Have Fun In the Bathroom.

On my way back from lunch today, I struck up a conversation with a woman in the elevator. She said she didn’t like buying food from downstairs because of the long lines. I posited that less people eat in the building on Fridays because they’re sick of the same two places by the end of the week. She agreed with my position. I then added that even though it was just me and a few other people in the sandwich shoppe, my sandwich still ended up sitting on the ledge for a good five minutes after it had been made. For whatever reason, whenever I order a sandwich from there, they never call out my number and I always have to ask. It’s weird.

Anyway, that’s not what I’m bringing up this conversation. We got off on the same floor and she said that she’d probably go get lunch as soon as she finished copying some files. Then, we ended up walking in the same direction and she said, “I’m just gonna go use the bathroom.” Then, I said, “Have fun,” which I intended as a comment regarding the photocopies. But she was a little surprised that I told her to have fun in the bathroom. See: even my speech consists of awkward phrasing.

But this happens to us all the time. Either way say something we don’t mean, or what we mean to say doesn’t come out quite right.

In high school, I pursued one of the actresses in theater. After rehearsal one night, we’re walking and talking and I ask her what she’s doing that night. She says, “Oh, well, I have to go home and cook dinner, do some homework and then go to church later.” I was surprised to hear that last part in there. I went to a Catholic high school, and the thought of going to church on a Wednesday night, during Ordinary Time and on a non-Holy Day of Obligation, struck me as unusual. So, being the precocious freshman that I was, I looked at her, arched an eyebrow and said, “Church? On a Wednesday? What are you, Episcopalian?” To which she emphatically replied, “Yes!”

Smooooooooth, Murph. Real smooth.

Suffice it to say, we never got together, but we did remain friends throughout high school. She’s engaged now. Probably to an Episcopalian. But don’t cite this blog for your facts.

*******************

Oh, the Giants. God help the Giants. After winning 5 in a row, they’ve lost 4 in a row. They’re old men trying to play a young man’s game. Barry Bonds, once immortal, now is completely mortal. Their pitching is atrocious, gnarly, disgusting, revolting, putrid, and vomit-inducing to watch. But I’m still a fan.

Why?

********************

For the Giants' squad, a musical suggestion: Don’t Fear the Reaper. Blue Oyster Cult. More cowbell!

********************

THINE OWN SELF. Here's the conclusion. We can discuss it on Monday. Have a great weekend, everybody!

INT. RACHEL'S BEDROOM - THAT NIGHT

Paul is laying on the bed. Rachel is on top of him. Holly is also on top of him, but straddling his chest. She is making out with Rachel at the same time. He is touching them both.

Rachel manages to turn Holly around so she can face Paul. Rachel is kissing the girl's neck and groping her.

Suddenly, Paul's eyes go wide. He sees a crucifix around Holly's neck. His breathing increases. He breaks out in an intense sweat. Tears roll down his face.
HOLLY
Christ, he's a fuckin virgin.

RACHEL
What? Paul?

HOLLY
He's fucking crying.

Paul shoves Holly off of him. Rachel follows. He sits up on the edge of the bed, trying to control his sobbing.

RACHEL
Paul, what's wrong? Paul, what is it?

PAUL
I can't do this. This isn't me.

RACHEL
What? Paul? What?

He grabs his clothes and leaves the room. A bewildered Rachel follows him.

INT. RACHEL'S LIVING ROOM - CONTINUOUS

Paul is trying to put his clothes on as quickly as possible. Rachel does not bother with her situation. She starts to cry.

RACHEL
Wait, Paul! Please, don't go! I'm
sorry! I'll take her back, I promise!
Just don't go! I love you!

PAUL
You don't love me. You need me.

RACHEL
And you need me! We need each other!
Please, don't go!

She grabs her arm with both her hands. He jerks away.

PAUL
I'm sorry.

Paul goes to the door. Rachel is hysterical.

RACHEL
Don't you love me?

PAUL
(long pause, then)
No. I don't.

He opens the door and leaves. Rachel falls to the floor, crying uncontrollably.

RACHEL
(barely audible)
He left me again... he left me again.

CROSS FADE TO:

EXT. GRAVEYARD - THE NEXT DAY

An exhausted Paul stands before his mother's grave.

PAUL
I'm sorry. I messed up. I messed up in the
worst way possible.
(a beat)
I miss you, Mom. But, I miss you a little
less today, because today I realized that
you never left me. You've been with me all
this time, watching over me. Thank you.

He puts his hand to the tombstone and whispers a short prayer.

PAUL
Take care, Mom. I've gotta go. I've got
something to do.

DISSOLVE TO:

EXT. CHAMBERLAIN BUILDING - LATER - DAY

Sandra sits on the scaffolding, eating a cup of yogurt. Paul crawls onto it.

PAUL
Hey.

SANDRA
Hi.

PAUL
I didn't expect to find you out here.

SANDRA
I'm just full of surprises.

PAUL
Sandra, I'm sorry. I know I've
hurt you, and I'm sorry. I never
want to ever hurt you.

SANDRA
Paul, I can't... I mean, I don't...
(composes herself)
Look, I know you like Rachel, but I can't--

PAUL
We're done. No more.

SANDRA
What? Why?

PAUL
All the love I need is right here,
Sandra.

SANDRA
Let's not get ahead of ourselves, here.
I am married.

PAUL
I meant platonic, non-sexual love.

SANDRA
I knew that.

PAUL
Can you forgive me?

SANDRA
As a God-fearing person, forgiveness is
inevitable.

PAUL
I love you, Sandra.

SANDRA
Paul, I--I love you, too.

Paul reaches into his lunch pail.

PAUL
Juice box?

She laughs. He smiles.

EXT. SKYLINE - DAY

A grand, sweeping shot of the Chicago skyline, complete with skyscrapers and other office buildings.

FADE OUT.

THE END

Foreboding Dreams, Part II

Yesterday, I told you about a dream I had on Monday night. The Yankee Stadium dream was actually the first of two dreams. I don't know much about how REM sleep works, how dreams are ordered, etc. I will just say that it was like changing the channel. As soon as the one dream ended (abruptly), the next one began. And it began in a linear fashion, like the teaser for an episode of some show. Here it is:

I'm taking a nap in bed. I'm aware that it's something like 1:15 in the afternoon on a normal day in my apartment complex. Suddenly, I'm awakened by the crash of shattering glass. I peer through my blinds and see an apartment window upstairs and across the driveway from mine crash to the pavement. I stay very, very quiet. In my dream, I remember that the previous day I had read an article that somebody had shot Disney executive Nina Jacobson (a real-life Disney exec) in her apartment... which is right across and upstairs from mine. They didn't have a suspect and they didn't know the motive. Then, in my dream, I can picture the guy. He's African- American, afro, dressed all in black, and he's walking around our apartment building with an M-16. He doesn't look quite right, either. You can tell in his eyes that there's something wrong with him. For whatever reason, I now think he's after me. Sure enough, 8 minutes after the glass shatters, he comes through my window. But since I knew he was coming for me, I was able to hide and call 911.

The perspective changes from third person (I've been watching this whole dream unfold) to first person (I'm not a SWAT officer who arrives on scene). Now, as the SWAT officer, I'm in the living room of my apartment, my gun drawn, as I inch slowly towards the front door. For some reason, the dude with the gun who's been chasing me is back outside now. I approach the door. Suddenly, I pull a red shirt from my pocket and dangle it in front of me. As I open the door, I thrust the red shirt outside. This draws the African-American man near and I shoot him twice in the gut and chest three times. He's dead.

Then I woke up.

********************

Some instant dream analysis:

Apartment: To dream about an apartment, symbolizes a financial or situational state. To dream of a shabby and dark apartment, indicates misfortune and possible loss of a lover or money.

Nap: To dream that you are taking a nap, suggests that you need to take a little time off to relax and take it easy. Give yourself a break.

Gun: To see a gun in your dream , symbolizes aggression, anger, and potential danger. You may be dealing with issues of passiveness/aggressiveness and authority/dependence. Alternatively, a gun can represent the penis and male sexual drive. Thus the gun may mean power and impotence. To dream that you shoot someone with a gun, denotes your aggressive feelings and hidden anger toward that particular person.

Glass: To see glass in your dream, symbolizes passivity. To dream that you are looking through glass, represents your openness and non-defensiveness. Alternatively, you may be putting up an invisible emotional barrier around yourself. To see broken glass in your dream, signifies a change in your life. You will find that a situation will come to an abrupt and untimely end.

