Chestburster

Saturday. Some yogurt to start the day. Followed by a few unscheduled hours of drinks with friends.

Early evening, before more drinking was scheduled, made an unscheduled stop by this Thai restaurant and wolfed down a plate of chicken pad thai.

What immediately followed was one of the worst cases of heartburn I've ever been hit with.

It was so bad, it almost felt like an allergic reaction.

Massive, rolling pressure in my chest. As if an alien were trying to burst through. A little fucking Thai chestburster alien.

Tried to rejoin friends. Was not happening. Made my way to a Rite Aid, picked up a bottle of chewable antacids. By then, hiccups began to accompany the chest pains. The short wait at the checkout line was too much and I popped the antacids open before paying, downed a chalky peppermint flavored tablet. Containing calcium, which is something my body needs anyway. The hiccups stopped almost immediately and the burning chest pains dulled slightly. Paid. Headed back to the company.

Two more antacid tablets. Helped dull the burning but the sensation of rolling pressure in my chest was extremely slow to subside. Hours. Drinking cold water eased the hurt slightly but I was basically out of it for the night.

After a spell of relief—the sensation of a storm passing—the chest pains revisited while I tried to go to sleep later. Lying down can worsen the sensation of heartburn.

Note to self: don't drink for hours on an empty stomach. And if you do, don't wolf down a heavy meal afterwards to fill that god-shaped hole.

You Know You're Wrong

Some couples seem perfect. The portrait of compatibility. The gold standard of cosmic synchronicity.

And then, there's the other end of that spectrum.

The couple that represents the worst idea in the world. The sight of them together makes you want to head in the other direction. The negative karma of their relationship threatens to undo the fabric of their surrounding social circle. Two people in it for the wrong reasons. Two people barreling toward disaster despite miles of warning signs. Seeing them together makes you like them less as individuals because you are constantly reminded of the journey that led to that relationship.

But the party rages on. Because when two people are that determined to be a disaster together, there isn't a damn thing anyone can do about it. Except drink.

Newly Lost

The makers of the TV show "LOST" revealed some "new footage" at Comic-Con. Essentially highlighting how awful and convoluted their own plot mechanics were. It's kinda funny (if you've suffered the full run of the show and know what they're talking about). And it still doesn't make me hate the show any less.

A recap of the GAME OF THRONES panel @ Comic-Con, for those who watch that show.

How to Weaponize an Orange Peel

This Heat Has Been Repulsive

Heat and this city make for a bad romance. The heat brings out a stench deep in the concrete that sickens. And the AC in my apartment is simply not good enough to combat the heatwave temps.

It promises to be hot this week but mercifully not record-breaking. It's hard to get work done when you're being cooked alive.

Amy Winehouse Has a Posse

Amy Jade Winehouse
September 14, 1983 – July 23, 2011
Amy Winehouse has a posse.

Bet you didn't see *that* coming, did you? It's like an M. Night Shyamalan twist. I'm shocked. SHOCKED!

Go Make Some New Disaster

I find that as I get on, I have less patience for people who don't know how to act right. It annoys me because I have tried very hard to treat most people with a basic measure of courtesy, so when someone is rude or offensive without call for it, I'm going to point it out. I've been through hell; I won't hesitate to burn a bridge.

Things may get pretty busy soon. No details, no jinxes. Suffice it to say, a lot has to happen this summer.

TGIF bonus for Haunted Mansion fans:
The Mystery of the Hatbox Ghost...

You're Someone Else's Problem

I think it's sort of remarkable, in this day and age, how I've managed to maintain an almost complete ignorance of my ex-wife's life. There are shared connections and New York's theater world can be small (albeit fractured and comprised of certain ghettos). But in this one department, I lack curiosity. I don't see the point.

Actively not wanting to know is not quite the same as not caring. If I truly didn't care, I wouldn't mind accidentally learning this or that.

Fact is, after all these years, I still feel like I've got something to prove.

And in a strange way, proving myself has less to do with being in a relationship and more to do with establishing a certain level of success with my career. I'm pretty sure she wouldn't begrudge me any success. She knew I was talented. We were both writers and I was incredibly supportive of her creative career, beyond the point where I should have been. Beyond the point where she showed me any conceit of support. My big career break happened just as my marriage was officially ending and that helped me get on. It was like the Universe patting me on the shoulder and saying, "This is what you should be doing."

Ultimately, I don't think I got a lot out of that relationship. I think I got less than I put in. I've moved on... but I can still conjure up leftover anger. Some might say that that isn't completely "moving on", but I'm no longer paralyzed by that anger and the sense of betrayal. It's just an old wound that can still get rubbed raw every so often by some random happening.

