Have Spec Will Travel

I bet you think this set design is about you?

2008-10-29T12:30:00.000-07:00

Don't you?

Mad Men Made Me

2008-09-09T18:01:00.000-07:00

Twhat?

2008-09-09T00:12:00.000-07:00

Head's up! I'm gonna try this damn twitter craze. I'm probably 6 months late on the meme, but maybe the structure will keep me more motivated to update. I'll still tend to this blog biannually or whenever, and use it for longer writing. To that end, get. a. load. of this:

A Cephalophile's Tale

It was a crisp black-and-gray tattoo with pink highlights that hugged the side of her torso. Kendra had plenty of tattoos -- a rose on her ankle, a star on her wrist, a kanji symbol on the shoulder she prayed was 'nature' -- but it was the delicate octopus on her side that stood out. The creature wrapped around her possessively, clutching at her stomach, her back, and her left hip. When Kendra slept on her side, her arm would rest on top of the tattoo like an embrace. After sex, she would wrap my arm around her, pulling it over the same spot. To me, it just felt like sloppy seconds.

A long (short) journey (story) starts with the first (first) step (paragraph)!

CALLED IT, bitches.

2008-08-29T09:17:00.000-07:00

OH, well look at what shorty Johnny Mac just chose to ride in his sidecar. I made that half-court shot of a prediction three MONTHS ago. Okay, maybe I posed it as a musing instead of a prediction, but I still invite the established punditocracy to suck it. And by it, I mean my fat, floppy, turgid political savvy.

Three months ago I said Palin as VP would shore up the women vote and the horny dude vote. On further inspection, Palin is really hot. This continues to secure heterosexual men. (And homosexual men need only to look back at photos from McCain's youth.) Women, however, will not be won over by her distract-their-husbands'-attention good looks. Just as men would not vote for Jared Leto, women will shy from Sarah Palin. McCain has made his half-court shot, and bricked it.

J-Mac shoulda went for the warhawk jew vote in Lieberman.

Edit: LOLLOL Palin says "nucular."

Editedit: Honestly, getting to my non-kneejerk non-reductive opinion on the pick, this seems like a pretty dicey choice. McCain is asking that voters forgo traditional women's interests (he and Palin wish to repeal Roe v. Wade, for example) for women's advancement in politics. That's not an easy trade-off to accept. For that matter, it's not an easy trade-off to reject, either. Lady VP or an Equal Rights Amendment? It'll spark some hearty feminist debates, but I imagine most people will side with their traditional political leanings in the end.

"And finally, the most important Women’s News item there is, we have our first serious female presidential candidate in Hillary Clinton. Women have come so far as feminists, that they don’t feel obligated to vote for a candidate just because she’s a woman. Women today feel perfectly free to make whatever choice Oprah tells them to." - Tina Fey

Sweeeeet Hi-Density Home Alabama

2008-05-28T23:29:00.000-07:00

In preparation for my Fifty State Campaign (tm), I chopped the US map into 48* hideous picture files. The images are blurry, pixelated, and barely discernible as states. Consider them garishly colored Rorschachs. For instance, I think Alabama is the spitting image of the SimCity Plymouth Arcos.

One of the things that has always troubled me about Alabama is how it seems like Florida totally dicked the state out of a whole mess of coastline. Look at a map (a real map, that blurry shit above is useless). Alabama has a little widget of coast in the Mobile area, and then Florida stretches its greasy panhandle all up into what should be Alabama's natural beach line. Florida has plenty enough with its fat dongle hanging off the edge of the country. Why's Florida gotta be a dick and take that? Give 'em Pensacola already. I'd be more inclined to visit the panhandle if it weren't a panhandle.

I've never been to 'Bama, but my parents did get a small house there as a wedding present, from my Dad's Dad. I'm pretty sure they got rid of it, else I'd have seen about checking it out. I'd be content moving anywhere for a spare house. A free house would be plain awesome. The allure of a near-free home is so tempting, I've considered investing in a red paperclip.

Note to any home-owners: I'm eager to purchase your property with any color paper clip you choose. If it's in Alabama, all the better.

*Hawaii and Alaska not included-- weren't in the shot and too lazy to take more. I'll sub in a guava for Hawaii or something. And, like, fuck Alaska; it's had its day already.

The Whistle-Stop Blog Tour

2008-05-27T12:24:00.000-07:00

Hey, so, returning to blogging merits some sort of commemoration. Bouncing off my Alaska post below, I think it's only (only) fitting that I take a cue from political superstar and God-favored wunderkind Barack Obama and set off on my own Fifty State Campaign. I plan to make a post highlighting, mentioning, or vaguely referencing each of these wonderful united states.

Followers of my once-daily Facebook Monopoly tour are already familiar with my track record with monotonous, pattern-driven content. As incentive to "get around the board" once again, friend-of-the-blog (FOTB) Noga has put up a shiny dollar as bounty for completion.

With dedication, perseverance, and dedication, this Fifty State Campaign will surely lead to victory. I'm hopeful and confident that I CAN win the internet. Thank you, and God Bless America!

