Not About Baseball

Sometimes, especially on days like these, I wonder why I'm a sports fan. Last night, I knew better than to watch my baseball team, the Pathetic Fucking Bastards Giants, play the Rockies. Or so I thought.

After a surprisingly feel-good 2009 for the first 4 months or so, the Giants have been getting on my nerves. First, their inability to put togther offense of any kind has worn on me throughout the year -- there are only so many times you can see your favorite pitchers leave it all on the mound while dominating their opponent only to settle for a no decision (or worse, a loss) before it starts to eat away at your soul. After this season, my soul is in worse shape than Michael Jackson's nose. (Too soon?) Secondly, this crucial flaw, which should have cost them their ability to compete for a playoff spot weeks, or even months ago, is only now coming home to roost in new and annoyingly inventive ways -- heading into the weekend in Colorado, they'd gone from leading the wild card chase for most of the year to trailing the red-hot Rockies.

Lastly, after taking the first game in Colorado, they laid a gigantic egg turd at the on-going nightmare that is Coors Field, losing the next two, and endangering themselves of falling out of the race with a loss on Monday to drop 3 of 4 and end up 4 games back of the streaking Rockies. What's more: They had Zito on the mound. And while Zito's been much better lately -- let's face it, as tough as it is for me to say, he's been downright good -- I didn't want to see him pitch with the season on the line.

So I didn't tape the game as I normally do. I didn't intend to watch it. But when I got home and my wife was taking a shower, I didn't think it would hurt to check in on the game. I was wrong.

The Giants were tied, 1-1, so I watched a bit. Soon, after watching their wretched excuse for an offense flail wildly at pitches everywhere but in the strike zone, I gave up on the game -- and the team. Even their best hitter, the Kung Fu Panda himself, Pablo Sandoval, was hurt and out of the game, so no reason to watch. I did, however, keep tabs on the score as I watched shows with my wife all night. 1-1 in the 6th inning turned into 1-1 in the 9th, then 12th, and finally 14th.

And then it happened. The Giants scored. Not once, or twice, but three freaking times! Suddenly, they had a chance. And, much more dangerously, had hope. Now SHAWSHANK REDEMPTION taught me that hope is a good thing, maybe the best of things, but I'm certain Stephen King never watched the Giants play (he is a Red Sox fan, after all). For Giants fans, hope is a four-letter word. Well, obviously, hope is a four-letter word for everybody, but it's the bad kind for Giants fans. We learned this in 1987 and '89. And '93 and '97. And again in 2000. And '02. And '03. And '04. Maybe in the 5 preceding years we forgot, but the bottom of the 14th provided an indelible reminder. Watching the Giants "relievers" walk 3 Rockies -- including the pitcher (with the bases loaded!) -- before giving up a back-breaking, soul-crushing walk-off grand slam, was like God whispering "Gotcha!" in our collective ear.

It was apinful loss, on a road trip full of them, for a franchise well-versed in them. But it was a little more even than that. It was a reminder that even the most surprising, joyous, and innocent hopes can be turned into something embarrassing and ugly. And while, I don't like to admit it, I feel like this love/hateafraid to love relationship I have with the Giants has spilled over into other aspects of my life. I have the same distrust about potentially positive developments, and the same general feeling of unease and impending doom in aspects of my personal life. My writing in particular. I have the same "Why can't I quit this?" reaction to every setback. The same "Why does God hate me so much he must tease me like this?" defeatism. The same "Trying is pointless" pessimism.

I can't say for sure the Giants did this to me. Maybe I was already this way. Maybe I'm so fucked up I unconsciously looked for a team which seemed cursed to fit the feeling I had for myself. But it's hard to believe that when taken in chronological context -- the Giants weren't really cursed when I started watching them. I'd beenb a fan for two years before the first cursed-like event happened (Candy Maldonado, a good right-fielder, losing Tony Pena's flyball in the lights for a triple, and then making a weak throw which allowed him to score the only run in a 1-0 debacle in St. Louis is the '87 playoffs). And it's really only been in the last 16 years -- at least 7 years into my fandom -- when the real karmic shit hit the fan: 103 wins falling short in '93 (the year before the wild card was instituted), two walk-off one-run losses in the '97 playoffs, Benny Agbayani's walk-ff HR in the 2000 playoffs, the big blown lead in the '02 world series, Jose Cruz's dropped fly in '03, Steve Finley's division-clinching walk-off grand slam in '04.