Police: To see the police in your dream, indicates some failure to perform or to honor obligations and commitments. The police also symbolize structure, rules, and control. A more direct interpretation of seeing the police in your dream forewarns that you should avoid reckless behavior. To dream that you are a police officer, represents your own sense of morality and conscience. The dream may serve to guide you down a straight path. To see or dream that you are a police officer chasing a felon, indicates that your naughty and more devious side is in conflict with your moral standards.

Crime: To dream that you or someone commits a crime, represents feelings of guilt and shame. Your inner fears are hindering your growth and progress.

Adversary: To dream that you are confronted by an adversary, signifies that you will defend any attacks against your interest. To dream that you overcome an adversary, denotes that you will escape the effects of some serious disaster.

Afternoon: To see a warm and pleasant afternoon in your dream, foretells of long-lasting friendships.

African American: To see an African American in your dream, signifies your roots and heritage. You may need to discover the soul within your own self. Additionally, you are ready to be more expressive and creative.

Red: Red is an indication of raw energy, force, vigor, intense passion, aggression, power, courage and passion. The color red has deep emotional and spiritual connotations. Red is also the color of danger, shame, sexual impulses and urges. Perhaps you need to stop and think about your actions.

********************

Tomorrow: A return to normalcy, with music suggestions, a topical discussion, Giants rant and the finale of my awful student screenplay, Thine Own Self.

Foreboding Dreams Are Made of These.

Two nights ago I dreamt two dreams that freaked my shit out.

In the first...

I was in New York at Yankee Stadium watching a night game. I'm supposed to be representing the San Francisco Giants in some official capacity, which explains why an usher comes over and asks me to come with her. Next thing I know, I'm in George Steinbrenner's suite overlooking the field. I'm sweating out this meeting, because I have no idea what it's for but I assume because I'm at Yankee Stadium representing the Giants that I'm there to talk to Steinbrenner about a trade. I notice his grandchildren playing off to the side, they don't really notice me, when Steinbrenner sits down and asks me what he can do for me. I stammer for a minute, bullshitting about the awesomeness of Yankee Stadium, before I get down to the matter of swapping out player personnel. I can tell right away that he's pissed at me for wasting his time. He tells me, "I have a GM who handles trades." Then, he excuses himself to take a phone call. I'm freaked out. I just blew this opportunity.

His 14 year old granddaughter walks over to me and tells me to relax, as I'm now standing and gripping the back of the chair I was just sitting in. I tell her I'm not nervous about the meeting, I'm terrified of heights. Yeah, I'm scared to be in that suite overlooking the field now. The granddaughter suggests I sit on the porch swing that's on a landing attached to the suite (dream geography, right?). I reluctantly comply, figuring the swinging motion might relax me. But I don't sit in the swing. I put both my hands on the cushion, but then the granddaughter starts to swing it before I sit, and the whole thing swing up, over and around -- 360 degrees with me doing a handplant on the seat. Once it's over, I say, "That was weird." And then I get this strange feeling that something bad is about to happen. Sure enough, there's an earthquake -- in New York.

Suddenly, I'm back down in the lower reserve seats, watching people rush past me. A piece of the concrete facade above us breaks off. The concrete crushes two people and breaks apart on impact. The broken piece flies off and smacks me in the back of the head. I go down. But then I have an out of body experience and watch myself get up and run. Now it's not a first person dream. I'm running out of Yankee Stadium -- SPRINTING -- along with the rest of the crowd.

Now it's back to first person, and it occurs to me that if there's an earthquake in New York, then there must be a mammoth one happening in California (dream logic, right?). So, I turn around and run back into the stadium, searching for a phone. On the way back I run into this girl I grew up with. We're shocked to see each other, but she says she has a phone, so we run back away from the stadium.

The path out of the stadium is a paved bridge that crosses over a green field. And it's also daytime for some reason. On the way, we run alongside one of my old co-workers from my CBS Page gig. Anyway, the girl from my childhood is on the phone, trying to get a hold of her parents who live down the street from my mom. We're trying to get in touch with anyone in California. I stop running because she stops running. Tears pour down her face as she listens on the phone. I ask her if everything's okay.

The dream ends.


****************

I checked one of those on-line dream dictionaries, but I consulted it after I had composed a list of all the significant images. I was amazed at how many of the exact words I used showed up on the list. Here are the terms and their dream definitions:

Stadium: To see or dream that you are in a stadium, represents your determination to succeed and achieve your goals. You need to be more active, aggressive, and bold.

Earthquake: To dream of an earthquake, suggests that you are experiencing a major "shake-up" that is threatening your stability and foundation. The dream highlights you insecurity, fears and sense of helplessness. If you find cover from the quake, you will overcome these challenges. If you become trapped or injured during the quake, you will suffer loss of your business and assets.

Swing: To dream that you are on a swing, represents an expression of great satisfaction and freedom. It also symbolizes cycles and movement. Alternatively, it signifies a desire for sexual variety. To see a swing set in your dream, indicates memories from childhood. You may feel a need to escape from your current responsibilities and relax. To dream that you are swinging, suggests that you are going back and forth in some situation and need to make up your mind.

Field: To see green fields in your dream, symbolizes great abundance, freedom, and happiness. You may also be going through a period of personal growth. Alternatively, this dream may simply be an expression for your love of nature. To see freshly plowed fields in your dream, signifies growth, early rise to wealth and fortunate advancements to places of honor.

Classmates: To see old classmates in your dream, indicates that you need to draw on your old associations with your former classmates to gain insight in some current relationship. It represents a past lesson that you have learned and is applicable in some aspect of your waking life now.

Nervous: To dream that you are nervous about something, indicates that you are experiencing self-doubt and feelings of insecurity.

Night: To have a dream that takes place at night, represents some major setbacks and obstacles in achieving your goals. There are some issues in your life that you are facing that are not too clear. You should put the issues aside so you can clear your head before coming back to it.

Danger: To dream that you are in danger and are wounded or killed, signifies substantial losses in business and discouraging prospects in love. You need to be more cautious in some aspect of your life. To dream that you escape from danger, signifies that you will rise to a place of high position and honor in your business and social circle.

Running: To dream that you are running alone, signifies that you will advance to a higher position and surpass your friends in the race for wealth. Alternatively, you may be running from some situation or from temptation. To dream that you are running with others, signifies festive and prosperous times.

Baseball: To dream that you are attending a baseball game, represents contentment and peace of mind.

Grandchild: To see your grandchild in your dream, represents the renewal of life and reflection of your own past. If refers to your family line, generations and tradition, as well as innocence and purity. Alternatively, you may be expressing a desire to escape from your daily responsibilities and problems. [Technically, I saw Steinbrenner's grandkids]

Height: To dream that you are afraid of heights, denotes that you are striving for goals that seem beyond your reach.

News: To hear good news in your dream, signifies that you will be fortunate in your endeavors and will have many harmonious companions. The contrary is true if you dream of hearing bad news. [In fact, the dream ended before I got the news I wanted.]

Cry: To dream that you are crying, signifies a release of negative emotions that is more likely caused by some waking situation rather than the events of the dream itself. Your dream is a way to regain some emotional balance and a way to safely let out your fears and frustrations. In our daily lives, we tend to ignore, deny, or repress our feelings. But in our dream state, our defense mechanisms are no longer on guard and thus allow for the release of such emotions. To see someone else crying in your dream, may be a projection of your own feelings onto someone else. If you do not cry in your waking life, then seeing someone else cry may be a little easier to deal with then seeing yourself cry.

Tears:
To dream that others are in tears, signifies that your sorrow will concern your friends. To see a teardrop in your dream, represents previous wisdom you have learned and remembered.

Concrete:
To see concrete in your dream, represents your solid and clear understanding of some situation. The dream may also mean that you are unyielding and inflexible.

******************

I'll post the second dream tomorrow.

Heat Strokes.

I tried posting to the blog twice this weekend, but each time it melted.

But, seriously, folks, it was so hot I wasn’t sure if I was hallucinating when I looked at this picture that a friend of mine forwarded to me. It’s of Monster House director Gil Kenan and Sony Pictures Chairwoman Amy Pascal, and I must say...

Gil Kenan looks exactly like me, to 90% accuracy.