An Unceremonious Return

2008-05-23T16:22:00.000-07:00

Discovery Channel's Alaska Experiment should have a Californian counterpoint. Unsuspecting volunteers from rural America would get dropped off in Los Angeles, forced to fend for themselves in the treacherous Southern Californian cityscape. They'd stockpile supplies of sunscreen, crushed ice, and margarita mix, preparing for the harsh summer months ahead.

For what it's worth, I'd like to think I'd be pretty great on The Alaska Experiment. I'd have a grande ole time shooting mountain goats, canning salmon, chopping firewood. The main drag though would be the minor squabbles with my partner that would get blown out of proportion in the editing room. That, and 5-to-2 odds I'd go Donner party on the cameraman by mid February.

Realistically, though, any trek of mine* to the Alaskan wilderness will end up like Into the Wild. I'll act like I'm hot shit traipsing across the tundra, before I eat some paralyzing plant and die from starvation. Box me up in pine if you find me.*

There's another "Alaska Experiment" with a whole lot less fan-fare and a whole lot more awesome. This documentary, Alone in the Wilderness, follows this salty old dog of a man who moves to Alaska in the 1960s and builds his own log cabin. The guy wasn't fucking around, he BUILT that thing with his two hands and maybe three tools. Also, another tangentially bad-ass fact about the movie, the guy shot the footage himself with an old Bolex. The movie is just narration and footage. Beautifully simple.

*Not so unrealistic.
**My uncle has stipulated in his will that his ashes are to be disbursed in Alaska. Another excellent option!

Alaskan Addendum: If John McCain wants to win the election in November, he only needs to pick Alaskan Governor Sarah Palin. This former Miss Alaska shores up the male vote with the looks, she shores up the female vote with the vagina sisterhood. Hermaphrodites are still up for grabs.

not dead

2007-10-28T16:24:00.000-07:00

trapped in echo park - limited internet. send help. send internets.

From Echo Park Public Library in Sunny Los Angeles California

2007-10-21T13:14:00.000-07:00

I'm here, loyal readers, at long last.

I apologize for the 10 day gap in posts. Internet access has come in so rare and splendid bursts that I haven't managed to compose a full recap of what's happened so far. But, so you're not left in pitch black dark, here's a quick run down:

Driving is fun
Oregon has beautiful coastline
Motel 6 needs to get connected to the wireless age
Stolen vineyard grapes taste half as sweet
Saying LA is a Driving Culture is an understatement
I am in a small apartment for a small monthly rent
LA tap water could use more filtration

That's all for now. I'll try to work on something with a little more heft for later!

Wish Me Luck

2007-10-11T13:02:00.000-07:00

Try some music while you read:

It's time to say Goodbye. The car is packed. The route is set. The player's stocked. I'm set to jet. I'm keeping this short, 'cause goodbyes aren't my thing, but y'all can be sure there'll be some heavy posts on their way detailing the drive down. Later.

30 Rock Going Green, Fuh'Real

2007-10-04T14:18:00.000-07:00

When I wrote my 30 Rock spec, "Going Green," I thought I'd chosen a pitch perfect topic for the show. Green business was in the news-- it was hip, trendy, and most importantly it fit the characters. Liz Lemon had already laid down her liberal leanings in a handful of episodes. "Just because I think gay dudes should be allowed to adopt kids and we should all have hybrid cars doesn't mean I don't love America." Wink.

Well, I took that liberal guilt and love for fuel efficiency and turned it into a script. And now I'm reading that I was RIGHT. That's such a PERFECT topic for 30 Rock that they, y'know, decided to do it themselves. They're even bringing celeb-politico Al Gore on for a guest spot during NBC's Green is Universal week. Now I have to pay the price for my foresight.

There are a couple goals a spec needs to accomplish. One is capturing the voice of a show. Woo! Mission Accomplished! Another is being a fresh sample. Woo! My script is officially useless!

The shelf life of a spec script is pretty short, it seems. I didn't even get a chance to do much with it. I was able to submit it for the WB Writers Workshop and another contest. And just like that, it's kaput.

But if you ask me, this is a pretty nice problem to have. If anything, this should only bolster my confidence as a writer while pushing me to keep working on fresh, new samples. Just because the staff writers voided my spec script doesn't mean I don't love Tina Fey. Hard.

Flight Status Update

2007-10-02T21:24:00.000-07:00

My co-pilot has informed me that there will be a week-long delay before take-off. We are currently in holding patterns here in Seattle. We apologize for this inconvenience and any scheduling problems that may arise because of it.

Departure is expected to resume on the 11th of the month, with an anticipated 4 day flight. Thank you for your patience on behalf of all of us here at David-Air.

They Call This a Housekeeping Post

2007-09-26T13:32:00.000-07:00

Those mamma-jammin' google map embeds in the itinerary post are bogging down the blog's load time. Nobody wants a bogged blog.

I tried hacking the html to add those "Read More!" links that shorten a post. But that was before I realized that, unlike some Davids (I'm looking at you, Portillo), I don't know html. A little linkage here, some hex codes there, sure. But not this.

Rather than edit the post, I'm gonna curb the number of posts on the front page for now. Just a heads up for you few, noble readers.

Fellow Dave, Duchovny

2007-09-26T00:05:00.000-07:00

With all my time going to mapping out the move, I haven't given much time to mapping out the Dexter spec.

