
Did I mention that she didn't call?
Posted at 12:45 AM Read More
The UFO Meeting
Had the meeting with the UFO/Sci-Fi/B-Movie people.
It went well as predicted. I've been given my next assignment but don't have to
start working on it (or collecting money for it) for about four or five weeks.
Means the month's gonna be pretty tight, but I'll manage. There's apparently
another meeting taking place between Jeff, the UFO producer and the Sci-Fi
Network people next week. The outcome of that is supposed to be a slate of six
more concepts ready for development and Jeff and TJ want to throw as many of
them at me as possible. So, I might get another gig before the August job
starts, or I might not. As usual lately, long-term prospects are great. Short
term things are tight - but it's
fine.
And I don't even really care because I'm totally fucking bummed out. Still haven't heard from Danielle. I mean, it's only been two days and the girl's got a life and there are a million reasons she might not have called yet that have absolutely nothing to do with me or her interest in me. Of course, my gut tells me I'm never gonna hear from her again and sadly, my gut is usually right. It'd be nice if, just for once, it was wrong. As I've said a million times, I really would like to see her again.
This sucks. And I've got my big agent meeting tomorrow. Ready for it. Don't care. I'll kick ass and they'll sign off on an idea and I'll go write it and they'll sell it for a million dollars and I'll still be hoping I get a fucking call from Danielle.
Thank God I have my therapy appointment early tomorrow. I'm sure my therapist will love a second week of me obsessing about a silly girl.
And I don't even really care because I'm totally fucking bummed out. Still haven't heard from Danielle. I mean, it's only been two days and the girl's got a life and there are a million reasons she might not have called yet that have absolutely nothing to do with me or her interest in me. Of course, my gut tells me I'm never gonna hear from her again and sadly, my gut is usually right. It'd be nice if, just for once, it was wrong. As I've said a million times, I really would like to see her again.
This sucks. And I've got my big agent meeting tomorrow. Ready for it. Don't care. I'll kick ass and they'll sign off on an idea and I'll go write it and they'll sell it for a million dollars and I'll still be hoping I get a fucking call from Danielle.
Thank God I have my therapy appointment early tomorrow. I'm sure my therapist will love a second week of me obsessing about a silly girl.
Posted at 12:44 AM Read More
Sun - July 11, 2004
A Whole Fucking Month??
So I finished with the MANTICORE rewrite about a
million years ago. So long ago, now, in fact, that the movie finishes
production this week or next over in Bulgaria. That film started shooting, I
went on a fabulous date with a girl I met at a friend's birthday party [NOTE: It
occurs to me that I totally forgot to mention (incidental detail as it may be)
that I broke up with that girl I'd been seeing -- the one who was really
understanding about my work needs -- the day after Memorial Day.], got myself
sick and still managed to crank out another treatment for the Sci-Fi/UFO people
through my cold medicine/fever-induced fog. Don't think they're approving that
treatment (Note to self: do not write treatments while under the influence of
cold medicine) but I'm meeting with them this Tuesday to go over new ideas. I
have a deal memo guaranteeing me another movie -- we just need to figure out
what that movie is so I can start writing and thus, start collecting cash! Oh,
and after nearly a month of stalling, I finally have about a half-dozen cool
ideas for my feature agents. Meeting with them on Wednesday. Hopefully they
will respond to one of these fuckers so I can go off and write it. If I get
started now, I could be ready with a new spec by Fall. Lost a summer and a
pitching season for TV, but may stand a chance at a deal if it's the RIGHT idea.
Yes?
So, I know no one reading this (is anyone actually reading this? Does anyone even know this thing exists?) really gives a shit -- but -- here's the thing. So, late in June (days after my last posting actually), my housemate had a birthday party at this little neighborhood bar we frequent a little too frequently and he invited a shitload of people -- and among them was this girl he had recently shot a PowerBar commercial with. So I overhear her saying that she's from Tucson and, well, I'm from Tucson, so I speak up and tell her this and so we get to talking. And then she says that she went to Utterback Junior High School and I actually, also, went to Utterback Junior High School -- even though we're talking about a century ago. So this girl and I hit it off and talk all night and she's smart and funny (actually an actress/comedian...or is that comedienne?) never mind a fucking GODDESS and so we start playing around with my cell phone which is neat and tiny and has lots of pretty colored lights on it (shiny...pretty...oooh....) and in the process I manage to oh-so-subtly (yeah, uh, right) ask her for her phone number and she gives it to me. Which is cool enough -- so I lean over later and -- having learned that she is 'newly single' I ask her if she's too newly-single for me to actually call her and she says, "I gave you my number...and you should also know that it's the first number I've given out. That should tell you something."