I was shocked. Usually, people will send me a picture with the message, “Dude, this totally looks like you” and the person never does. I like to think that I cannot be duplicated; only imitated. Yet, here I find a man who bears more than a passing resemblance, graduated from UCLA and is now making movies with Steven Spielberg and Robert Zemeckis. Either he stole the life I always wanted, or I’ve been chasing the life he’s been living.

Know this, Gil Kenan: my hair is better than yours.

*********************

Clerks II is good, but not great. Not Superman Returns good; Clerks II is much, much better.

*********************

Musical suggestion: Don’t Stand So Close to Me by The Police. Awesomely inappropriate.

*********************

THINE OWN SELF. Yikes. Is this crappy melodrama almost over? Wednesday will wrap up the loose ends this next bit creates. What happens when two sexually irresponsible people try to force intimacy? Prostitutes, that’s what!

INT. RACHEL'S BEDROOM - THAT NIGHT

Paul and Rachel are on her bed, kissing. She starts to
unzip his pants. He stops her.

PAUL
I don't really feel like it tonight,
Rachel.

RACHEL
Really?

PAUL
Really. Let's just lay here.

RACHEL
Okay.

She rests her head on his chest. He gently caresses
her hair.

RACHEL
You sure you don't want to fuck me?

PAUL
Positive.

RACHEL
So... why not?

PAUL
Bad day.

RACHEL
I know. Me too. But, what if I
could distract you?

PAUL
I doubt you could.


RACHEL
Can I try?

PAUL
(sighs)
If you must.

Rachel jumps up off the bed.

RACHEL
Come on. Let's go for a ride.

Paul slowly rises.

PAUL
Where to?

RACHEL
You'll see.

She leads him out of the room.

EXT. CITY STREET - NIGHT

Rachel's van drives by.

INT. VAN - SAME

Rachel is glancing the street corners quite intently.

RACHEL
No...

PAUL
What are you looking for?

RACHEL
You'll see. No...

She turns the car. The van pulls up next to a group of women who are obviously PROSTITUTES. Rachel rolls down the window.

RACHEL
Hey, girls. What's up?

PROSTITUTE #1
Nothing much. How about you?

RACHEL
I'm looking for a cub. Blonde.
Small tits. Any around?

PROSTITUTE #2
Yeah, sure there is.

PAUL
What the hell are you doing?

Rachel leans over and kisses him.

RACHEL
Your fantasy, remember?
(to PROSTITUTES)
How much?

PROSTITUTE #1
Hourly of a hundred.

RACHEL
Cool. I'm down. Where is she?

A petite blonde girl, HOLLY, emerges from the group. She is no older than eighteen.

RACHEL
You're a cutie!

HOLLY
Thanks.

RACHEL
Hop in.

Holly walks over and opens the side door. She climbs into the van.

RACHEL
Hey, cutie pie! Thanks for coming
along.

HOLLY
Sure.

Rachel pulls away from the corner.

PAUL
What are you doing? She's a prostitute!

RACHEL
So?

Super Trivial Pursuit Mode.

I spend a lot of my time, too much of my time, surfing message boards on the Internets. I like to stay in my areas of interest: TV and Baseball. The Giants’ boards are always amusing, but never get my Irish up. The TV boards, on the other hand, are filled with some of the most infantile, selfish and idiotic people this side of Los Angeles. But they’re from all over the world. So, it’s not just the Americans who are stupid.

My decision to write about this was based on three separate things I read last night. The first is from Veronica Mars showrunner Rob Thomas (no, not that horrible singer/songwriter), commenting on a cast departure:

Teddy Dunn, he is not returning to the show this year. That decision was really made by fan response to Veronica's two possible love interests. One of the love interests seemed to get much more attention, and seemed to really win out.

The next is from Aaron Sorkin, quoted in an LA Times articleabout how the internet has affected series premieres:

Sorkin seems to be a quick study: "We can't let this affect us because if it does it will only affect it badly. So you have to believe in what you start out doing, believe in what you've got and keep going forward."

The last clip is from the same article:

"The Internet has created something that didn't exist five or 10 years ago, a direct dialogue with the creators or actors of a show," said "Lost" co-creator Damon Lindelof. "For fans, they feel they have this access and they are empowered. When we do our podcasts, and we explain what we're doing, they disagree with us and they tell us, 'Well, it's my show too.' "

I was all geared up to write about the subject of rabid fandom and internet opinions, but my creative juices have stopped flowing almost completely. I think it’s because this really is a trivial matter. These people number in the thousands, not the millions, and their myopic views represent an evanescent minority that lacks experience in writing and producing anything for mass consumption, trifling message board posts notwithstanding.

Nevertheless, I’m going to take the time to lecture everybody who watches TV: Love the show, hate the show, express your opinion, rabidly or calmly, but always know that, even though you think it does, the show doesn’t belong to you.

TV writing isn’t representative democracy. There is no Writers Room Republic. The showrunner isn’t the President of the Show. She/He is someone who had an idea, successfully pitched it and got it put on the air. The showrunner wants people to love it and watch it and be into it, but the showrunner does not want you coming to the table with your ideas (unless you’re a freelancer and you’ve got a pitch meeting). Yes, he/she might check message boards to gauge fan reaction to plots or characters, but be aware that your opinion has, at best, a small impact; because, again, TV shows don’t belong to you.

Now there are some cases where the showrunner or the writers on a series are so heavily influenced that they do alter their shows to fit in with the audiences’ wishes. The message board folk will claim this is a good thing. The writers will say they are doing what’s best to keep people watching the show. I say that the second you cave in to the fans is the moment you’ve lost your power as a storyteller. Always keep them guessing, always keep them interested. If the fans aren’t going to stay interested because they don’t like an actor on the show, then I say to hell with their minority opinion. If your show’s happy with the actor, the network’s happy with the actor, then what matters the opinion of these people?

And by these people, I mean the folks whose posts I have highlighted in the section below:

I know that if I was the showrunner for a cult show heavily dependent on a fanatical fanbase, I would closely monitor sites like this before I jumped off any cliffs, storywise.

I want to be taken on a journey, but I want that journey to be appealing.

But if you anger the fanbase to the point where they walk, then what?
I don't think showrunners should pander, exactly; but they have to go with the chemistry. If they want A with B, but A only sizzles with C, then they'd better match up A and C if they're smart.

…I don't understand how a tv writer couldn't take tv viewers opinions and desires into consideration when writing a television show. And, you must ask yourself why Rob Thomas (and other tv producers/actors) bothers to read the postings here at TWOP. The challenge is finding a happy medium between the artists vision and the viewers expectations. In theory, this is the point where the show should start receiving higher ratings. Well, there are many factors but this is a big one.

And, the best one ever:

And maybe you're right and I AM taking it too personally but (especially as a full-time mother who is stuck at home a lot of the time with not much better to do) I enjoy going on message boards and discussing his work in what I believe is an honest way and I don't want to be made to feel bad about doing that.

My buddy Hobbes never fails to remind me that there will always be critics. I’m fine with that. Who I despise are people who watch something that touches them and then believe they have some sort of control over how it touches them. They think they can control it. Yes, that’s right. I’m maddened by other’s thoughts. To even have the thought that a TV show that you don’t work on can still be influenced by your ideas is this odd techno-arrogance and post modern selfishness that exasperates me in a very odd way.

You see, because, TV is art. Somebody’s putting out their vision and others are interpreting it. That’s what critics are for. Which is why I say criticize and comment all you want. But to actively work to influence how that art emerges just so your tastes are perfectly catered to just smacks of something extremely... trivial.

**My title, by the way, refers to KITT’s Super Pursuit Mode.

*********

A part of me thinks that the stem cell research expansion bill vetoed today by President Bush was submitted by Congress in the hopes that a veto (which they knew they didn't have the votes to override) would make the President seem more powerful, thus, instilling new confidence in our leader. Watch for a bump in the polling.

That's cynical.

*********

Musical suggestion: In honor of lunatics on the Internet, try Lunacy Fringe by The Used. The Used, btw, is a band I think we can all like once they shed some of their corporate sound and do more stuff like this suggestion.

*********

THINE OWN SELF. Previously, Sandra learned that Rachel's digging Paul, but that their sexual escapades were getting more risque. That ramp us continues in the following scene, an important one despite the lackluster effort on the part of the writer. This dialouge is simply bad. Use the scene as a lesson in how not to write a scene like this. The dialogue hits every emotional and thematic point that the story revolves around and does it in such a deliberate way that it's distracting. Still, every scene builds on itself. Structurally, I'm pleased with the story.