It's not an easy show to plot out, especially in spec form, 'cause it's a show that blends single episode plots with season arcs. The real bitch of it is that the best parts usually deal with the season long stuff. That makes it a challenge to write a stand-alone story. Don't get me wrong, I'm all for a slick writing challenge. Just not now.

If I'm gonna get anything written right now (aside from this blog), I need something easy. Even with a criminology class under my belt, Dexter is not easy. But Hank Moody is.

Californication (a bad title I'll shorten to 'Forny' for fewer keystrokes) is that new Showtime series about a pissy one-hit wunder-author. I mistakenly said the show was plotless, but it's really just plodding. I was always on the fence about it 'cause it had great, sharp, bantering dialogue (and tits galore), but it never felt like it went anywhere. But it does. Just really, really slowly.

Each of the last three Forny episodes have had 16 scenes. You can give or take a scene based on personal definitions, but that's pretty consistent. And 16 just feels light to me. Compare that to a quick show like 30 Rock that manages to cut in almost twice that number of scenes. Or even to something more similar, like Entourage, which clocks in with closer to 20 scenes.

My batshit crazy theory is that the writers Tom Kapinos and Gina Fattore, who came from Dawson's Creek, figured they used to write ~32 scenes per hour and did the math to get to 16. I say it's a batshit crazy theory 'cause I've never watched Dawson's Creek and have no idea how many scenes it averaged.

What's worse is that those 16 scenes are pretty loosely grouped into a story. There was an episode where the entire B story had just 2 scenes. That's hardly a story. That's barely even a running thread. That's a callback.

I mention all this not to badmouth the show. After all, I obviously keep watching it. I may even develop a man crush for David Duchovny. I mention it, 'cause I think I can write it. Dialogue is my strength, and plot-- my kryptonite. (Maybe not kryptonite, but it's definitely not my yellow sun.) What's more, the less time I have to spend mapping out plot, the quicker I get to writing those "sharp," "crackling," "biting" Hank Moody quips.

Dexter, you know I love you, but we never said we were exclusive.

The Only Way I'd Join a Gym

2007-09-25T23:03:00.000-07:00

I'm not in agony, but I've been agonizing.

The prospect of entering LA County limits without an apartment is both intimidating and highly probable. I'm hardly dumb enough (wait for it, I'll get there) to think I won't find someplace. Yet there's a distinct anxiety about driving in with a car full of a crap and having nowhere to unload it.

I've got options. There're always options. Limitless options. There are enough open ended scenarios to cripple an agoraphobe. The problem is getting to the best one.

One plan: I secure an apartment with month-to-month lease in advance of my arrival, sight unseen. Move to better location after confirming that the apartment sucks.

Two plan: I overcome my pathological fear of imposing on people, abuse my familial ties with my cousin, and squat as his place until long term accommodations are procured.

Three plan: I secure a week's stay at a low-cost hotel, and begin hurried apartment search in person.

Four: Live in car, put stuff in storage, join gym for shower use.

I already called a few landlords today, checking if it'd be possible to get a studio before I leave. They were all perplexed by the concept of me renting an apartment without seeing the apartment. Clearly, they must have assumed I was organizing some hideaway for a terror cell, or shooting some porn flick about a terror cell. There's probably a pun to be made here about sleeper cells.

In case that wasn't clear, the first option no longer seems viable. And neither does the second, without scoring some second hand Xanax. Option three seems the most legit, but the fourth is definitely the most cost effective.

Living in my car would be great. I could spin it as being "adventurous," "quirky," and "homeless." Well, not homeless. My home would just be smaller and more mobile than most.
And you can't deny-- the commute from work would be amazing.

I Am Not a Paid Advertiser, But I Should Be

2007-09-24T17:40:00.000-07:00

One of the first things I noticed -and subsequently mocked- about my Camry was that it had a tape deck. Seriously, '05 model and you're still running out a tape deck? Where's the 8-track, underneath the dash? (And there's a flipdown turntable in the backseat, but watch out-- it skips.) But that tape deck has suddenly become one of the beautiful quirks that makes the car awesome.

For the low-lowly-low price of nine-ninety-nine, I bought a cassette adapter. This slick gadget originally came out so hep cats back in the day could play their spankin' new discmen on their car systems. This same slick gadget is back and better than ever with the rise of mp3 players.

Apple puts out its own device for the iPod, the FM transmitter. It's pretty cool transmitting your playlist to the radio. But, as my friend noted, it's entirely useless inside any major metropolis because of all the radio interference. And in lunges the cassette adapter for another surge of relevance.

No static, less quality loss, and -not for nothin'- it has a sweet auto-retracting cable that keeps cable clutter to the minimum. Excellent purchase. Could not be happier.

Testimonial over.

Drive Quick and Get Dirty

2007-09-23T16:43:00.000-07:00

Here's a quick and dirty route mock up.

Leg One: Seattle to Vancouver
There's family in Vancouver, i.e. free lodging. It's a pretty short run down to the Oregon border, which oughta make for a gentle afternoon start.

View Larger Map

Leg Two: Down the Oregon Coast
101 hugs the ocean pretty well, which should make for some nice driving - certainly a hell of a lot better than I-5. We'll probably need to stop somewhere between Vancouver and the first California stop. Gold Beach is probably as good as any other touristy beach town.