So I'm not an idiot. I call her the next day. We trade calls, finally get in touch, make plans to go out on an actual proper date the following Monday. We talk again on Monday and I pick her up at 7-ish. So we go out, see Fahrenheit 9/11 at the ArcLight in Hollywood and then, after trying a handful of restaurants that don't quite fit the bill, we end up at Jones for a late dinner and drinks. End up getting to the restaurant at about 10:30 -- order drinks, order dinner, chat, chat and chat. Totally hitting it off in a huge way (I think). So much so that, although the waitress keeps coming over and apologizing to us, we don't actually realize that it takes a full TWO HOURS for our dinner to show up. And we don't even care. Having a great time. Just talking. I think there's a connection. God I hope so. So, not only do we get along really well, have similar goals and a similar sense of humor (although she is a lot funnier) but it turns out we're also "Astrologically Compatible" (She's a Cancer, I'm a Scorpio). Dinner comes, we pick at it, talk some more and finally at 1:45 in the morning, we're both talking and yawning and apologizing because she certainly isn't boring me and she says that I'm not boring her. She tells me the date's going really great and God I hope it is. So we finally extricate ourselves from our red vinyl booth as it closes in on 2 AM after a couple of drinkies each. I take her home (thank God it's right around the corner), she tells me she's going out of town in a day or so for a couple of weeks (which I actually already knew) and says she'll call me when she gets back. We say goodnight. I go home. Wake up the following morning with a raging fever and a deadline. I don't give a shit and I can't get this girl out of my mind.
Time passes, eventually my illness, which I only half-jokingly think was West Nile, also passes. Sci-Fi passes on my treatment and my usual Wednesday Therapy session rolls around. I spend the entire hour talking about this girl. I can't stop thinking about her. I've spent a sum total of 9 hours with her. I barely know her at all -- and I'm just fucking stupified. I REALLY REALLY want to see her again. My Therapist keeps asking me, "Don't you wanna talk about this meeting you have with your agents? Are you nervous about pitching your ideas?" And I say, "No. All that shit's completely under control. I'm really just fucked up about this girl who I felt some kind of amazing connection with and hope to God it was mutual." So we talk about the girl for an hour and I leave and I wait and I kill another weekend and now it's late-ish on a Sunday night and she was supposed to get back into town today or tonight and now the real waiting to see if she'll actually call me again begins and I'm going out of my fucking skull and have completely abandoned any type of punctuation! Phew.
And so, anyway, I'm sitting here listening to Stevie Wonder's "I Believe When I Fall In Love" on constant loop on iTunes and blogging in this fucking time-suck of a thing and hoping to jesus she'll call me (begging, praying actually). And I don't know if she will call, but God I want her to and if she doesn't I'll be fucking devastated. The ideas for my agents are solid and they're ready. The meeting at UFO will go well and I will hopefully book the next job in a week or so. I have to go to Vegas on Thursday for the night but will be back late on Friday...
God damn fucking hell shit. I really hope she calls.
I should stop drinking diet soda at this hour (I already tried to quit smoking this week). I should go to bed. I really shouldn't be sitting here listening to this fucking Stevie Wonder song and getting all sapped out over a girl I barely know -- but have, I think, a great connection with and--- see, I'm doing it again. Completely obsessing. And I kinda like it!
Yep. Bed. I. Must. Go. To. Bed.
Wait...is that my cell phone?