Here we have Paul in a church parking lot doing something you couldn't do inside of a church. Symbolically, he's on the outside looking in concerning his faith, and when Sandra confronts him, the alteration of their relationship becomes apparent.


EXT. CHURCH PARKING LOT - DAY - THE FOLLOWING SUNDAY

The church bells sound as mass lets out. PARISHIONERS gather on the steps of the church, conversing. Amongst the crowd is Sandra. She is conversing with the Priest from before.

She leaves him. It is obvious as she walks that she is looking around for something.

As she approaches her car her eyes go wide. She sees a familiar car, which is slightly rocking. She walks to this car, and sees:

ANGLE - SANDRA'S POV

Through the tinted windows, she can see Paul on top of Rachel, having sex with her.

Infuriated, Sandra pounds her fist on the window. Paul and Rachel are startled. Paul quickly pulls up his pants, Rachel pulls down her skirt. Paul clumsily dismounts and exits the car.

PAUL
Sandra--

SANDRA
Don't talk! Just listen!

Sandra slams the door in Rachel's face. She quickly sits back like a scared little girl.
PAUL
Wait.

SANDRA
No, you wait. This is it. This is
ridiculous. I cannot believe you,
Paul! Who are you?!

PAUL
Sandra, listen, I didn't mean for
you to see that.

SANDRA
I'm sure. I had no idea you had become
such a different person in so short a time
just because of this girl.

PAUL
You don't know what you're talking about.

SANDRA
Having sex in the break room?! Now in your
car in the church parking lot?! Paul,
what are you thinking?

PAUL
That's none of your business.

SANDRA
It used to be. You used to tell me every-
thing, Paul.

PAUL
Well, you don't have to worry about me
anymore. Go home to your husband.

SANDRA
You just don't get it, do you? All she
wants to do is please you... make you happy.

PAUL
There's nothing wrong with that. You
know full well that's all my mother
ever did for me was make me happy.

SANDRA
She is not your mother!

PAUL
I didn't say she was.

SANDRA
Both of you have the same problem: you're
both looking for validation because you're
both lonely. Paul, this isn't the sort of
attention you need... this isn't healthy.

PAUL
I don't need you to monitor me like a
Mother Hen, Sandra. I can take care
of myself.

SANDRA
I'm trying to help you, Paul. I'm
being a good friend.

PAUL
You're being a bitch, that's what
you're being.

Sandra recoils. She leaves on the verge of tears.

The Zit On My Nose.

Sorry for the delayed post, folks. I stared at my work computer all of yesterday and couldn’t think of anything useful to write. The lack of useful thought has carried over to today, which is why I've decided to start off by talking about the zit on my nose.

There’s a zit on my nose and it’s very noticeable. I look like a witch from a children’s tale. I popped it last night before I went to bed, but it came right back this morning. It hurts when I touch it, so I will abstain from doing that.

That was gross.

But, seriously, a zit? I’m 25. Not 15. And when I was 15, I wasn’t getting honking zits on my nose. In fact, I made it through high school relatively acne free. I only recall breakouts during finals and tech weeks. My complexion has actually gotten worse as I’ve aged. Or, the zit could be from all the sweating I’ve been doing lately. Seriously, it’s hot in America right now. We're trapped in Hot Hot Heat. This heat wave is a result of the Rid the World of Cold environmental strategy currently being employed.

The sun was a-shining in beautiful San Diego this weekend, too. But it wasn’t as hot as West Los Angeles, let me tell you. The weather was simply perfect. I drove down with my gal to see my childhood friend, Julebug, who is moving to the Caribbean with her boyfriend.

I’ll get back to the subject of my childhood pal in just a minute. I have to take a moment to acknowledge, nay, congratulate San Diego for having the most beautiful people I have ever seen. It was a miracle I didn’t wreck my car, I kid you not. And since it was sunny and the going away party was by the beach, the skin to clothing ratio preposterously favored skin. I kept on my shirt so as not to scare the people with my swarthiness. But my eyes, they did delight.

Julebug and I have been friends since we were zygotes. Our families are tight, we went to the same grade school together, and for many years I had our fellow classmates believing the lie that we were cousins, just so no one would mess with her. She’s probably the nicest person I know. She’s totally into the guy she’s with (as evidenced by her decision to move to the Caribbean with him) and she is, rightfully so, awaiting a marriage proposal from said guy.

They have been dating for a year and a half. One of Julebug’s friends at the party has been dating her guy for three years. One of my roommates has dated his girl for nearly five years. A girl with whom Julebug and I went to grade school has been with the same boyfriend since the August after we graduated eighth grade – that’s almost eleven years!!! – and he only just proposed last month.

I guess what I’m saying is that if I’m in a relationship with a woman for a year and a half or longer, I’m taking a long look at some engagement rings, I’m cutting back on my DVD expenditures, I’m eating take out less often and I’m getting in a mental place where I can commit to one person for the rest of my life.

I’m not taking these guys to task, because that’s not what guys do to each other in this situation. Instead, I’m just saying that you’ve got to expect some ribbing, forced conversations and awkwardness when you delay the inevitable for so long. Your girl wants to move with you when you go to school and you say okay? Come on, bro-bro. Three years together? Five years? Eleven years? The hell? I say, if it hasn’t been specifically discussed that one or both of the people in the relationship aren’t ready for that type of commitment, then the reasonable and fair assessment of the situation is that the relationship is “going somewhere.” In other words, Broham, you’ve gotta marry that girl.

*********

I... I just can’t believe he would ever violate his body temple this way. It seems Mr. Justin Timberlake loves the Yayo! If he does lines off Cameron Diaz’s teeth, then I would consider him both awesome and hilarious.

*********

THINE OWN SELF. So now we’re really in it. My small character drama just went to an oddly against-tone NC-17 place. Is there a chance that I turn this story around after it has taken a trip to the filthy side? You’ll have to keep reading.

Now we’ll begin to see the consequences of the destructive sex. Paul’s life changes in ways he could never have anticipated and Sandra takes notice. The dialogue, by the way, is not the worst I have ever written. That honor will forever be held by stage comedy Max Bennett: Private Eye, which I wrote in high school. The on-the-nose nature of the emotionally revealing dialogue is a challenge for any screenwriter, in particularly the neophyte. Also, rereading this I’ve noticed that I really didn’t write women all that well back in the day. A lot of my own immaturity comes through in this section, too. I like Sandra, though, and think her scene in the bathroom plays funny. Enjoy the excerpt.

INT. PAUL'S DESK - THE NEXT DAY

Paul is sitting back in his chair. Sandra approaches.

SANDRA
Paul, where's the T-Account info?

PAUL
(startled)
Wha--?

SANDRA
The T-Accounts from the fifteenth?
I need it.

PAUL
Oh. Right. Sorry.

He reaches into a drawer and pulls out the statement sheet. Sandra takes it. She turns to leave, then stops.

SANDRA
Everything okay?

PAUL
Yeah. Why?

SANDRA
It's just that we haven't really
talked the past couple of weeks. I
can't find you during my break or
during lunch. You disappear. Steve
and I don't see you anymore, either.
I was just wondering if everything was
okay.

PAUL
I'm fine, Sandra. Just fine.
SANDRA
Are you still seeing Rachel?

PAUL
Yeah.

SANDRA
Sounds pretty serious.

PAUL
One could make that argument.

SANDRA
So, what's up?

PAUL
Nothing. Why do you keep asking me that?

SANDRA
Well, you don't tell me that you've
lost your virginity recently... and
you keep me in the dark about this
relationship. I tend to think there's
something up when you don't let me,
your alleged best friend, know what's
going on.

PAUL
How did you... how did you know I lost
my virginity?

SANDRA
It's a gift. I can detect post-sex
glow. You have it. If I didn't know
any better, I'd say you just got done
having sex with her.

Silence.

SANDRA
(hushed)
Holy shit, Paul. You just had sex
with her?!

PAUL
I didn't say that!

SANDRA
What the hell's the matter with you?
You can get fired for that kind of
stuff!

PAUL
I know that.

SANDRA
What are you thinking?

PAUL
I'm thinking I'm enjoying myself. No-
body's getting hurt, either.

SANDRA
(disapproving tone)
I hope you know what you're doing.

INT. WOMEN'S BATHROOM - LATER THAT DAY

Sandra enters. She proceeds to the closest available stall, enters, and closes the door behind her.