Now I've got better things to do before I die.

The Sadder But Wiser Girl

Is it possible for me to be growing more antisocial?

I don't think that's quite it. But I do think there is some pressure to get coupled up. Because the world is filled with couples. The majority of your friends are couples. And the Couple Industrial Complex would just like to see you find something nice.

I feel like the past 12 months, I've taken a long review of the situation. I've dated more and flirted with the idea of being in a longer relationship. And I've come to appreciate, now more than ever, that you don't need to be in a serious relationship to be a complete human being. The fact is, it's hard to concentrate on the thought of dating while I'm so preoccupied with my career. It feels like the make or break summer. There's movement and promise and activity. It feels like I'm on the verge of something. But until some good news becomes flesh, dating seems a little frivolous right now.

I don't want to be with some girl just to be with some girl. It's *fun* to play house—some people pursue relationships JUST to play house... but I want something more.

Now I Only Want You Gone

I've noticed that different social circles harbor different standards of wit and charm. Some circles are filled with whipsmart people and you've really got to be on your game to mix it up and make your mark. Other circles can be slightly... off. Not completely awful but not exactly hitting targets. And it can become apparent that the bar is low because nobody seems to know the difference.

That sounds arrogant and judgmental but you know what I'm talking about. Some circles are simply funnier. Some circles are cooler. In some circles, you're the court jester and in others you're the King.

I didn't have a regular childhood or adolescence. Didn't really start socializing until I landed in college. So it has been an extended process of learning how to be mice elf. Some nights I see the entire game clearly. Other nights I don't even feel like playing.

Vanishing Act

I love leaving a party without saying goodbye. It is one of my greatest pleasures. If I can make my escape without saying goodbye to every single person I know there, it is a profound thrill. I imagine it's similar to the thrill that shoplifters experience. Or serial killers. It's like committing a crime.

No drawn-out sentiments. No half-hearted promises to meet again in the foreseeable future. No handshakes, nor hugs, nor fist-bumps. No parceling out of farewells painstakingly calibrated to acknowledge the specific degree of each and every level of friendship and acquaintance.

NO.

I gladly defy the tyranny of the Goodbye Industrial Complex when I can. All goodbyes should be sudden.

Zelda Portal

The Socialist Democratic Federated Republic of Carbombya

Casey Kasem recalls:

A few years ago, I was doing one of the voices in the TV cartoon series, "Transformers." One week, the script featured an evil character named Abdul, King of Carbombya. He was like all the other cartoon Arabs. I asked the director, "Are there any good Arabs in this script for balance?" We looked. There was one other-but he was no different than Abdul. So, I told the show's director that, in good conscience, I couldn't be a part of that show.

Nothing like 1980s propaganda for the kids!

People keep tellin' me my check is on the way

It's Friday morning and I'm not scrambling to finish a script by nightfall. Made some final changes to CADAVERS and sent it to my peeps late last night (while drunk!) and so THAT FUCKING THING IS GONE OUT TO THE WORLD!

Weather's gorgeous. Warm and dry. BREAKING BAD comes back on Sunday so I've got something to live for again.

I need good things to start happening for me now. Or else I'm taking a lot of innocent people down with me...

Check out TUNE, a webcomic about an art school dropout who becomes an exhibit in an alien zoo. (Why didn't Luc Dimick write this?)

All the Pretty Ponies

Things. Are. Happening.

Not everything on time as they should be happening... but wheels are moving.

Some final little fixes on the CADAVERS script before it "goes out". Still waiting to hear about my last treatment revision of HARROWGATE.

And my manager emailed me last night about a new project. An open writing assignment, meaning there'd be other writers vying for the job. It's a "found footage" movie so you know it will be good. It would be set up at Paramount, which is my old home. I'll have to talk to my manager to get more information.

Wouldn't it be nice to get paid for one or more of these projects...? Preferably this year...?

Some extra reading for you today:

Letters for the year 2076 from the schoolkids of 1976.

Don't Look For Me

Above image comes from this photo gallery of an abandoned New Orleans amusement park.

I took an online quiz and there's a good chance I'm "moderately" bi-polar, which would come as a surprise to precisely no one who knows me. If true—and I think it's probably tricky to accurately diagnose—I think I've done an admirable job of keeping it in check over the years, all things considered.

Here are some random links for you to peruse, at my delicate urging:

How to be a young lady in 1939 Manhattan.

True stories of animal actors in sci-fi and fantasy movies.

This one time, at Space Camp...

Animated GIF gallery!

