"Pakistan Girls - www.Pronto.com - Find Pakistan Girls In Photos at Great Prices."
Monday, September 15, 2008
Monday, July 28, 2008
OMFG
After last night, is a better tagline for "Mad Men" than for "Gossip Girl." Devastatingly great. I may never write again. . .
Monday, July 21, 2008
The Homeless Are The Future
Seen a few days ago: A couple of homeless men comparing Ipod selections. "You've got some good stuff on here," one said.
Monday, July 14, 2008
Sadly, he's not the oldest Hannah Montana fan
In front of me at the pharmacy last night, a fiftyish Asian gentleman read the "Spotlight on Miley Cyrus" issue of People, paying special attention to the photo spreads. . . for a full 20 minutes.
Sunday, June 22, 2008
I know I'm in LA
Because my barber was on the phone negotiating a production deal while he cut my hair.
Saturday, June 21, 2008
Withoutaclue
Withoutabox, aka WAB, aka the absolute most frustrating method of submitting a screenplay to a contest.
"Project Website" as a category for a screenplay? Really?
Additional contests are not listed alphabetically? Really?
Terrible.
Monday, June 9, 2008
a not win is not a loss
I did not win this latest contest. Working TV writer Doug Molitor continues to do quite well with his "Guard #3" script, though.
In fact, many working writers win these contests, along with previously working writers who win fellowships. Is it right that I have to compete with these people? Of course I know it is, since they had to face the same odds.
And besides, I'm better. . .
Wednesday, June 4, 2008
Insomnia Cafe Sucks (and so do you)
Imagine my surprise when I discovered that many of my fellow aspiring screenwriters are raging assholes.
I'll back up a little bit. All the Starbucks around here are tiny. Okay, there's the one at Santa Monica and La Brea, but where am I supposed to park? And being a pretentious aspiring screenwriter, I have to write in a coffee shop, right? The Coffee Bean's are even smaller than the Starbucks are, so really the only place to go is Insomnia.
And go we do. All of us. 12 people in there last time I visited, all writing screenplays, all but one on Macs.
"Pretty cool place," I thought. Sure, they only take cash, and sure, it's kind of cramped (even Insomnia isn't as big as the Starbucks I used back home), and sure, the girl behind the counter gave me the stink-eye when she asked "Did you purchase anything?" when I asked for a glass of water, even though I'd made eye contact with her both when I ordered and when I picked up my iced coffee (which sucks compared to a Starbucks frap), but it's got atmosphere, right? And it's kind of dark, which is nice. And everybody's a writer, so it's a friendly atmosphere. . .
Only that last part is horse puckey. It's an in-crowd club just like every other lousy independent coffee shop I've ever been to. The regulars high five each other but only scowl when you dare to reach over next to them to plug into the power strip. Need to know if somebody's sitting there? Don't ask! Because you'll just get a curt "no idea" and a look of firm drop-deadness (Yes, I'm talking to you, dude in the stupid hat! Why are you wearing that hat? Are you Walter Matthau?).
Have all my fellow writers been here too long? Are they so scalded by the ever-present Los Angeles sun that they can't show a brother some love? Is it competition? Am I seen as just another usurper trying to take their piece of the pie?
If you read this, my fellow Insomniacs, please, please, turn those frowns upside-down!
I'll back up a little bit. All the Starbucks around here are tiny. Okay, there's the one at Santa Monica and La Brea, but where am I supposed to park? And being a pretentious aspiring screenwriter, I have to write in a coffee shop, right? The Coffee Bean's are even smaller than the Starbucks are, so really the only place to go is Insomnia.
And go we do. All of us. 12 people in there last time I visited, all writing screenplays, all but one on Macs.
"Pretty cool place," I thought. Sure, they only take cash, and sure, it's kind of cramped (even Insomnia isn't as big as the Starbucks I used back home), and sure, the girl behind the counter gave me the stink-eye when she asked "Did you purchase anything?" when I asked for a glass of water, even though I'd made eye contact with her both when I ordered and when I picked up my iced coffee (which sucks compared to a Starbucks frap), but it's got atmosphere, right? And it's kind of dark, which is nice. And everybody's a writer, so it's a friendly atmosphere. . .
Only that last part is horse puckey. It's an in-crowd club just like every other lousy independent coffee shop I've ever been to. The regulars high five each other but only scowl when you dare to reach over next to them to plug into the power strip. Need to know if somebody's sitting there? Don't ask! Because you'll just get a curt "no idea" and a look of firm drop-deadness (Yes, I'm talking to you, dude in the stupid hat! Why are you wearing that hat? Are you Walter Matthau?).
Have all my fellow writers been here too long? Are they so scalded by the ever-present Los Angeles sun that they can't show a brother some love? Is it competition? Am I seen as just another usurper trying to take their piece of the pie?
If you read this, my fellow Insomniacs, please, please, turn those frowns upside-down!
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