There's really no way I could've know what I was in for. That means fate chose me. Maybe that's why I seem to align myself with the disappointed, the disillusioned, the disenfranchised. Or at least why I think I do. But whether it's actually the case or not is moot. You are you you think you are. And, more and more, I think I'm a near-miss, a could've been, a contender who always falls short, someone who never seems to get (or make) the big break when they need it. Maybe it's my destiny, maybe it's just the shackles I've applied to myself. Maybe I watch way too much fucking sports, and it's poisoned my brain with well-worn cliches about winners and losers, and curses, and teams of destiny.

But the thing is, life really is just like baseball -- just when you're bitching and moaning about the latest loss, injury, or disappointment, there's another opportunity on the horizon. A new game, a new day, a new chance to do something which makes you (and everyone else) forget the skeletons in your closet. This season's not over, it just feels that way. There's always tomorrow -- a new chance to prove all those diappointments were just the appetizer for an epic meal of accomplishment, or another chance to fail in new and appalling ways. Probably the latter.

A Blog Post

Obviously, I haven't posted in while. I'm not sure exactly why. I guess I'm struggling to find things I feel need writing. Don't confuse that with having nothing to say. I actually have a lot to say -- it just all usually ends up being written in a script, or being told to my wife and/or friends, or lost to the revages of time because I don't feel it's important enough to write.

I think that might be the real problem actually -- the idea that something should be important if you're going to take the time out of your busy schedule to write something down. Especially if you highly doubt anyone will actually read it anyway. It shouldn't be that way. I want to write just for the sake of writing -- that's why I started this blog in the first place. But I've never been a journal type of guy -- I've never had a diary, or jotted down my feelings on legal pads at difficult times in my life.

I'm a writer, sure, it's become ingrained in my DNA. But the desire to entertain or inform is so great, I can't bring myself to write just because. I'll pour my feelings of frustration into a story. Hell, I even used to write a poem here and there back in touchy-feely college days, though I feel distinct embarrassment at revealing that. I've written about baseball for this blog, about football for this one (which I plan to return to here in a couple of weeks for the beginning of the NFL season), and reviewed movies and TV shows for this here blog, but I don't write just for writing's sake.

That was the intent when I began this -- to write whatever popped into my head. But my internal editor seems incapable of allowing that. There must be a reason, a goal. First, I found myself drifting into more and more entertainment reviews -- so I could be that site you went to in order to find out if that show/movie was worth checking out from someone (sort of) inside the entertainment industry. Then it was more sports -- I could be that blog you went to in order to read a snarky take on the sports world (god knows there aren't enough blogs doing that!). But soon it became apparent to me that my writing was totally uninspired and redundant to so many things already available on the web. I wanted to quit, but that seemed even more cliche than what I was already doing.

The only obvious choice is to write about something nobody else writes about -- namely myself. And while lots of other bloggers write about their lives, none actually write about mine, so it would be unique. Well, unique-ish. But I just don't find my life to be all that interesting. Maybe nobody really does. But a hell of a lot of people spend a lot of time on their blogs pretending they do. I just can't bring myself to write something I doubt anyone finds entertaining. Sure, nobody's probably reading anyway, so who could be bored? But that's not the point. The point is, I've been trained through screenwriting to believe writing should entertain. Boring = death. So if my life is boring, it's the last thing I should write about.

Another factor is timing. If I had started the blog when I was taking lots of meetings around town pitching scripts it could've been good -- the world of pitching movie ideas in Hollywood from the inside. Sure, I couldn't have revealed too many juicy details without risking my livelihood, but it could've been good. The same could be said if I started the blog right after my writing partner and I sold our pitch, THE DISCIPLES OF DARRYL to Intrepid Pictures and began the development process. I've written about it a bit here, and again the caveat regarding my career security woul've still applied, but keeping a running diary of my experiences would've been interesting. Instead, I started the blog right as screenwriting -- or at least the business of screenwriting -- began to take a back seat in my life.

