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January 25, 2007
Quick takes on a Thursday morning.
We woke up at 6 to take delivery of our new washer/dryers. One for us, one for our downstairs tenant. I expect our quality of life will increase dramatically once we're Far from the Laundering Crowd. First, we gotta get the electrical and water hooked up.
The maven with whom I live is overseeing installation. In addition to reinforcing the floor of our 121-year-old house, she's purchased neoprene tiles that will dramatically reduce vibration.
I'm certain that I've just been pranked, or punk'd, as the youngsters in baggy dungarees are prone to say. I received a robocall at work from Rep. Tom Cole (R-OK). He wanted to impersonally invite me, "a major business leader," to be an honorary chairman representing California on the Business Advisory Panel.
I sat slack-jawed through the pitch. When the telemarketer came on the line, I thanked her for the consideration but indicated that I didn't have time to commit to such an endeavor.
If you'd like to discuss supply-side economics while lighting cigars with $100 bills and keeping your gout-afflicted feet warm on the backs of orphans, here's where you can apply. I can only hope they heard my emphatic "no" so my name doesn't appear in one of their full-page ads against the minimum wage in the Wall Street Journal or SweatshopWeek.
On BART this morning, I sat behind a couple with natty luggage who oozed fabulousness. He rested his head on her shoulder while she studied a Sundance schedule. I don't think her cargo capri pants are well-suited for Park City in January, but she'll figure it out.
I'm going to LA this weekend for another Robert McKee screenwriting seminar. This one is Genre Weekend, in which he illustrates the tenets of Thriller, Comedy, Horror and Masterpiece. I'm hanging out for Thriller and Comedy, since I have no desire to write Saw IV, and I have a lot of work to do before I create something on the level of Chinatown or Casablanca.
I'm chipping away at two new scripts, but I'm not making as much progress as I'd like. In the last few days, I've started seeing publicity for a movie made by a producer I pitched last spring. He showed me the unfinished trailer after our meeting, and now ads are on buses and billboards. I could let that be motivating or depressing, so I settled on motivating.
Language fascinates me. Someone I met at the last McKee seminar gave me some excellent notes on my action script, though she had several idiomatic questions.
"What does the title mean?" she asked in an Australian accent. "It doesn't make sense to me."
"'KEEP AWAY?' A game kids play. You know, two children have a ball, there's a third one..."
Her face didn't register a deeper understanding.
"So," I continued. "They keep the ball away from the third kid, throwing it over his head. Also called 'monkey-in-the-middle.'"
"Ah!" She threw her head back and snapped her fingers. "You mean piggie-in-the-middle."
Posted by Your Protagonist at 08:40 AM | Comments (0)
January 18, 2007
Next train: 6 minutes
I was showered and dressed earlier than usual this morning, so I sat on the sofa and attempted to will myself into a state of wakefulness. I opened up my laptop and visited NextBus.com so I wouldn't have to stand in the cold for more than a few minutes.
Leaning back, I kept an eye on the refreshing countdown on the screen: "Next train: 10 minutes/18 minutes/34 minutes." I speculated on the variables that caused these intervals to compress and expand -- a stalled utility truck? A train operator battling migraine and a failing marriage?
After a minute of this, I fell asleep.
In my dream, I sat on the floor at the other end of the sofa and sorted through old mail. My cat lolled in a sunbeam on the Persian rug and batted at motes of dust. My friend Tom sat on the sofa, his eyebrows raised like he was waiting for me to respond to something he'd just said.
Tom died last summer.
I yammered off a list of questions. This happens each time I dream about Tom. "Where have you been? My God! I missed you so much. We all -- why did you go? Where have you been?"
He lowered his eyes and angled his head slightly away. In life, Tom masked his emotions with humor and other defenses. Here, he was clearly struggling.
"Hey, c'mon," he drawled in a midwestern twang. "You think this is easy for me? I hate this." He rubbed the palms of his hands on his knees.
I opened my mouth to speak, but all I had were more questions I knew he couldn't answer, so I didn't say a word.
I woke up weeping, then splashed my face and checked the train timetables. Next train: 6 minutes.
Posted by Your Protagonist at 12:31 AM | Comments (0)