View Larger Map

Leg Three: To Santa Rosa
There's family lodging in Santa Rosa, too. Clearly I can't choose where family lives (else I'd have far more Hawaiian relatives), but Santa Rosa isn't exactly in the best position. It kinda scissors into the journey too far south to allow one long run from Vancouver, but it's not far enough down to make the LA run any easier. It IS right be San Francisco, though, and more importantly that sweet fucking suspension bridge. Technological Marvel! Maybe we'll see a suicide!

View Larger Map

Leg Four: From Golden Gate to Hollywood and Vine
Hugging the coastline rather than cruising down I-5 is gonna add another 3 hours to the drive. But I'd sure as shit rather cruise past Big Sur and beautiful sandy beaches rather than "make good time." With the long drive, we could possibly time it so we coast into town with the sun setting just behind us.

View Larger Map

86/100

2007-09-22T11:58:00.000-07:00

Consider the drive test rocked, moderately so. The state has deemed me a satisfactory driver and I am officially licensed to ride.

I didn't ace it (I was too patient when turning a corner) but I passed. I'm finally as qualified as all those snotty 16 year old twerps. And I can do something they can't. I can drive a car AND drink alcohol. Suck it, teenagers.

I got the permit on the 22nd of August, which makes the total time from Start to License exactly one month.

This, naturally, doesn't change anything. It just means that everything's on track for the road trip. And that's a damn good thing to not need to change.

If She Were an Animal She Would Be an Oryx

2007-09-18T21:02:00.000-07:00

It's official-- I'm a car owner. For now, try some music while I blather:

powered by ODEO

A White '05 Toyota Camry. My new baby girl. They say you're never the same after your first.

I won't go on too much longer, 'cause I know my sister reads the blog and probably resents that our parents bought me a car. I'll just say that the Walk-Away successfully lowered the price about $800. You gotta do the Walk-Away.

All I need now is to name her. The only names I've come up with so far are Clementine and Katherine. Leave your suggestions in the comments!

Steak Your Claim

2007-09-17T23:55:00.000-07:00

Head over to steakdiaries.blogspot.com to check out my friend's new blog. Noga's about to embark on a life-altering adventure through South America. She'll be seeing the sights, hearing the sounds, and staking the steaks.

You'll want to keep tabs on the blog as she updates along the way. Bookmark now while supplies last.

My Niggaz Don't Dance We Just Pull Up Our Pants and Do The

2007-09-16T20:08:00.000-07:00

I don't know thing one about buying cars, but I know it's fun.

The whole thing seems to be an orchestrated dance with the sales rep. Maybe less of a dance, more of a passive aggressive fight.

They graciously cart you around the lot, letting you drive all kinds of different cars while they make light-hearted, non-offensive jokes. Then you sit down and haggle. Here's where they bullshit you about wholesale price and how much they money put into the car, and you bullshit back with the deal you think you can get through your car dealer friend.

The best part is the Walk-Away. You gotta do the Walk-Away. Stand up, thank the reps for their time, and Walk Away. If they meet your price without a Walk-Away, you're paying too much.

I bought a rusty javelina with a Walk-Away. True Story. And that's not a euphemism either.

Total Cars Test Driven:
Toyota Prius '01
Toyota Camry '05
Honda Accord '02
Honda Accord EX '04
Subaru Legacy '05

Cars Driven But Never Really Considered, Like, At All:
Subaru Legacy - You didn't want it bad enough.

Cars That Weirded Me Out And Now I Feel Sorta Awkward Around:
Toyota Prius - I don't love you, I love the idea of you.

Cars That Were Too Responsive And Thus Made Me Look Like a Worse Driver:
Honda Accord '02/'04 - It's not you, it's me. But I'm making it you.

Cars With Sweet Spoilers That Make Me Look Ten Percent Cooler:
Toyota Camry - It adds 10 more mph too.

Gore-Bore

2007-09-15T23:28:00.000-07:00

ATTORNEY
Then it's safe to say blood is your life.

DEXTER
Safe to say.

Getting an Amazon package in the mail is great. A DVD-shaped package is better than great. And all that for free is The Greatest. Move over Cassius, my Dexter Season 1 is here.

The nice thing about crashing with your folks is that they pick up the tab. I can justify a DVD purchase by saying it's for studying purposes, so as to better write a spec script. And it is.

I'm now on an episode blitz. The best way to write a spec is to immerse myself in the show. Get the voices down, study character quirks, take note of the episode topics, the common themes, the story structure. It helps me get to know the show, but it also lets me figure out why I was drawn to the show in the first place.

The show is known for being dark, but that's hardly what appeals to me. Gore is boring.

I re-watched the first episode with my mother (bad idea) who hates gore. She actually covered her face during one gruesome murder scene. I really should've seen that coming. I didn't forget that this show about a serial killer features several murders, and I'm not some sadistic child who wants to torment his parents. I managed to plum overlook those aspects, 'cause they ain't what I focus on.

It's about his struggle. Who cares that he kills people? The cool part is just that he's different. He's not a monster; he's an ugly duckling. It's dark and twisted to argue that Dexter's urge to wrest life from his victims is what makes him a beautiful swan, but that's the show. That IS the show. And that's what I love about it.