But now I'm writing a new screenplay -- one I'm exceptionally excited about -- and writing as much as I have in a long time. The ideas are flowing, and while 99% of the best stuff will probably find it's way into my script, I feel like they're might even be enough to carry over to here. Of course, I'll have to wedge it in between the screenwriting, the football writing, the (almost) full-time job, and the time spent with my wife, but maybe there's a small crack in there I can exploit. No promises, but I want to continue writing here -- even if it's navel-gazing minutia like, Oh I don't know, this post right here as a matter of fact. I don't know why I feel the need to make this declaration. I doubt anyone's reading, so maybe I'm just making it to myself. I just think this forum is too valuable, too open, too flexible, too much fun (potentially) to waste.

I'd liek to write reviews of things I've seen recently -- FUNNY PEOPLE (they weren't), BRUNO, PUBLIC ENEMIES, reality TV, something -- but when I do that, I feel like it has to be, you know, actually good. When I write about whatever stupid thing I'm thinking/doing, it can be crap -- like this -- and still not be a failure. It's sort of like that first lesson every writer has to learn: If there's something on the page, then it's not a failure. Making it good? That's the second step.

Spotted at Runyon Canyon...

Yesterday walking the canyon, I passed Matthew Perry, looking very gray, sporting a goatee and listening to his iPod. It's amazing to see certain stars out and about in Hollywood due to how gray their hair is. You don't realize they always have their hair colored before appearing in movies, TV, or even talk shows, so you get this idea of them being younger than they are. This is because once people find out you're old, you become less of a commodity in show business. So a few stars -- Ben Stiller comes to mind -- walk around LA with very grey hair, but never have even one grey hair in any of their movies. Matthew Perry is apparently a member of this group.

So is Nick Cage, but I think with him it has more to do with bad hair than grey hair. That, or an obsession to come up with the most insane hairdo's imaginable. This is my personal favorite:

State of the Blog

I've been seriously considering quitting the daily baseball diary thing. Not just because I'm quitter -- though I am definitely that -- but also because my writing time (and free time in general) has become such a precious commodity. With a job, a wife, and a screenwriting career (such as it is), I have enough trouble squeezing in time to watch baseball, let alone write about it. I think that shows in my effort, as I often squeeze in a perfunctory post late at night, often thinking, "Oh yeah, I still have write something for the blog." That's never the right attitude to go into any creative endeavor.

I know from experience that my screenwriting is much better when I'm excited to start, when I carve out sections of my life in which to work. But that's the thing -- when it's good, it's not work, but play. Sure, as a professional, sometimes you have to force yourself to get into it with a "Time to make the donuts" kid of mentality. But more often than not, I catch myself working without realizing it -- thinking about ways to improve something while in the shower, or the car, or hiking. Hell, that's half the reason I hike every day -- the other half being to keep from being a pale fatass. That hasn't really happened with the stuff about baseball, and there are several possible reasons for this.

Reason #1 I've already mentioned -- free time. That has to come first, and with the caveat that in terms of priorities, writing about baseball on my blog falls pretty low. That leads to Reason #2: I hate not doing things well. If I'm going to undertake something, I want to be proud of the result. That's why I quit so many things -- I don't think I can do as well as I deem necessary. But neither of those reasons shoulder all the blame.

Enter Reason #3: Though I often dreamed of being a sportswriter when I was a kid, it's not really something I've taken to when given the opportunity. The occasional post about baseball allowed me the great opportunity to write for McCovey Chronicles for a couple of interim stints, and I enjoyed it, but by the end, I was ready to stop and never do it again. A few posts about football from time to time got me the opportunity to write a couple of weekly columns for Niners Nation and that was fun, but again, I was looking forward to the end of the season. I don't know if it has more to do with the responsibility of having to get it done, or the fact my mind is so used to running through character traits, arcs, and plot points that it's hard to train it to think up ideas about what to say about sports. But how can that be the case when I spend so much time thinking about sports?

Maybe because I've yet to learn a successful way to channel what I think about into the posts. For screenwriting, I'm constantly jotting down ideas, notes, capturing every possibility, choosing between them, then tweaking them over and over. For sportswriting I find a little time, write some stream of consciousness stuff and hit "Post". That's it. No plan of attack. No notes about how Travis Ishikawa needs to start swinging at some first pitches because pitchers are laying in fastballs and he's falling behind right away. Just throwing shit at the wall to see if it sticks. If you want to do something well, and you're not some kind of genius or savant, you have to put some time and effort in. I haven't done that. The question is, am I ready to? Which brings us to...