Soon, Rachel enters, accompanied by another TEMP. They "freshen up" by the sinks.

TEMP
So, is he big?

Sandra's interest is immediately aroused.

RACHEL
He's not King Kong. He's nice. And
sweet. And wonderful.

TEMP
How often do you two do it?

Sandra inches off the bowl to try and hear.

RACHEL
Whenever we can.
(lowers voice)
Don't let this out, but, we just fucked
in the break room about a half an hour
ago.

TEMP
Oh my god!

RACHEL
I love it. I love Paul.

Sandra reacts unfavorably to this comment.

TEMP
No shit! You love him?!

RACHEL
His hands... they're so strong. He's
so nurturing, too. He takes care of
me... pays attention to me. Listens...
TEMP
He sounds great!

RACHEL
He is.

She checks her watch.

RACHEL
Shit. I've gotta go.

They both hurry out of the bathroom, leaving a disturbed Sandra on the toilet seat.

Rage Walk.

I took a long walk down Olympic Boulevard today. After I dropped off my car at the dealership, I saw that I had missed their courtesy shuttle. The next one would not be available until 9, when I was supposed to be at work already. So, I walked across the street to the bus stop. My timing could not have been more fortuitous, because there was the nice Big Blue Bus waiting for me. I stepped in, asked how much, was told “75 sintz” by the bus driver, and then I stepped off. I didn’t have exact change. And before thinking to ask if I even needed exact change, the doors were closed and the bus was gone. I walked into a nearby gas station, broke my dollar into quarters and went back to the bus stop. The one I almost hitched a ride on was already 10 minutes behind schedule. Figuring that the next bus would be late too and wasn’t even scheduled to arrive until 8:55am, I decided that I should walk the 3 miles to Century City.

Turns out, taking the bus would have only saved me five minutes.

My logic was that a bus goes faster than I walk, so, if the bus is even reasonably on time, it should catch up to me and I’ll take it the rest of the way. As I got closer and closer to Century City, I realized that event would never come to fruition, so I high-tailed it in my sandals and Casual Friday attire. I got really pissed off about 1.25 miles into the trek because I knew I was going to be considerably late for work (40 minutes, all told). Then I got more and more upset as I used the walk to think about some other things that are upsetting me:

(1) Stop blowing up Lebanon! Now, I’m only half Lebanese, I was born in Northern California, and I am aware of no familial ties to Lebanon, but because my bloodline goes back there (since I was born of an adopted parent) I feel the faintest tinge of something when it comes to the military maneuvers of our perpetually strident ally, Israel. I am not qualified to discuss this serious subject at any length. Go to CNN or another news site to figure out the cause of these bombings. All I can say is that the Lebanese people don't deserve what's happening to them or their beautiful country. I've seen pictures and the land looks amazing. The people, though... wow. They might be more amazing-looking. Those Lebanese girls... wow. So, really, Israel should back the fuck off. Why risk harming those beautiful women? I’m upset about that.

(2) This really doesn’t hold a candle to the previous anger point, but it was swirling around in my brain during the long walk to work. I’m in a fantasy baseball league with old college professors of mine, and I have been lambasted something fierce by grown men due to a trade I recently made. I never thought I’d see people I looked up to acting so childish and whiny. Maybe Roy Oswalt for Nick Johnson isn’t smart, but it’s what I need right now, okay?!? And, really, if they’re just smarting because I didn’t go to them with an offer, then I must say that life past 30 really looks pathetic.

(3) Want to know something else that’s pathetic? Regret. I might have my own self-help scenario playing out. I’m realizing and vocalizing the regrets I’ve been carrying around for a while now. Then, I simply look at what I can do to make those regrets no longer regrets. If the situation is such that there’s nothing I can do to change that thing, goodbye regret. I’ve traced a lot of stuff back to my college days. Didn’t like them. Hated where I went. Can’t change that, though. I have the degree and everything. But, I can improve upon what I have. Go somewhere else. Get a Master’s. It’s what I’m strongly considering. My only problem with that plan is that I don’t want to master in film/TV but writing for television is still my singular focus. My next bit of self-help might be to have an open mind.

*************************

Music suggestion: In honor of my many morning steps, Walking in LA by Missing Persons.

*************************
THINE OWN SELF. Last time, Paul consummated his date with Rachel. It was his first time. Now, the sex is all he can think about. This confessional scene was added after the initial workshop in class. Initially, the religion angle wasn’t as strong, but at the suggestion of my class and professor, they thought that I had set that up and so I needed a payoff. The confessional scene really crystallizes Paul’s inner conflict, as you will note by the very on-the-nose dialogue. What follows from that is the beginning of this script’s controversy.

This was the first script I wrote in college. Before this, it had been Star Trek episodes, a Seinfeld, and half a Frasier. Suffice it to say, my first semester of college was more revealing than anything I had ever seen on TV or done in real life and I couldn’t help but fixate on the sexual aspects of my freshman year. I was later told by one of my English professors that writers almost always write about sex after they’ve had it for the first time. I think it’s because sex makes us feel so alive. Not only do we maybe feel connected to the other person, but it’s a life-affirming feeling to have sex. But Paul and Rachel’s sex, as you will soon read, is more an act of desperation and need.

INT. CONFESSIONAL BOOTH - LATER

Paul kneels in front of the screen, which promptly slides open. A SILHOUETTE of a PRIEST can be seen.

PAUL
Forgive me Father, for I have sinned.
It has been three days since my last
confession.

PRIEST
What troubles you?

PAUL
I have succumbed to temptation, Father.
I have engaged in sexual intercourse with
a woman outside of marriage. What do I do?

PRIEST
Why do you feel that sexual acts are an
appropriate way to connect with a person?

PAUL
Well, that's just it... I don't, usually.
I just... I don't know. I was caught up
in the moment, I suppose. I needed to
connect with someone.

PRIEST
I cannot tell you what to do; I can only
advise you. Your doubt is apparent.
Doubt is your sin, for doubt allows
temptation to run rampant within us.
Do you understand? Know what you want
for yourself.

EXT. RACHEL'S APARTMENT - LATER

Paul knocks on the door. Rachel answers. She is
beaming, and wearing nothing but a bathrobe.

RACHEL
Perfect timing. I just got out of the
shower. Come in.

Paul steps inside.

INT. RACHEL'S APARTMENT - SAME

Paul barely gets a chance to look around, because,
immediately, Rachel is on him, kissing him.

RACHEL
How about we skip dinner?

Paul smiles. She smiles, then laughs. They kiss.

BEGIN MONTAGE (NOTE: VARIOUS LOCALES ENCOMPASSING SEVERAL DAYS)-

Paul and Rachel having sex in her bed, doggy-style.
Paul and Rachel having sex in the shower.
Paul and Rachel having sex on the floor.
Paul and Rachel having sex on the bathroom sink.
Paul and Rachel having sex in the closet.
Paul and Rachel having sex in the car.

END MONTAGE

INT. PAUL'S BEDROOM - TWO WEEKS LATER

The two have just completed a full night of intense sex. They lay on the bed, naked and totally drained.

PAUL
Very nice.

RACHEL
You're fucking fantastic.

Rachel snuggles against Paul. He puts his arm around her. She rests her head on his chest, playing with his chest hair as she speaks.

RACHEL
Is my man happy?

PAUL
Very.

RACHEL
(a huge smile)
Good. Is there anything else I can do
to make you happy?

PAUL
Well, what about you? What do you want?

RACHEL
I just want to make you happy. Come on.
Tell me.

Paul ponders for a moment.

PAUL
Well, I've always wanted to... no. I can't
say that. It's horrible.


RACHEL
No, come on! Please!

PAUL
Well... I've always wondered what a
threesome is like. I'm sorry.

RACHEL
No! Don't apologize! I love hearing
your fantasies. Almost as much as I
love you.

She kisses him gently.

Break Me Hoff A Piece of That.

It truly is a gift from God that I can listen to Ryan Seacrest on the radio every morning. He really is tuned in to what I don’t care about. He helps me figure out what movies not to see, songs to hear or people to care about. Unfortunately, this morning he had on his show a childhood hero of mine, Mr. David Hasselhoff.