Alright, maybe I am drawn to the darker parts. But gore is still boring.

Chute 'Em Up

2007-09-14T11:18:00.000-07:00

The whole concept of writing spec scripts is pretty queer. It's a writing sample. But not a sample of your own voice so much as your ability to speak with someone else's. It's an exercise in mimicry.

And after you put your all into crafting thirty pages of a show, you really can't do anything with it. It'll never be sold, it will never be made. All you do is show it to people. It's the free sample at the grocery store. Here, try a taste of my 30 Rock. If you liked that, let me whip you up something new. Toothpicks and napkins go over there.

One thing I can do, however, is submit the script to competitions. Before I left New York, I submitted "Going Green" to the WB Writers Workshop. The resulting workshop seems to be a shmooze-fest for WB to find and groom future writers. I recently heard the program cut the number of winning sitcom writers from ten to three. Slim chances just got slimmer.

Yesterday I sent the script off to an internet contest. WriteMovies.com apparently likes to see people write television as well.

They cap each round off at 1000 applicants, with what appears to be around an eighth being television specs. 1 out of 125? I like my script and all, but it seems more like fifty bucks down the paypal poop chute. Pessimism aside, if I managed to place into a semi-final spot, or thereabouts, that'd be a nice resume line-item I think. Or at the very least, a fancy feather for my cap.

Next up: I start writing a Dexter.

Productions Don't Like Phone Sex

2007-09-13T14:00:00.000-07:00

Try some music while you read:

powered by ODEO

What's new in this world? For one, I got a paying gig. Nothing fancy, and nothing in L.A. Shock of shocks, I somehow scrounged up some work in Seattle for a couple days. Just some P.A. stuff working for Red Bull's Soap Box Seattle.

Now, correct me if I'm wrong, but isn't $150/day the standard? I guess Seattle rates are different. And by different, I mean worse.

I wonder if the only reason I got the job was because of my area code. Over at John August's blog, some guy breaking his way into Hollywood said there's digit discrimination. Will my 206 be a dead weight down there?

I guess I can see it. A foreign area code suggests someone who's recently moved in, or, worse, hasn't moved yet. A local code conveys stability, security, someone who's there to cup your balls.

To someone staffing up a crew, 206 looks like a long distance relationship. 323 looks like a booty call.

Basically

2007-09-13T13:30:00.000-07:00

If you haven't already heard, fellow Dave and reigning Dave Dynasty animator extraordinaire, Dave Pagano was on national television this week. ABC News' I-Caught hired him to do some Lego animation for a segment. Not only was his work featured on network air, but he was also featured in the interview. He's basically my hero. Basically.

There's Hope in the West

2007-09-11T12:42:00.000-07:00

An article today argued that we have finally forgotten September 11th. Does that make today the 12th?

I read a passage the other day from a book about the founding fathers. It mentioned that men like Jefferson saw their revolutionary actions in much the same light as Manifest Destiny. Up until that point, scientific/artistic/cultural discovery as they knew it had a westward course, proceeding from Greece to Rome, on to Europe and finally the Americas. Obviously they ignored developments in the east they weren't aware of, but I still liked the core concept. Let it be shown that you'll find what you need in the West. Let it be shown that there's hope in the West.

I mention all this to preface the following... The West Seattle DMV is fuckin' rad. Short lines, courteous staff, clean seating area. I got in, out, and scheduled a drive test for the 22nd. Fuckin' fuck yeah.

Because Tailpipes are at the Rear

2007-09-10T14:38:00.000-07:00

Driving lesson #2 went as smoothly as the first. Parallel parking was a breeze.

INSTRUCTOR
I hate to admit this, but I think you park better than I do.

Maybe it was me, or maybe it was the Mitsubishi Gallant. Either way, whether he was blowing smoke up my tailpipe or not, things are looking good for my license prospects.

My Treatise Against Grape Nuts

2007-09-10T09:55:00.000-07:00

This post has nothing to do with the road to California, so I'll fudge this one in, saying I might work it into a script somehow (no), someway (nope), sometime (never happening).

Fuck Grape Nuts. Seriously. If there were ever a Judas that would turn on the rest of cereal-kind, it would be Grape Nuts. I cannot think of another "cereal" that is any more the antithesis of morning cereal as I have come to know it.

Let's look at what Grape Nuts are. They're miniature rocks of turd-tightening fiber. They're so small, it's like eating coarse sand. The crunch level is off the charts. The same milk that makes Crispix cry uncle would have to spend its entire afternoon trying to breakdown Grape Nuts. But it's all well enough being crunchy - many cereals want to be crunchy. The real reason I dislike Grape Nuts is 'cause they make me look stupid.

No other cereal is as deceiving as Grape Nuts. Any other brand, the routine stays mostly the same: pour into bowl until the top of the cereal is roughly 1.5 centimeters below the rim, add milk to fill, add fruit toppings or additional sugar to taste. Try pouring a full bowl of Grape Nuts. The dense rock sand practically stops the milk in its place. Pouring milk to fill results in vastly inferior milk-to-cereal ratios. You'll end up refilling your milk supply three times before you're jaw breaks off from all the cereal left. Even when one pours a more modest measurement of Grape Nuts, gauging proper milk levels is near impossible. Even if you do get close, you'll never have leftover milk. And leftover cereal milk is the sweet honey nectar of my morning. Hell, even if leftover Grape Nuts milk were possible, I don't know that I'd want to drink that rank infusion.