How to Short Circuit Millions of Years of Evolution and Rewrite Genesis

Looks like we're just about there, Constant Readers. The producers read my last draft of CADAVERS over the weekend and really like it. A few typos to polish up and it looks like we're going to start sending this bad boy out. At long last.

What does this mean?

I... don't know.

The journey to attach some actors and a director. A fun ride... but I could really use a payday right about now. But the best way to get a payday would probably be to attach some other talent to the project first. Which means... MORE WAITING! YAY!

Well, let's make a begrudging attempt to look at the bright side for a moment, shall we?

If we can attach some hot actors and a really good director, that might get us some press/buzz, which would help us set it up at a good Studio/Production House. And then? The sky is the limit and the limit's the sky. (P.W.E.I.!)

Okay, Universe: you don't like me and I don't like you, but I really need this one to work, okay? So, let's put aside our differences and come together here.

[Special thanks to Alison Duncan for helping me with some med school questions I had early on. I hope you'll be able to overlook all my errors and the pseudo-science I manufactured for the story.]

The Apple Menace

Baby Did a Bad, Bad Thing

Sometimes you have to be the bad guy to do a little good in the world.

Pleasant weekend. I've got some work to do this week...

Harrowgate Horrorshow

Friday, I turned in a new treatment draft for this new project I've been calling HARROWGATE. Producer deal for CADAVERS finally closed which means the new draft of that script is going to be read.

I've done (almost) all that I can do.

The sensation: relief. Great burdens lifted. As the new week descends, burdens will inevitably return. But for now, for this weekend... I am filled with peace and grace.

I feel *good* about the work that I've done.

I feel that I'm putting out work that I can stand by. It may not be perfect (yet) but it is some really interesting work. When your sense of worth is inextricably pinned to your work, it helps to believe in it sometimes. If only for moments.

It's Always Sunny

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A suggestive infographic that ran in USA Today last Friday.

I just had to waste some time crudely animating it.

Here's a smaller version:


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Feel free to use, make a better version, or perhaps just move on with your day. Thanks for your time.

Living on a Prayer

So much of my sense of worth is pinned to the current state of my career, which seems perennially in limbo. If the shape of this thing is supposed to resemble a rollercoaster, I'm due for a great big fucking hill because I've been racing these downward sloping tracks for quite some time.

You write. And you wait. And you write. And you wait.

Sometimes the waiting is a welcome break. Breathing room after you've worked really hard on a draft.

Sometimes the waiting is simply water torture.

My mood has suffered grand fluctuations over the past month. I've definitely done my share of partying. Nothing like booze and friends to help you forget your troubles for a night.

But the troubles don't go away on their own. That looming sense of dread is always there. That Sword of Damocles. And the overriding feeling is that I don't want to see anyone and I don't want anyone to see me. Forget about socializing and dating. That girl I like deserves so much better than I could offer her; she deserves more than me; she deserves more than who I am right now... because I am so much less than I am capable of being...

There. I said it.

Step toward finding some inner peace is admitting these awful thoughts that whirl through my head. If I can get them out of my head, maybe I can begin to let them go. I need to breathe. I need to focus on what's directly in front of me.

They Might Be Chumbawamba

They Might Be Giants covers Chumbawamba

Cy Twombly Has a Posse

Cy Twombly
April 25, 1928 – July 5, 2011

Cy Twombly has a posse.

The Last Kid Standing Up Against The Wall

I marvel at how painfully shy I can be. Most friends do not understand how much effort it takes for me to overcome this. Some might see in me an embarrassment of self-confidence. A sense of arrogance, even. But all of that can go away in a split-second. Sometimes I'm so overwhelmed with insecurities that it's a struggle just to step out the door. Sometimes I force myself to socialize with people -- when I'm much more inclined to hide from the world.

A lot of people don't get that. They don't see it because I'm the one who deals with it in private. All the doubt and fear and self-criticism.

One of the reasons I broadcast this personal blog out to the great wide unknown public is to maintain a sense of honesty. I don't work hard to be the life of the party. I work hard not to be the DEATH of the party. Talk to anyone I went to high school with and they'll tell you that I barely said a word. It has taken me many years to craft competent social skills and it's a fucking ongoing process. Many nights, I fail. And I'm not above grading myself.

I've been going out a bit more. Some nights, I am on fire. I am untouchable. I am funny, charismatic, I know when to start and I know when to stop. I am a rockstar from Mars. This past Wednesday night: got a girl's number, slayed at a screenwriter's workshop, then went karaoke bar-hopping till everyone else fell apart. I owned this past Wednesday night.

But I've been finding, more recently, that these highs are met with equivalent lows.

Thursday, I was the portrait of self-doubt.

Friday. July. 2011. We start over.

<3