I never comment on the news

I was going to do a critical essay on the writings of the Virginia tech shooter and I never finished writing it. I swear, I have things to say about current events. I just don't seem to say them to any conclusion. Because I write and write and find the signs of a madman and then realize that I have written about 600 words just to say a four word sentiment: "Wow, he was crazy." And really, I think what triggered the essay in the first place was that exact sentiment. What insight could I possibly be giving? I mean, "Hey everyone, I can tell a delusional sociopath from his ten minute one act. Mind you, I'm reading this one act because he killed 32 people, but how conclusive is that?"

So the whole story I guess got forgotten already anyway because some actor went to rehab.
Maybe I should write about how crazy media is for making murderers famous and then forgetting just in time for copy cats or like-minded damaged people to sprout up unhindered. But that's kinda obvious, too.

Strangely enough, rehab has its own copy cats. Everyone's doing it.

I have no conclusion here.

See? What did I say? Blah blah blah no conclusion. I don't know why I even blog.

Fuck midpoints

I'm writing an ensemble feature film and it's killing me. What's the midpoint? What's the plot point? Can a different character carry us through PP1 than the character that got us into the introductory hook? What IS happening on page 45???

You know what? Fuck page 45. Fuck the midpoint. Fuck PP1. Fuck you, Syd. You know what I like about plays? The rule is this: make the audience interested in the next word and feel satisfied on the last word. That's it.

McKee and Field and the fucking hero's journey can all have a spit roast.

The Onion has Me Pegged

The Onion has me pegged

How did they know?

My old digs made the front page of the LA TIMES!!!

ARTICLE

First of all, that mural took Olga days to make, long days and long nights. It is a work of urban art and to want the "hoochie mama" down is just plain dumb. I hate dumb!

Second of all, the Sugar Shack rocks. That was my asylum after almost three years with Split.Id. I licked my wounds of LA Theater battles for a full year there and then met the man of my dreams. In fact, my first sighting of the man I will call husband was at that door that looks like a 70's headshop piece. I was meeting him to help me paint the exact bathroom they discuss in the article.

So many good good memories there. Good people. Good memories. Those Victoria Park needleheads need a gift basket from my office's showroom.

Oh! I could rant forever, but it's just going to get me drunk and slurring.

I'm still sick

So I go to the doctor on Friday. Flesh eating disease will kill me by then. Although I'm certain it's actually malaria. Symptom of malaria is a stiff neck. I have a VERY stiff neck. I could die in moments.

This could very well be the last thing I write.

And it's so not profound.

I am Monk

I am not a monk. I am Adrian Monk, the OCD character on tv. I am actually not him. I am very much like him.

I've had a cold for six days and I am certain it is either ebola, throat cancer, or at the very least a severe sinus infection I've let go for too long (er, six WHOLE days). This all must end. So I made an appointment with my doctor.

Now my night is fraught with my biggest fear.

That I will have to find out I have the common cold. For six days.

Procrastination

I have writing and work to do and I'm procrastinating both by playing with the new storyboard software I got (FrameForge3D). I made a bar and my main characters and it's just plain rad. awesome. too phat. even da bom.

Another part of my procrastination was sitting at the window with the cats and pining for my fiance to come home. It was kinda fun. We stared out the window and if someone other than my fiance walked by, we'd pose so we looked cute. I wasn't as desperate looking as them, I think. I think I posed pretty cool like.

He's due home in three weeks so it's kinda lame to be staring out the window. But i'm romantic/pathetic that way.

Hypothetical question

If a couple shared a computer.

And the woman put Daniel Craig (the latest, greatest James Bond) as the screensaver. Not the Casino Royale poster, but the one of him coming out of the water. You know, with the blue bathing suit all tight around his, er, gun. And his muscles all, well, you know, bond like. Let's say that happened.

Would it help matters if her explanation to her man was "I put it up there because he reminds me of you"?

It doesn't work on girls. But I'm hoping....I mean, the hypothetical woman would hope....

I'm getting married August 5th of this year

Wanna know an easy way to set a date with your fiance? Say "How's August 5th of this year?" just as they are trying to run into the theater to watch something like, say, Grindhouse. Suddenly, all trust is in you and full agreement is forthcoming.

I better find that dress.