So, I know no one reading this (is anyone actually reading this? Does anyone even know this thing exists?) really gives a shit -- but -- here's the thing. So, late in June (days after my last posting actually), my housemate had a birthday party at this little neighborhood bar we frequent a little too frequently and he invited a shitload of people -- and among them was this girl he had recently shot a PowerBar commercial with. So I overhear her saying that she's from Tucson and, well, I'm from Tucson, so I speak up and tell her this and so we get to talking. And then she says that she went to Utterback Junior High School and I actually, also, went to Utterback Junior High School -- even though we're talking about a century ago. So this girl and I hit it off and talk all night and she's smart and funny (actually an actress/comedian...or is that comedienne?) never mind a fucking GODDESS and so we start playing around with my cell phone which is neat and tiny and has lots of pretty colored lights on it (shiny...pretty...oooh....) and in the process I manage to oh-so-subtly (yeah, uh, right) ask her for her phone number and she gives it to me. Which is cool enough -- so I lean over later and -- having learned that she is 'newly single' I ask her if she's too newly-single for me to actually call her and she says, "I gave you my number...and you should also know that it's the first number I've given out. That should tell you something."
So I'm not an idiot. I call her the next day. We trade calls, finally get in touch, make plans to go out on an actual proper date the following Monday. We talk again on Monday and I pick her up at 7-ish. So we go out, see Fahrenheit 9/11 at the ArcLight in Hollywood and then, after trying a handful of restaurants that don't quite fit the bill, we end up at Jones for a late dinner and drinks. End up getting to the restaurant at about 10:30 -- order drinks, order dinner, chat, chat and chat. Totally hitting it off in a huge way (I think). So much so that, although the waitress keeps coming over and apologizing to us, we don't actually realize that it takes a full TWO HOURS for our dinner to show up. And we don't even care. Having a great time. Just talking. I think there's a connection. God I hope so. So, not only do we get along really well, have similar goals and a similar sense of humor (although she is a lot funnier) but it turns out we're also "Astrologically Compatible" (She's a Cancer, I'm a Scorpio). Dinner comes, we pick at it, talk some more and finally at 1:45 in the morning, we're both talking and yawning and apologizing because she certainly isn't boring me and she says that I'm not boring her. She tells me the date's going really great and God I hope it is. So we finally extricate ourselves from our red vinyl booth as it closes in on 2 AM after a couple of drinkies each. I take her home (thank God it's right around the corner), she tells me she's going out of town in a day or so for a couple of weeks (which I actually already knew) and says she'll call me when she gets back. We say goodnight. I go home. Wake up the following morning with a raging fever and a deadline. I don't give a shit and I can't get this girl out of my mind.
Time passes, eventually my illness, which I only half-jokingly think was West Nile, also passes. Sci-Fi passes on my treatment and my usual Wednesday Therapy session rolls around. I spend the entire hour talking about this girl. I can't stop thinking about her. I've spent a sum total of 9 hours with her. I barely know her at all -- and I'm just fucking stupified. I REALLY REALLY want to see her again. My Therapist keeps asking me, "Don't you wanna talk about this meeting you have with your agents? Are you nervous about pitching your ideas?" And I say, "No. All that shit's completely under control. I'm really just fucked up about this girl who I felt some kind of amazing connection with and hope to God it was mutual." So we talk about the girl for an hour and I leave and I wait and I kill another weekend and now it's late-ish on a Sunday night and she was supposed to get back into town today or tonight and now the real waiting to see if she'll actually call me again begins and I'm going out of my fucking skull and have completely abandoned any type of punctuation! Phew.
And so, anyway, I'm sitting here listening to Stevie Wonder's "I Believe When I Fall In Love" on constant loop on iTunes and blogging in this fucking time-suck of a thing and hoping to jesus she'll call me (begging, praying actually). And I don't know if she will call, but God I want her to and if she doesn't I'll be fucking devastated. The ideas for my agents are solid and they're ready. The meeting at UFO will go well and I will hopefully book the next job in a week or so. I have to go to Vegas on Thursday for the night but will be back late on Friday...
God damn fucking hell shit. I really hope she calls.
I should stop drinking diet soda at this hour (I already tried to quit smoking this week). I should go to bed. I really shouldn't be sitting here listening to this fucking Stevie Wonder song and getting all sapped out over a girl I barely know -- but have, I think, a great connection with and--- see, I'm doing it again. Completely obsessing. And I kinda like it!