O, how Michael Knight has fallen. I know the topic of Hasselhoff’s career has always brought out the comedians in us, but to a lot of people (yes, yes, especially Germans) he meant something more than funny stuff. He really was a good guy because of the character he played on TV. The Hoff played Michael Knight effortlessly. At times, I was inspired to think that one man could make a difference (the theme of Knight Rider, in case you didn’t know). I’m just waiting to become a man.

But in terms of his overall career, Hasselhoff could be the poster boy for actors cast for their looks instead of their talents. He came from a soap opera when he got Knight Rider, then used the success of KR to get Baywatch. World fandom secured. But his talents were never better suited than for Knight Rider. He got the role of a lifetime and he hit it out of the park. Everything else we’ve ever seen him in, the music videos, Baywatch & Baywatch Nights… that’s the actual talent he has. Stars of the WB (now the CW) and FOX’s The O.C. beware, for the Hoff’s tale is a cautionary one.

Seacrest helped him flog his latest song, Jump In My Car. Please, watch the video AFTER you’ve read this, because you’ll be laughing too hard to finish the blog otherwise. I’ll sum up the video: Old Man Hasselhoff uses his German shwerve to get a woman into KITT so he can take her home. It’s an Australian pop song, which is why he rides in the passenger seat.

This video is just as bad as his Hooked on a Feeling cover. I feel only a little bad for the guy. It’s embarrasses me that he’s involved in stuff like this, but I must conclude that Mr. Hasselhoff is such a fame whore, so much the typical star desperate for our attention and lavish devotion, that he will throw himself into anything. He is, after all, making pop music. He doesn’t want to be an artist. He wants to be popular.

And that’s when I not only grow sad at the thought that my former hero is no better than Benjamin MacKenzie or Jared Padalecki. Who are those two? I don’t even know. But I once read their names in a TV Guide. I wish The Hoff had more artistic, actorly ambitions.

I wish David Hasselhoff was more like William Shatner. Shatner’s a pop icon to be sure, but the guy gave a damn about acting and performance. Yes, he had the ambition for popular appeal and he does delve into fame whoredom from time to time, but he’s got the goods to back up his stuff. He doesn’t really play characters, either. Anything I’ve ever seen him in (including Judgment at Nuremberg) he’s playing off his persona. I can respect that because he’s acting with integrity. And, because he’s steeped in his talents, his albums (okay, just the last one) and his TV shows (see yesterday’s entry) show him in a positive light, highlight his talents, and reinforce for his fans why they ever liked him in the first place.

With Hasselhoff, I can’t help but feel like I’ve been a fan of a Nazi all this time. If you watch the video, you’ll get what I mean (what’s with the fire behind him?)

In closing, David Hasselhoff should get a new producer for his albums and get that Knight Rider movie script done. With my help, of course.

*******************
THINE OWN SELF.

Paul gets up the courage to ask out Rachel and it succeeds. What a dreadfully unfunny scene. That accounts receivable “joke” was put in there because at the time I was taking a Financial Accounting class as part of my business minor. I thought I would be better served to have a practical minor to go with my Communication degree. After I fell asleep in nearly every class and couldn’t give crap one about what I was learning, I decided to drop the notion of doing anything practical.

The “Other than TGIF, not really” line, btw, is supposed to refer to Rachel being relieved that it was Friday. That was her only “plan” for the night, to thank God it was Friday. It’s not a good line. I feel the need to explain it, though, because everybody who’s ever read the script has commented on it being a dated reference that felt out of place. Today, I would revise the line to, “Other than celebrate the fact it’s Friday, not really.” Also today, I would have never written the line and I would have changed the scene altogether. The ask-out scene and the movie theater scene, you will note, lack dramatic tension. The subtext of the scenes could be sexual tension, but that’s not really here, either. It’s too easy for Paul to get a yes out of Rachel, and Rachel is far too accepting of him after he makes his unprovoked revelations in the theater, though Rachel’s easy acceptance of Paul is important. I should have played up her over-eagerness. That might have been a clue. Enjoy the next part. This baby picks up steam a little bit.

INT. PAUL'S BEDROOM - LATER

The two slam through the half-opened door. She tears
his shirt off. Her kissing is even more intense. Paul
is merely reacting now. Finally, he stops her.

PAUL
I've... I've never done this before.

RACHEL
(hungry)
That's great!

She unbuckles his belt and removes his pants.

PAUL
No, I don't think--

She quiets him with a mouth-watering kiss.

RACHEL
We both want this, don't we?

PAUL
But, Rachel, I don't believe in--

RACHEL
You're who I want, Paul. Right here,
right now. I want to be with you.

PAUL
I--I want to be with you, too.

RACHEL
You are so handsome.

She goes down on him. Paul reacts.

She rises and, in two quick motions, removes her skirt
and blouse. She lowers him onto the bed.

CROSS FADE TO:

INT. PAUL'S DESK - A FEW DAYS LATER

He sits, trying to work at his computer. He punches in a few commands. He stops and looks at a framed picture of his mother. Again, the most noticeable feature is a crucifix around her neck.

Paul shakes his head ever so slightly. He looks down at some paperwork and punches the appropriate data into fields on the computer screen.

Paul stands and leaves his desk.

INT. VENDING ROOM - A FEW MINUTES LATER

Paul purchases a bottle of water from the vending machine. He promptly opens the bottle and takes several chugs of the bottle.

He checks his watch again and sees that it is 11:57 AM. He looks extremely agitated; he is perspiring. He exits.

When You Can't Write, Make A List.

In honor of my lack of imagination, I'm listing my top 5 TV shows currently on the air. This is based on their must-watch factor.

5. The Simpsons.

Still funny after 80 years. Not as funny as say, Family Guy or The Daily Show, but most of us have grown up with these characters and they’re like family to us. A lot of the sloppy writing in these later years can be explained as simply relying on the audience’s knowledge of previous character bits, callbacks, etc. But The Simpson's still love each other and they’re a complete family. Likewise, the City of Springfield is a fully-realized one. Family Guy, for all its comedy strengths, can’t say the same. (Sundays, 8:00PM. FOX)

4. The Office.

I loved Steve Carell on The Daily Show. Loved him in Bruce Almighty. But when I saw the ads for The 40 Year Old Virgin, I crossed my arms and refused to believe that he could be a leading man. Similarly, when NBC announced they were going to forcibly remove from the bedroom of our minds’ the beautiful sleeping baby that was the BBC’s The Office and stick Carell in as Rickey Gervais’ replacement, I crossed my arms and kicked a puppy. But now the show is #4 on my appointment TV depth chart, and for good reason. It’s hilarious. Not hah-hah funny, but THAT IS THE FUNNIEST THING I HAVE EVER SEEN funny. And it keeps getting better. And, much like the Simpsons, it’s starting to fully-realize its world, and every character is beginning to become multi-dimensional. Carell is great, but Rainn Wilson is better. Dwight is just… that guy makes me laugh. Watch the damn show before it goes the way of Arrested Development. (Thursdays, 8:30PM. NBC)

3. House.

Did you know Hugh Laurie’s British? Seriously. Can’t tell here, though. I am not a big procedural guy. I’m not a big medical show guy, either. But House has character, no heart, and zingers the likes of which we might never see again. Best exchange of the series thus far:

CAMERON
How would you like it if somebody stuck a 12-inch
hose up your butt?

HOUSE
I suddenly have respect for the basketball player you
dated in college.

A very entertaining 39:19 of television week in and week out. The supporting characters are great, but mainly, House is the reason you watch. (Tuesdays, 9:00PM. FOX)


2. Veronica Mars.

Kristen Bell is hot. Just thought I’d get that out of the way. But she’s not the reason I started watching the show. The incessant postings of internet message board peeps finally cajoled me into checking out this show halfway through its first season. I’ve been hooked ever since. It’s a weekly mystery wrapped up in a season-long mystery and the lead is a hot, petite blonde chick named Veronica. The obnoxious photographer guy from Just Shoot Me plays her dad, but he’s awesome here. Check it out on the new CW this fall. (Tuesdays, 9:00PM. The CW)

1. Boston Legal.

The Shatner and The Spader. Pick and roll with these two all night long. They’re unstoppable. It’s about the law… sort of. It’s about unethical lawyers battling one another… sort of. It’s about the wacky clients of the firm Crane, Poole & Schmidt… sort of. Really, the whole thing is about Denny Crane (The Shatner) and everybody else just revolves around his enormous, gassy star. So over-the-top ridiculous and then so utterly melodramatic, but I can’t help but watch it.
(Tuesdays, 10:00PM. ABC)

Cat Urine Theater.