Reason #4: Along with the screenwriting, work, and personal life, I also like writing about other things: movie and TV reviews, a post about my life here and there, another Hollywood Horror Show column -- a haven't written one of those in months and I have several good stories just waiting around to be told. I don't want to be all-baseball-all-the-time all summer, ignoring summer movies and all the new TV shows I'd like to review ("Better Off Ted", "The Unusuals", "Southland", even the so-bad-it's-good-or-maybe it's-just-really-bad "Harper's Island"). No matter what I do, I'm definitely going to post more stuff about entertainment.

So, while I'd like to re-dedicate myself and put a little more thought and effort into my posts, I'm leaning heavily toward either giving it up entirely, or reducing it somehow. Of course, as I'm writing this, the story about Manny Ramirez being suspended 50 games is all over the internet/TV/radio and the Giants are beating the Rockies 5-0 behind an "effectively wild" Matt Cain and a power-binging Bengie Molina. So it looks like I picked the wrong week to stop sniffing glue.

Manny tested positive for a banned substance, reportedly a fertility drug. He claims it was prescribed by a doctor for a health issue, which seems curious since I haven't read anything about Ramirez trying to get pregnant. You'd think he'd at least wait until the off-season to try and get knocked up. then again, the way he plays LF, carrying a baby around in his womb probably wouldn't make much of a difference.

This is, of course, a very interesting -- and for a Giants fan, entertaining -- story which I'd like to explore a bit over the coming hours/days/weeks. And the timing of the whole thing -- the day before the 2nd place Giants travel to LA to play the 1st place Dodgers, who are undefeated at home and threatening to run away with the division -- makes it all the more intriguing. I can't just quit now, can I?

Just when I think I'm out, they pull me back in.

Memoirs of an Unemployed Man, Part 2: Enter the Crazy Flower Lady

Way back in my unemployed days, I wrote what was to be Part 1 of what was to be a 2 part piece on my job search. I promised Part 2 would come shortly, then warned my word isn't worth shit. I made good on one of those two statements. I had good excuses -- I moved, I got a new job, I polished a couple of scripts -- but I never did follow my with the conclusion. But now, after some gentle prodding from a the regular reader of this blog, I'm finally coming through with the long-awaited Part 2...

In my marathon search for employment, I began looking for any kind of part-time job which could get some cash flowing in. One such job was a flower shop which delivers to Hollywood production companies, restaurants, and clubs. It seemed like a pretty chill gig -- driving around Hollywood, dropping off flowers, setting them up, and watering the ones already there. It was only about 4 or 5 hours a day, which would allow me lots of time to write and hike and watch baseball -- my three food groups.

When they called me back, I was actually kind of excited -- the lady on the other end of the line talked about the A-list Oscar party they'd just worked, and how she didn't like drama. It seemed like a good fit. I made an interview for the next afternoon. It was a bit of a hike out to West LA where the shop was, and upon getting there, I found there was very limited parking. I found a spot in a residential neighborhood a block away, taking note that I'd only be safe there for half-hour.

The woman let me in the door, and handed me an application. I filled it out and was surprised when she handed me another packet to fill out. This was a 50 question personality test. For a job delivering flowers. It had questions like "Which is more important, being right or being fair?" I quickly filled it out, trying hard to not fall to far on either side of the fence. Not too passive, nor too aggressive. Not to selfish, or selfless. Not too prideful, or too insecure.

When I finished, she went through that packet first, clearly eager to find out who I was. She might have accomplished this by actually, you know, talking to me. Instead, she used a key -- a grid printed on a sheet of paper -- to decipher the answers to my "test". She told me I was very zen, but also quite forceful. That I was neither too left, nor too right. I was, basically, right down the middle. She loved this, but what really seemed to clinch the deal was my birth year -- 1971. You see, that is the Year of the Pig on the Chinese calendar, and she was both Chinese and also born in '71, so she understood exactly what this meant. She went on to explain to me how we were a very good match, and how I had "open, honest eyes", and "positive energy". When she explained that it was also nice to have a "hunky guy" delivering her flowers, I started to wonder if this was a job interview or blind date.