Yep. Bed. I. Must. Go. To. Bed.
Wait...is that my cell phone?
Posted at 11:55 PM Read More
Sat
- June 12, 2004
What A Difference 10 Days Make
And I'm not kidding. Started, stopped and started
the "official" polish about three times since last post. Finally delivered it
yesterday afternoon. It's an actual Pink Production Revision. They start
shooting a week from Monday. No idea what they'll think of
it.
In other news -- hoping to get the original I'm "Guaranteed" going sooner than later, but Jeff (Beach, the producer) has gone to Bulgaria. Maybe I can get something set up with TJ, my buddy who also happens to be the executive on the project and the guy who made the deal with me for the guaranteed movie in the first place.
Need to get all this going because...
My feature agents have decided that they don't want to take my latest 'real' spec, THE MINOTAUR, out to buyers. My last spec was a difficult subject and subsequently didn't sell. My next spec NEEDS to sell to keep any shot at a real career alive. If I go out with something that doesn't get it done, it will be all but impossible to get executives and buyers to read whatever I do next. I'll be known as "That writer whose stuff never sells." Kiss of death. As much work as I've put into Minotaur over the past six months, I would rather shelve it than risk career suicide. It is, after all, only the second complete screenplay I've written by myself (at least in years, and only one of the previous endeavors ever saw the light of day). I think I'm going to just "write it off" and move on to something else. MINOTAUR may come back around as even my agents agreed it's a really good serial killer movie. Right now, the fact that it's a serial killer movie is the problem. They want me doing spy thrillers and such.
As I was posting this, I got a call from TJ (the exec on the B-Movie). He wants me to tweak a few things at the end. I come from a big-budget studio movie background and my instinct is to always save the biggest punch, the cleverest trick for last. They don't have the money to stage what I've written for the very ending and there is some political issue with the Sci-Fi Channel people regarding the destruction of a mosque (we blow one up with a precision guided bomb in the movie). So, I have to go back in after a pending call with the director, Tripp, to re-tool the ending, make changes throughout that correspond to the ending and also change the mosque to, well, I guess now they want a bath house (the whole thing is shooting in Bulgaria. I don't know what they really have access to in terms of sets and locations. I just work here.)
It looks like the rest of my "day off" is going to be spent figuring out a new clever way to kill the monster using a new method and still try to come up with new studio spec ideas for my agents who insist that I need to get them to sign off on the concept before I write anything. I tend to write whatever lands in my head because good ideas are hard to come by. This no longer flies with them. I don't have the luxury, financial or otherwise, to let my ego do the talking here. Back to the drawing board.
In other news -- hoping to get the original I'm "Guaranteed" going sooner than later, but Jeff (Beach, the producer) has gone to Bulgaria. Maybe I can get something set up with TJ, my buddy who also happens to be the executive on the project and the guy who made the deal with me for the guaranteed movie in the first place.
Need to get all this going because...
My feature agents have decided that they don't want to take my latest 'real' spec, THE MINOTAUR, out to buyers. My last spec was a difficult subject and subsequently didn't sell. My next spec NEEDS to sell to keep any shot at a real career alive. If I go out with something that doesn't get it done, it will be all but impossible to get executives and buyers to read whatever I do next. I'll be known as "That writer whose stuff never sells." Kiss of death. As much work as I've put into Minotaur over the past six months, I would rather shelve it than risk career suicide. It is, after all, only the second complete screenplay I've written by myself (at least in years, and only one of the previous endeavors ever saw the light of day). I think I'm going to just "write it off" and move on to something else. MINOTAUR may come back around as even my agents agreed it's a really good serial killer movie. Right now, the fact that it's a serial killer movie is the problem. They want me doing spy thrillers and such.
As I was posting this, I got a call from TJ (the exec on the B-Movie). He wants me to tweak a few things at the end. I come from a big-budget studio movie background and my instinct is to always save the biggest punch, the cleverest trick for last. They don't have the money to stage what I've written for the very ending and there is some political issue with the Sci-Fi Channel people regarding the destruction of a mosque (we blow one up with a precision guided bomb in the movie). So, I have to go back in after a pending call with the director, Tripp, to re-tool the ending, make changes throughout that correspond to the ending and also change the mosque to, well, I guess now they want a bath house (the whole thing is shooting in Bulgaria. I don't know what they really have access to in terms of sets and locations. I just work here.)