Strangers with Candy can be seen at a supposedly independent film theater here in Santa Monica. I say supposedly because it’s actually a part of a chain of such theaters. I tend to think that something loses its independence once it’s a part of a larger pool of similar entities, but hey, maybe it’s just semantics. I guess the independent part comes from the films, which are not “mainstream.” But independent films nowadays are independent in the same way that Goths are not conformists. They’re actually just a part of another group with its own rules of conformity.

One such rule of conformity, it seems, is that all “independent theaters” must smell like a litter box. I don’t think Landmark actually uses industrial strength cleaning supplies, but actual cat urine to clean their floors. It was strong. The movie didn’t stink, but the cat pee smell certainly had me thinking otherwise.

This was the second such “independent theater” I’ve been to in my life. The first was in Orinda, when I was stuck in college. I saw the Cider House Rules there. It was a smaller screen (I think they make bigger plasma screens for home use) and theater (McDonald’s has more seats in its Kid Play area) but the kitty piss stench was at least 100 times stronger. That movie actually did stink (moral: ether for some, abortions for all!), so the smell was probably appropriate.

But maybe it’s just a coincidence. Well… wait. Lemme think. I believe the rule of thumb is “Once is a coincidence, twice is a pattern.” And since both trips to an “independent theater” have been marked by the hanging odor of feline spray #1, I can safely say as a warning to you all, “Independent theaters stink like pussy pee.”

******

Damn, I hate the Dodgers. Not as much as I hate the Fraudres, though. I hate San Diego more because I hate San Diegans. They’re obnoxious, ignorant and their broadcasters sound like monkeys reading from scripts written by someone who wrote on Dharma & Greg while under a general anesthetic.

Dodger Stadium’s a great place. But watching the Giants lose at the end of games really makes it a house of horrors for me. I got such a kick out of seeing my team live and in person, but damned if I didn’t want to kick them all in the balls after losing 9-7 when they had the game in hand.

AND THEY ALMOST BLEW IT AGAIN TODAY!

I can’t rant about the Giants. Go to the ESPN.com message board forum for the Giants if you want to read what we all go through rooting for this team from San Francisco. We are all so keenly aware that this team will not win a World Series. Indeed, after 2002, I have accepted the possibility that my team might never win a World Series.

I’m sad.

*****

So, to pick me up, I’ll listen to Bandages by Hot Hot Heat. Because when you’ve had your chest ripped open and your heart yanked out, the best way to heal that nasty flesh wound is with bandages.

*****

THINE OWN SELF. The other day, we met Paul and his best friend, Sandra. I can safely say that I based Paul on a hyper-pathetic version of myself. That is, a version of me who lacked any confidence whatsoever and operated from a place of being too afraid to learn anything. I hope you caught all the on-the-nose dialogue that I felt was necessary to quickly let us know who these characters were. Notice how the scene lacks strong conflict and ends with a lackluster punch. This next part does much of the same.

Enjoy!

INT. LOBBY - NIGHT

Paul stops by the receptionist's desk, where the aforementioned temp, RACHEL DIARS, 23, sits, cleaning up her desk and preparing to leave. She is an extremely attractive young woman.

PAUL
Hi.

She looks up and flashes a fantastic smile.

RACHEL
Hi! Did those files help you out?

PAUL
Uh, yes. Yes, they did. You know
what we always say, "accounts
receivable logs are always
receivable."

Rachel laughs at the obscure accounting joke.

RACHEL
What can I do for you? I was just
about to leave, but if you need
something...?

PAUL
Actually, I was wondering what you
were doing right now? Did you have
specific plans?

RACHEL
Other than TGIF, not really. Why?

PAUL
Would you like to go somewhere...
together, maybe?

RACHEL
I'd love to!

PAUL
Really?

RACHEL
Yes, really.

PAUL
Great. I was hoping we might sit and
talk for awhile. If you want to,
anyway. We can just as easily go
and--

RACHEL
Talking would be just fine.

INT. SCHAB'S THEATER - NIGHT

Paul and Rachel sit in the raggy, one-screen movie theater. The lights have yet to dim.

RACHEL
This has got to be the shittiest
theater I've ever seen.

PAUL
You've got no argument here. But, I
like it. It's got personality.

RACHEL
(a beat)
So, Paul, why did you ask me out?

PAUL
Honestly?

RACHEL
No. Please. Lie.

PAUL
Well, we've been talking a lot
recently, just at work, obviously...
but, I think you're incredibly
attractive and I just wanted to get
to know you.

RACHEL
How sweet of you to think so highly
of me, considering how little we know
about each other.

PAUL
Well, isn't that what dating's all about?
Getting to know other people?

RACHEL
Of course it is.
(a beat)
I have a question for you.

PAUL
Shoot.

RACHEL
Why don't you ever go out to lunch with
us? I know you're invited. I've only
been around for a few weeks, but it's
obvious you want to be left alone. Why?

PAUL
That's not it at all. I don't want to
be left alone.

RACHEL
Then...?

PAUL
I'm just frustrated. People misunder-
stand me all the time. I'd just as soon
avoid that conflict and stay away from
people... as hermit-like as that sounds.

RACHEL
Misunderstand you how?

PAUL
Oh, see now... I don't know if I should
be telling you this. I could ruin a
perfectly good evening.

RACHEL
You can say whatever you want. I pride
myself on being non-judgmental.

Paul thinks for a long while. Finally, he sighs, then speaks.

PAUL
(voice rushed; almost embarrassed)
I believe in God.


RACHEL
So? Me too.

PAUL
I go to church...

RACHEL
That's great.

PAUL
... every Sunday.

RACHEL
Even better. My dad and I used to go
every Sunday when I was little.

PAUL
I don't like drinking; I've always been
taught that it's a frivolous exercise; it
only leads to bad things. I think going to
bars and getting piss-ass drunk every
Friday after work is as pointless as...
as... masturbating.

RACHEL
(a huge smile)
I think masturbating and drinking are
useless, too!

Paul sighs in relief.

PAUL
Glad we got that out of the way. Wow.
You haven't run out on me.

RACHEL
Of course not. Why would I? You have
your convictions and you're sticking to
them. That's great.

PAUL
What if I told you I liked "Star Trek"?

RACHEL
Then I'd say "Live Long and Prosper."

PAUL
Really?

RACHEL
Oh yeah. My dad was a huge Trekkie.
(leans in towards PAUL)
And you know what, you can beam me up
anytime. My hailing frequencies are open.

Paul can't help but smile. Nor can Rachel.

The theater lights slowly dim. They turn to watch the
movie.

A Pirate's Life for Me.

I’ve seen the ceiling of the Pirates of the Caribbean ride. I remember when the pirates were trying to rape that chick in the village instead of steal her food. I’ve always thought it’s the best theme ride at Disneyland, with the most realistic animatronic dudes.

But I fell asleep in the movie.

It wasn’t boring, per se, but Orlando Bloom was in it, so, maybe I should reconsider that opinion. I just didn’t really get into the film all that much. I fell asleep for 40 minutes of it, woke up in time to see the ghost pirates march under the ship and then I more or less watched the rest of the movie in that just-woke-up mental fog. I recall that I saw this in the apartment downstairs, where a girl I liked lived. Her roommate was the one who wanted me, though, so the girl I wanted suddenly became off limits. Still, homegirl could drink and on a Sunday afternoon I had more Rolling Rocks than I care to recall. The beer, more than anything, could actually explain the falling asleep thing.

Nah. It was definitely Orlando Bloom.

You won’t find me in line for Pirates of the Caribbean 2: Dead Man’s Chest (or POTC2: RUN DMC) tonight. I’ll be in line for Strangers with Candy. If you didn’t like the Comedy Central series, then you won’t like the movie, you have no sense of humor, and I don’t feel sorry for you for not having a sense of humor. Kidding.

Before the movie, though, I’ll be watching the Giants (cross my fingers, please God, oh God, oh God, please) beat the Dodgers tonight at Chavez Ravine. I’ll be wearing a Giants cap. My biggest fear is not getting shot. It’s watching the Giants lose the game on a walk-off grand slam that knocks them out of the playoffs. Thankfully, the Giants can’t be eliminated from playoff contention with a loss tonight (their troublesome roster coming into the season has already done that), so I won’t have my worst fear realized.