You can keep eating Grape Nuts if you need you're old, dying, or already dead inside - but I don't recommend it. Do yourself a favor. Kick the Nuts.

Most Times, He Sounds Like Dr. Venture

2007-09-07T13:12:00.000-07:00

Just thought I'd put up a quick post to say I took my first professional driving lesson. Went smooth. I changed lanes, I merged with traffic, I didn't kill nobody. The instructor buttered me up saying I was four lessons ahead of most people, claiming I could take the dmv test by next Friday.

Take that, Voice in My Head Who Says Hurtful and Disparaging Comments!

Day One Addenda

2007-09-06T23:45:00.000-07:00

ADDENDUM: On the plane, I sat next to a bright smiling African man named Frank. He was a computer science student who recently married. In all of the commotion of navigating the airport scene with his new wife and her three young sisters, he accidentally left one of his bags. That bag had his video camera, computer equipment, and worst of all his marriage certificate. Despite this tragedy, he was unbelievably upbeat. That guy was a sparkplug of a seat neighbor.

ADDENDUM: Somewhere over Minnesota and South Dakota, the plane passed by a massive storm system blazing with infinite lightning strikes. The whole thing took the shape of Ayer's Rock in Australia. I was able to watch an unending light show out my window for 25 minutes. Every time I took my face off the porthole, I looked around to see who else was watching and it seemed like I was the only one.

ADDENDUM: Apparently, some stalker internet gal on my plane recognized my face from an online photo. I only know this because she later contacted me online. This creeped me out. I then gave her an open-ended invitation to get burgers. I think this creeped her out.

ADDENDUM: Only one of my bags made it through baggage check. That was one more than I was expecting.

Day One: Part One - The Last Bum in Brooklyn

2007-09-06T00:33:00.001-07:00

Whenever you leave an apartment, let alone a major metropolis, you're bound to have a whole frigate's worth of junk you don't need to bring with you. The pile compounds when trans-national travel and costly shipping expenses get involved. Where does that junk heap go? To Salvation Army! Let other people sort through my crap!

The best part about giving away the stuff you were about to toss into the garbage is the altruistic buzz you get. It's a sense of self-worth, nobility, I-done-good-ness.

Just hours before I was set to fly away, one lucky drunkard was able to capitalize on my Good Citizen High.

HIM
Excuse me, excuse me. Sir. I'm sorry to have to do this, but... I need you to call 911. I've had too much to drink.

ME
911? Are you sure? You don't want me to call you a cab?

HIM
No. I need 911.

ME
Okay!

Let me tell you, it's a damn awkward situation to describe a man to 911 while the man is beside you. He was 50, mustachioed, with nose swollen and stitches on his brow, and his name was Dino. Ah, Dino. He kept heckling me to tell them that he was well dressed.

ME
He wants me to stress that he is well dressed.

DINO
What, you don't think I am? Look at these pants! Look at that crease!

The woman on the other end asked that I watch over Drunken Little Dino, make sure he didn't run out into traffic or some bullshit. Still riding that goodly high, I couldn't say no to 911 Lady.

During the wait, I learned that Dino was an engineer (CHIEF engineer!). I learned that he graduated from Cooper Union. I learned that Dino had a 25 year old son when he threatened to kill me.

DINO
I have a gun. ... I don't want to kill you. You remind me of my son. But I have to.

Tears streamed down his face. After I convinced Dino not to kill me, he resolved the matter by giving me a fist pound with his swollen, pudgy hands. I couldn't hold it against him, though. After all, as he claimed, he was a member of the Corleone family. They pretty much gotta kill people, right?

The EMT later called me crazy for sticking around after Dino cried "gun." Crazy? Anything but. I was doing my civic duty! According to the EMT, this was actually a recurring event for Dino. Every few months, Dino's wife would kick him out of the house, presumably for being a drunk. It was comedy hour with my colorful lush and his empty bottle until that sad note. Poor guy. I hope he was able to straighten up after that. The Corleone family depends on him.

ADDENDUM: The only way to successfully follow that up was by having the best burger I'd ever had in New York. It took me four years to find it, and only on the day I was leaving. The guy at the grill, John, was a simple dude. He was a salt-of-the-earth kinda guy. He liked yelling out answers to Family Feud. He also made burgers and made 'em damn well.

Day One: Part Two - The Last Day In Brooklyn

2007-09-05T23:52:00.000-07:00

With this blog sorta centering on my journey to California, it's probably worthwhile to relay the day it started - the last day in Brooklyn. The day was pretty damned intense, so I'll split it into two parts, starting with the second.

After dropping off my printer and some poster frames at the Tiger Lily* shipping center, I was ready to lock up my apartment and say goodbye to New York. I dropped my keys in the mailbox, called a car service to Hewes and S 3rd, and high-tailed it to JFK.