It looks like the rest of my "day off" is going to be spent figuring out a new clever way to kill the monster using a new method and still try to come up with new studio spec ideas for my agents who insist that I need to get them to sign off on the concept before I write anything. I tend to write whatever lands in my head because good ideas are hard to come by. This no longer flies with them. I don't have the luxury, financial or otherwise, to let my ego do the talking here. Back to the drawing board.
Posted at 11:51 AM Read More
Tue - May 25, 2004
Ennui
Now waiting for the 'other writer' to deliver his
3rd draft. Allegedly going to meet with the producer, Jeff, regarding that
original movie I'm allegedly committed for. I'm also waiting to hear back from
my feature agents regarding the latest draft of my spec. I'd posted last week
that they both e-mailed me to say they would read over this past weekend. A
phone call to one of their offices revealed no sign that this actually happened.
They'll call me when they've read it. In the meantime, I'm in limbo -- waiting
as usual. Should probably be writing THE SILO, but have only sketched in basic
act structure. I'd prefer to wait on this until I get this typewriter I'm
ordering (of course, my ability to order it depends on the B-Movie people at UFO
paying me for services). Yes, I said 'typewriter'. I've gone Luddite...or at
least, I've gone luddite when it comes to first drafts. Some creative writing
theory I've found recently that claims a manual typewriter forces you to think
and focus before putting anything on the page. Having written a couple of my
early scripts on an electric typewriter, I can vouch for at least part of this
theory. If you decide to rewrite a passage of dialogue or description, at best
you have to retype the whole page. At worst -- the whole
script.
Watched X2 twice in the last two days.
Marcello, I'm so bored.
Watched X2 twice in the last two days.
Marcello, I'm so bored.
Posted at 06:34 PM Read More
Fri - May 21, 2004
Polish
New developments. Turns out the Sci-Fi channel
people are not willing to let their other writer go without first giving him a
crack at his contractually-obligated 3rd draft. This means that I will be
brought in after that to do a polish. Essentially, less work for the same money
-- and, because Jeff, the producer was feeling badly about having to push me
back for just a polish, he wants to bring me in next week to discuss the
original I am guaranteed. By getting pushed, I may end up landing the more
lucrative deal, faster than I would have had I written the page one I was
working on.
This said, I'm going to start working on THE SILO script in the next few days -- just sketching in the characters and the structure. Try to get it going. I'm told there may be a cut of THE SILO teaser to watch later tonight or over the weekend.
This said, I'm going to start working on THE SILO script in the next few days -- just sketching in the characters and the structure. Try to get it going. I'm told there may be a cut of THE SILO teaser to watch later tonight or over the weekend.
Posted at 10:18 AM Read More
Thu - May 20, 2004
Thursday
Actually got some work done last night. Not as much
as I would've liked, but at least I feel like I can deliver the project on time
(again). Found the following via diepunyhumans.com. Everybody should have
one:
We'll see how much further I get today. The weekend is looking like it will be a wee bit short on 'fun'. I'll hafta make up for that somehow.
At the suggestion of the teaser editor, I've changed the title of SILO 13 to "THE SILO". Sorta reminds one of "THE SHINING" and isn't such an obvious horror grab what with the number 13 and all. Editor says he may have a new cut of the teaser to show me tonight. I'll hafta make time for that!
We'll see how much further I get today. The weekend is looking like it will be a wee bit short on 'fun'. I'll hafta make up for that somehow.
At the suggestion of the teaser editor, I've changed the title of SILO 13 to "THE SILO". Sorta reminds one of "THE SHINING" and isn't such an obvious horror grab what with the number 13 and all. Editor says he may have a new cut of the teaser to show me tonight. I'll hafta make time for that!
Posted at 10:20 AM Read More
A Body in Motion...
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Published On: Jul 29, 2004 12:58 AM
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Published On: Jul 29, 2004 12:58 AM