That being said, I thought the topic of biggest fear is one worth posting about. I’ll twist it a little bit to make it things that scare the shit out of me. The one thought I can always go to for cold shivers up my spine is the thought of being a maintenance guy on Disneyland rides.

Think about it: you’re standing on a concrete island covered in Astroturf, behind a cardboard cutout of a palm tree, while across the way you see this ginormous riverboat rocking back and forth with animatronic animals wearing ridiculous while they sway to and fro. You can’t hear the music (“Zippity-Doo-Da”) because the tech guys have turned it off so you can repair the stage lighting aimed at the riverboat and its painted orange backdrop. What you can hear is the sound of the air compressors and mechanical lifts that rock the riverboat and animate the animals. You can also hear the water splashing against the side of your concrete island and flowing through your indoor artificial outdoor environment.

The lighting on the Disneyland rides sell the illusion of those suckers. If you ever saw any of that with work lights or natural lighting you’d not only recognize that it’s junky old dusty pieces of prop handiwork, but you’d also be creeped out because its acting like it’s real and alive. The more intensely I scrutinize the pirates of the Caribbean, or the animals of Splash Mountain, the more I can conjure up some weird, twisted nightmare. The rides are just creepy sometimes.

But Orlando Bloom sucks all the time.

******************
Part two of Thine Own Self will be posted tomorrow. I am writing this post on a computer that doesn’t have the script on it, so once I get home and I can do it. Suffice it to say, the hackneyed opening definitely branches out into some odd territory.

******************
Music suggestion for today: Still in Love Song by The Stills off of Logic Will Break Your Heart.

Bombs Bursting In Air.

Great fireworks display after the game last night. I look forward to the day when our fireworks technology reaches the point where we can stuff advertisements in the explosion. The smiley faces are only the first step. It’s like a pilot program to test our ability to manipulate the resultant light show.

*****************

Today’s a short post just to get in my requirement. I am technically composing this before midnight, so it is still Wednesday. That being said, my Inner Muse didn’t really bring her A-game today. As a result, you are forced to read a slapdash posting. I might lose the few stranger visitors because of it, and for the lack of exciting content today, I do apologize, Stranger Visitor.

*****************

Music suggestions for today: go back a year and listen to Razorlight’s album, Up All Night. Up All Night, Golden Touch and Stumble and Fall are mighty fine compositions.

*****************

I have decided to torture myself by posting my first college screenplay through a series of posts. I just thought it might be fun to do. Please, make fun of it in the comments section below.

"THINE OWN SELF"

FADE IN:

EXT. SKYLINE - DAY

A grand, sweeping shot of the Chicago skyline, complete
with skyscrapers and other office buildings. Of particular focus is a plain, rectangular-shaped office building.

EXT. CHAMBERLAIN BUILDING - DAY

Attached to the outside of the building is the window washer's platform. Seated on it is PAUL HENSEN, age 24. He is a rather unremarkable person in appearance. He is attractive, but does not stand out, specifically. He is wearing a dress shirt and tie with slacks--he is clearly an office fellow.

Paul sits and eats his lunch, observing the view.

SANDRA HOLT, 26, appears in the window behind Paul.

SANDRA
Are you out here again?

She climbs out on the scaffolding with him.

PAUL
I didn't feel like eating with
everybody else.

SANDRA
What else is new?

PAUL
Juice box?

He starts to reach into his lunch pail.

SANDRA
No, that's okay.
(a beat)
You okay? You seem a little down today.

PAUL
I know. I know.
(long pause; sighs, then)
Sandra, what am I doing with my life?

SANDRA
You're working... spending some Friday
nights with your best friend--me--and
my sexy husband. If that's not a heck
of a life, then I don't know what is.



PAUL
(smiles)
Don't I come over enough, though?

SANDRA
One could make that argument.
(a beat)
Really, Paul, what's wrong? You thinking
about your mom again?

PAUL
Maybe. Yeah. A little.

He pulls a of a graceful woman—Paul's mother—out of his wallet. Of note is a crucifix she wears around her neck.

PAUL
I went to her grave yesterday. You know,
flowers and the whole bit. I just got
real sad, that's all. I don't know what
it was. I just got sad all of a sudden.
I could hear her... talking to me, you know?

SANDRA
Telling you how handsome you are, no doubt.

PAUL
(sheepish grin)
Yeah. She was always doing that.

SANDRA
You're lonely, aren't you? You miss having
someone around all the time.

PAUL
I'm with you practically all the time.

SANDRA
You know what I mean. Your mom was a
significant person in your life--she still
is--but, now she's not here, and you're
looking for someone to fill that void.

PAUL
Listen to Dr. Freud here.

SANDRA
My mom always said I should have become
a psychiatrist instead of an accountant.
I stand by my decision.

PAUL
Well, what should I do, Doctor?


SANDRA
Umm... well... why not fill that void?

PAUL
What, you mean, like a date?

SANDRA
Yeah. That sounds like something a twenty-
four year old would do.

PAUL
Well, I have been talking to that new
temp--you know, Rachel? I could ask
her out.

SANDRA
Ask her out, then. I'm sure she'd want
to spend an evening with you. Go for it.
(rises; holds out hand)
Now, let's finish that audit.

She pulls him up. They climb back into the building together.

Belly of the Beast.

I woke up to the sound of my hand slapping my belly. My spare tire. My… gut. It seems that time, metabolism and Coldstone’s have finally caught up to me and I am now a regular human being. I’ve lost definition in my middle. I never really had that much definition to begin with, and those of you who know me well know that I’ve never really been in tip-top physical condition anyway, even when I was playing sports.

Alas, I cannot seem to beat back my expanding waistline. If my father and his father are any indication, I’m really going to get all bloaty and water-retainy in the near future. And I’ll still have chicken legs. A weird physique the Murphmen have, to be sure.

But the fun doesn’t stop there. A quick look at myself in the mirror reveals a Zach Braff-esque neck waddle that has, quite frankly, really flummoxed my day; a day that will be capped off by a night game at Dodger Stadium, where the Bums will take on the Diamondbacks of Arizona.

I love major league baseball so much that I want to attend three games at Dodger Stadium this week. The third game will be on Friday, when my Giants come to town. The last time I saw these two teams square off in LA in person, Steve Finley hit a walk-off grand slam to knock the Giants out of the playoffs and crush my soul. But I want to go because I love the game so much. And, well, there’s an awesome woman who will be sitting next to me, too. But I really do love the game so much that I’ll watch the Dodgers play the Diamondbacks twice.

We shouldn’t be ashamed of what we love, though. I mean, I’m only a little ashamed because it’s the Dodgers and, as I indicated in my previous post, not every Giants fan is willing to give me a free pass on seeing a game at Dodger Stadium. But it’s become commonplace for people not to like what they like just because a louder voice criticizes that like.

I love the 4th of July. I love the United States of America. I love what our country is, what it used to be, and all of its inherent flaws and conflicts. Like Easter is to the Catholic church, the 4th is to our country, and I can think of nothing better than celebrating our representative democracy together. It should be the day where we all set aside our political differences and say, for better of for worse, here’s our country. We all live here, let’s celebrate America together. Just for the day. Then we can go back to screwing each other over and being awful to one another on the 5th.

My family used to go to the fireworks on the Air Force Base, before security measures banned the public from visiting. I’m not a big fireworks guy. They’re neat, but they’re not an event to plan a night around. Still, it was great that the people of our then-small town could come together and celebrate our country with these fireworks sort of being the big birthday cake at the center of the room. This was our slice of the celebratory cake and it was a fun time to come together.

Before the fireworks, though, there is always a parade that goes through downtown. And it’s the day that all of the city’s groups march through. It’s hot, it becomes increasingly boring as you grow older, but it’s just an awesome display of patriotism. I miss it, actually. The 4th of July was always a day of celebration without tension. We went to the parade and watched the fireworks because we felt that we were a part of something bigger than us, but still ours.

Last night, I went to a stupid place in Universal Citywalk called Howl at the Moon. The piano bar guys led a rendition of the Star-Spangled Banner. And everybody really got into it. Most impressive, everybody knew the words. And that was cool. Wasn’t necessarily patriotic. But it was fun and it was something I hadn’t been a part of in LA, a place that I think abhors patriotism more than San Francisco.

So tomorrow night, as I watch a fireworks show to celebrate the birthday of the country we love in the stadium of my most-hated rival, just remember that it’s patriotic to love something that isn’t perfect, especially when we are free to make it better.