When we arrived at the airport (my sister was with me to lend a hand, say goodbye), we saw a goddamn sea of travelers at the curbside check-in. I'd flown JetBlue scores of times with nothing but effortless, worry-free experiences. Seeing a crowd that could fill the Bowery Ballroom was like a kick in the gut. We were already late 'cause, like an idiot, I didn't think about the consequences of taking a cab at rush hour. Lucky for me, I printed my boarding pass that morning; the online drop-off queue was much shorter than the seething mass of bodies inside the building. Unlucky for me, my bags were heavier than sin and consequently "overweight." Yeah, I packed fucking cast iron skillets and a 16-piece dinette set.

When told to head inside, I gave up hope. There was about 20 minutes until my flight left and about 50 minutes of line to get through. I'd pretty much accepted my fate of missing the plane. My only option was to take the flight the next day, so I was gearing up for a Tom Hanks jaunt of wacky terminal antics. I was ready to sleep in rigid chairs, shave in the mens room, forge lifelong friendships with the janitorial staff. I couldn't find a monitor with the info, and I wanted to know when to set the alarm on my cellphone so I skipped to the front counters to ask when the first flight tomorrow would be.

ME
When's the next flight to Seattle?

HER
In about 10 minutes.

ME
No, I'm asking about tomorrow. I've already missed the flight today.

HER
No you haven't.

That beautiful, gracious woman saved the fucking day. (I tried to tip her, but she wouldn't have it.) I ran back to my sister and we hauled the bags to the front, ducking under velvet rope after velvet rope. With clock ticking, my sister stepped up, asking if she could handle the extra-weight charges, letting me run to the plane. I strapped my pack on, hugged my sister, and bolted for my flight. I ran like the wind, my legs responding without thought. After the security check point, I ran without shoes, without my belt. I just shoved them in my bag and went. I was leaping over luggage, swerving through crowds, slicing around toddlers. And I made it. I made my flight. Through the kindness of strangers and the aid of family, I made my fucking flight. Once on the plane, all I could do was grin a big dumb retarded smile. After racing through the terminal, barefoot, I was minutes away from racing west at a clip of about 435 mph, chasing the horizon with a 4-hour sunset lighting the way. Hell of a way to leave New York.

*Same name as a plush shark I bought on Orcas Island. True story. (No, she is not a tiger shark.)

Mayumi Will Have to Take Over

2007-09-04T23:17:00.000-07:00

While writing with a few people on a group script and while reading other people's work, I've found that I'm kind of in the minority for my use of scene direction. It seems that most people wanna lay out their action in a nice, hefty, girthy, hard-to-swallow paragraph. If I've got a big honkin' chunk of action in a scene, however, I like to cut it up. Call me Ginsu, 'cause I'll slice, dice, and inter-splice that shit.

I was writing on this script with some other kids a few months back. Even though the script was already too long, I'd space out the scene direction. It was a trade off. Breaking up the paragraphs made the script longer, but it made it more readable too. Let's make an example:

INT. SPACE STATION - DAY/NIGHT/WHATEVER THEY DO IN SPACE

Floating through the cramped quarters of the newly minted Japanese space station, we follow CAPT. MAYUMI ITO, 29, calmly swimming her way through the vessel. She has a soft, comforting face and midnight black hair pulled in a tail that bobs in the zero gravity environment. She is dressed in white polo and slacks. We drift by a port hole. We re-focus on a yellowish planetary body that comes into view. Miniature clouds burst up from the planet's atmosphere, dozens at a time, until the whole of the planet is consumed in small explosions. Tinges of red pierce through the cloud. The planet is on fire. Mayumi floats on to the control panel, a sleek designed desk with minimal clutter of controls, very iPod. Mayumi deftly swivels her trim body down into a seat, buckling in. Next to her, sits her fellow astronaut and sister, SUKI, 22. The two greet each other with faint smiles and ad-libbed pleasantries. Suddenly-- BAM! The station is jolted from the side. Alarms blare. Lights flash. Suki, struggling against the massive vibrations, lunges for the wheel.

SUKI
(in Japanese)
They're gonna revoke my pilot's permit for sure!

That's an awful lot of text to read. The first glance of a block that fat makes me want to skip ahead. I guilt myself into reading the whole thing, because I know I'll be missing a boatload of information, but I'm not happy about it.

INT. SPACE STATION - DAY/NIGHT/WHATEVER THEY DO IN SPACE

Floating through the cramped quarters of the newly minted Japanese space station, we follow CAPT. MAYUMI ITO, 29, calmly swimming her way through the vessel. She has a soft, comforting face and midnight black hair pulled in a tail that bobs in the zero gravity environment. She is dressed in white polo and slacks.

We drift by a port hole. We re-focus on a yellowish planetary body that comes into view. Miniature clouds burst up from the planet's atmosphere, dozens at a time, until the whole of the planet is consumed in small explosions. Tinges of red pierce through the cloud. The planet is on fire.

Mayumi floats on to the control panel, a sleek designed desk with minimal clutter of controls, very iPod. Mayumi deftly swivels her trim body down into a seat, buckling in. Next to her, sits her fellow astronaut and sister, SUKI, 22.

MAYUMI
(in Japanese)
How's it going so far?

Suki smiles. Suddenly--

BAM! The station is jolted from the side. Alarms blare. Lights flash. Suki, struggling against the massive vibrations, lunges for the wheel.