It was around this time, I noticed that I only had 5 minutes to move my car before I got a ticket. I mentioned this to her, and she went on a long explanation of how parking was tough in the area, and how I'd have to park 3 blocks away and walk over some train tracks and a field to get to work everyday. When I had only 2 minutes, I reminded her again about my car. Just a moment, she promised, saying she was printing me out directions on how to park. It appeared I was hired, so the last thing I was going to do was walk out on her at that point, but she just kept talking and talking -- about the job, LA, life in general, spirituality, religion, everything.

Finally, she told me to come in at 8:30 the next morning, and let me go. It was 30 minutes past when I had to move, but I still jogged all the way (in dress shoes), hoping to avoid a ticket. But I got there to find one sure enough -- for 58 bucks. I was pissed, but calmed myself a bit by thinking about how I'd just landed a job. In hindsight, it should've been a sign.

The next day, I made sure to be up and out of the house early, making sure not to be late due to LA traffic. I also had to allow extra time for the walk from my car. Because of this, I was quite early. I killed a little time in my car, reading a magazine, but still got to the store about 15 minutes early. I thought this might be a good sign to my new employer that I was responsible, prepared, and on the ball. Instead, I got yelled at. "You're early", she said "Try not to do that. Now you've got me off my schedule." Of course, what throws someone off their schedule more than an employee arriving a little early to work?

Before long, she was showing me all the ropes of the job -- and expecting me to pick it up on the fly. That's okay, I like a challenge. Before long, the company van was all loaded up -- to her extremely detailed and very high standards -- and we were ready to leave. I got in the driver's seat, her riding shotgun, and left. We were 10 feet out of the parking spot before she began to criticize.

The breaks on the van were brand new, and I had never driven it, so the initial trip down the alley behind the store was a little herky-jerky. "These breaks are tight", I said, explaining. "No, they aren't -- they're perfect", she retorted. "I just had them replaced." I tried to be diplomatic: "New breaks are always tight -- that's good, I just have to get used to them." Before I could finish, she yelled at me that I wasn't paying enough attention to the "very dangerous" blind corner we were approaching. I shut up and navigated it, and were on our way to our first stop. Before getting there, she criticized my speed ("This van is harder to stop than you think"), my lane choice ("Most accidents happen in the left lanes, I try to stay right"), and my stopping ("You should stop at least 15 or 20 feet behind the car in front of you -- that way, if we're rear-ended, we won't hit the car in front of us"). "Oh dear", I thought to myself. "This will not end well", I'd think to myself.

But this constant harping was punctuated by what appeared to be her fawning over my every comment or joke. She'd compliment my looks, or my personality, I'd play it off with a casual line, and she'd giggle ("You're such a Piggy", she'd say, delighted -- apparently meaning such a typical person born in the Year of the Pig"). When I told her something about my life, a certain unlikely turn of events, she she'd virtually squeal: "Piggy luck! Piggy luck!" I mentioned she was crazy, right?

The first stop was uneventful, but on our way to the second, I could tell that wouldn't repeat itself. She began to get very nervous and talkative about the next job -- delivering and watering orchids for a big production company in town called Relativity. She said they were her biggest clients, and we must slip in and do our work silently -- invisibly -- so as not to disturb these artistic geniuses. I could tell by now this lady had serious issues with stress, and it was starting rub off: I was already imagining who from the entertainment world I might run into at Relativity, and how embarrassing it might be. My conclusion was that the most embarrassing run-in would be with the managers I just fired, second would be the producers who bought my pitch a couple of years earlier.

By the time we arrived at Relativity and lugged all our supplies upstairs, it was pretty hot, and I was sweating. This was just one of the problems she noticed once we were inside -- I was sweating too much, not working fast enough, making too much noise, etc. In the beginning, she was walking me through everything, explaining how to do the job, but at some point she just told me to go do things -- never explain how they should be done. Then she criticized how I did them, as if she had explained it to me before -- she hadn't.

Just when I thought it couldn't get any worse, who do I see? The producers who bought my script in the lobby, waiting for a meeting. At first, I thought it was my imagination -- it couldn't really be them. But it was. Luckily, they were both so involved with their Blackberrys they didn't seem to notice me. I did my work, and avoided them. But when she came to check on my work, something awful happened -- she recognized one of them. They had worked together at Warner Bros. a few years earlier, and struck up a conversation. I was -- painfully -- just a few feet away, but I kept my head down, made myself look busy, and tried to stay under the radar. Because I only met this producer in person once (when we pitched), and had 90% of our contact over phone and e-mail, I don't think he recognized me, but it was embarrassing nonetheless.

