Much has happened since I last wrote on this, here, blog — a new year; one less genocidal maniac; yet another round of cosmetic surgery. [I now have the most sublime calves.]
Lately, I’ve been criss-crossing the country. Lots of time spent on planes, wishing the fat French guy sitting next to me would give me at least SOME of the armrest. But no. The bastard just sits there reading his book, smelling of sweetbreads... Go home and surrender to someone, Frenchie. [see below]
Something else has happened since the last post: I’m now planning on moving to Los Angeles, which is situated in California, between San Diego and Oxnard. I think I’m most attracted to L.A. [that’s how people in-the-know refer to it] by its warm and giving population, about which I’ve already mentioned on this page. Everyone’s like a freakin’ monk or nun or short order cook or something. Very warm. Which leads me to the weather: it doesn’t rain. It’s probably the Prozac. Either that or Al Gore is pih- hih- hissed off. And you don’t want to fuck with Al Gore. He’ll open up a can of something. And eat it right in front of you. So let’s go with the drugs.
The reason for the aforementioned decision has to do with life. Mine, to be exact. It’s about time I change it because, frankly, writing hip replacement ads is no way to live. At least not for me. I’ve always been more in tune with the pancreas. [I’ve enjoyed metabolizing sugar my whole life.] Also, I like the idea of being a cliché for a while. Everyone in L.A. has a screenplay to sell. The difference between their screenplays and mine is that theirs isn’t mine, which is called “Raging Bull.” It’s about an eccentric chocolate manufacturer and the poor little boy who wins the chance to visit the chocolate factory. I’m pretty sure it’s gonna be huge.
In addition to the grand slam that is my script, it’s the right time to make the move because I now have management, thanks to the help of the lovely and talented Eryn Joslyn. As of Friday evening [01.19], I’m being represented by an outstanding organization and, in all honesty, it still has yet to sink in. This isn’t to say that I won’t be eating macaroni and cheese from a blue box for the next year, but it sure helps my chances of getting “Raging Bull” made.
Funny enough, I didn’t expect them to be such nice people. You have this image in your head about Hollywood weasels, y’know? I’m sure the weasels DO lurk around a large number of corners throughout the town, but these people don’t fall into that category. I’m crazy-fortunate. Damn crazy-fortunate.
So that’s what’s new in my world: you know… the usual.