SUKI
(in Japanese)
They're gonna revoke my pilot's permit for sure!

Now I'm happy. I broke this up by spacing out the main block of text and by splicing in a line that wasn't there before. By doing that, the paragraphs become more palatably bite-size. It's easier to read and I think my eye is drawn down the page more gradually. You might also notice that each bit is sectioned off to its particular focus. This helps distinguish what the camera may be looking at, whether it be Mayumi, the planetary view, or the two girls at the control desk.

Maybe that's just my own personal preference, but I think it helps a page of script to look more inviting while offering a subtle means to focus the camera. There's no need to jumble all that detail into a small space if nobody wants to read it.

Character X is Me

2007-09-03T13:29:00.000-07:00

It's Labor Day and nobody can seem to shut up about how that marks the End of Summer. Frankly, I've been looking past Summer for a while now. It's all about Autumn for me.

October is the goal. It'll be my own cheesy thriller where Character X has to be in City Y by Mostly Arbitrary Date Z. All I need to do is get an apartment in LA by October 1st. Why October? So I don't lounge around on my fattening keister in Seattle-- I need to be doing that in Los Angeles.

But really, waiting any longer is just that much more time before I get whatever entry level job awaits and it's that much more time before I rise above entry level. Think of it in terms of the Band-Aid Removal theory of pain. Do it now, do it quick, grit your teeth and bear the sting. None of this "mañana, mañana" bullshit. That said, I gotta call about a driving lesson tomorrow.

Or the Islamic Republic of Mauritania

2007-09-02T08:05:00.000-07:00

Obviously, if I want to become a writer, I need to have writing samples. While still in New York, I took a hack at a '30 Rock' spec. I was pretty flipping pleased with the resulting piece. Here's a bit of the opening scene to whet your whatever.

LIZ
Where did you go?

JACK
California. I was visiting with Governor Schwarzenegger at his request.

LIZ
Wow. The Governator. Did he sexually harass anyone while you were there?

JACK
Don’t denigrate the man. He is a leader on the world’s stage who simply happens to have a robust sexual appetite.

LIZ
Is that why he called you in “at his request?”

JACK
No. He was pitching an idea to GE that he felt very strongly about.

Jack reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out...

LIZ
A green paint swatch?

Liz reaches for the swatch.

LIZ (CONT'D)
What shade is that?

JACK
General Electric is going Green, Lemon!

LIZ (reading swatch)
Limeade...

JACK
This morning Don Geiss will sign the papers admitting GE into the UN’s Convention on Climate Change.

LIZ
Woah, wait. GE is signing the Kyoto Protocol? Don’t you have to be, like, a nation?

Jack clasps his hands together.

JACK
Which do you think is a better get, Lemon? GE, with its $160 billion in annual revenue, or the island nation of Micronesia?

The Nerd from American Splendor

2007-09-01T21:51:00.000-07:00

To get to Los Angeles, I'll have to drive. To get around Los Angeles, I'll have to drive. This is what I've been told. This is what I accept.

After a hearty 3 hour wait at the Greenwood DMV local, I got my permit. I could have seen a couple eps of Mad Men in the time it took to wait. I could have caught a quick pitchers duel in the time it took to wait. I could have had a doctor's appointment in the time it took to wait. Hold on, that's right-- I did that one. Went to my doctor's office in Belltown, was told there ain't shit to do about my carpal tunnel, and was back at the DMV before my take-a-ticket number was called. In contrast, it took me less than 10 minutes to pass my second permit knowledge test in 5 years. I only missed one, and I think it was the same question I missed 5 years prior. Drinking while driving will result in only 90 days license suspension. I said a year. Call me crazy for thinking drunk driving should have stiffer penalties.

I've taken to the road a few times since, typically coasting at a cautious clip of 25 mph. So far I have scraped a blue trash bin and bumped a crimson coupe. Also, while parked at a stop sign, this plump Toby Radloff-wannabe bicyclist shrieked a piercing, "NOOOOOOOOO!!" to ward me off as she pedaled past. I know I'm piloting a death-dealing boulder of glass and steel, but did I really need the scream?

Today I managed a successful drive to the store and back. No knicks, no scratches, and no freaky cyclists. Woo.

Opening Remarks

2007-09-01T19:05:00.000-07:00

Already littered with my failed attempts at starting and maintaining a website, the internet surely doesn't need me to start another blog. The world needs another blog like it needs another coke-addict celebutante. But since we're gonna have an extra truck load of those cunts by next Friday, here's another blog on the pile. There's something to be said about getting back on the pony, tho. Failure is a commanding part of success. Just keep hacking away until you get a hit.

This blog will mostly focus on my current standing as a recent grad. I went to NYU to figure out that I want to write for television. Now I have to go to LA to figure out how to make that happen.

Some things that need to happen to get me to LA:
Learn to Drive / Get License
Buy a Car
Bolster My Limited Writing Portfolio
Find Apartment
Get Job as Writers Assistant
Failing That, Get Any Other Job

Look forward to updates on those topics, snippets from what I'm working on, opinions on how a word can or cannot be employed.

Thanks for checking in, and feel free to ask questions or leave comments.