Mercifully, he was called into his meeting shortly thereafter, and we got back to finishing our work. But it wasn't that merciful -- she complained we were taking too long to finish there because of me not working fast enough (her 10 minute conversation with the producer while she could've been showing me what to do and helping out apparently had nothing to do with this fact). As we finished, she seemed increasingly annoyed by the fact, I didn't know how much to water orchids (keep in mind, I'd never done it before, and never claimed to have). She ordered me to water one, then stared daggers at me while I did.

"Am I doing it wrong?" I asked. No answer -- just more daggers. The fact this evil face staring back at me belonged to the same lady who was fawning over just moments earlier made it even more off-putting. "I must not be doing it wrong, but I have no idea," I continued, "because you're just giving me that look of death." Still no answer, just a very angry and frustrated sigh and shake of the head. Now, I know this isn't going to work out, so why not be honest? "Look, this clearly isn't as good a fit as you thought it would be", I said. "So just tell me how to do it, so we can get out of here. I'll finish out the day, and you'll never have to see me again." This seemed to draw her out of her shell a bit. She showed me how to finish up, we silently gathered our things, and loaded them into the van.

Once inside the van, she wanted to open up and talk. "So, what do you think?" she asked. "I think I'm not as good as you need me to be, and you're not as patient as I need you to be. It's not a good fit. I think we finish out the day, and then go our separate ways." She loved this. Loved it. Complemented by honesty, praised my communication skills, even laughed at my earlier "Look of death" comment. Several times. She kept saying it over and over, laughing each time. As we continued on for the rest of the day, she was much more open and helpful, and continually talking about how good a fit we were. Seriously.

At the end of the day, she talked about the next day's schedule. I still had this job. The question was: Did I still want it? The answer: In this economy, yes. There was no talk of our problems, and it seemed she'd moved on. So I showed up for work the next day -- more than a little nervous about what direction this would go. I made sure to arrive right on time -- not a minute early -- but she claimed I was a minute or two late. I should've just left right then. We packed up the van, and I pulled out, making sure not to hit the brakes too hard. I turned the opposite way down the alley to avoid the dangerous blind corner -- she said that was a no-no because the bumpy alley the other way was worse. Here we go again.

The trip to Hollywood was much smoother this time -- I made sure to stay right, stop 20 feet behind cars, etc., etc. -- and she spent the entire time opening up to me about her life as if I was her shrink. She talked about how much she hated the superficiality of plastic surgery, then explained how she had her teeth whitened and got regular botox implants. She talked about how hard-working "her people" were, while "Mexicans in LA are all so angry". It was an eye-opening experience. Still, it was better than being yelled at. It wouldn't last long.

The first stop was at Eva Longoria's restaurant on Hollywood Boulevard, where the criticism and dagger-shooting began again. Again, she didn't give me the necessary details for how to do the job, then went crazy when I didn't know them, or accomplish them quickly. I wasn't alone -- she also laid into a bartender who wasn't doing anything wrong either. The main point of contention -- at least for me -- was the fact she was constantly telling me how to count, as if not understanding that was the key to my slowness. Every time there was an issue, she'd explain to me how to count quickly. It was really annoying.

Finally, she said, "We're late, we have to go." I explained there were still two things on her checklist we had to do. "We don't have time", she said. While she was clearly emotional, I was matter of fact: "Then which should I not do." Again, no answer -- just daggers.

The situation finally reached its boiling point at the next place, where she again tried to explain how you count. "That's it", I said. "You can stop with the training. This will be my last day." "Why?" she asked. Are you kidding me? I explained why she was so hard to work with, how she criticized, and went from one extreme to the other. Mostly, I explained that an angry glare doesn't convey any helpful information. I told her she was the hardest person to work with I'd ever met, and that I'd finish the day if she liked, but would much prefer walking away right then.

She was legitimately shocked, and asked how I would get back to my car. I said it didn't matter -- that I would be so happy to not have to work for her anymore, I'd be willing to walk home and call a cab. She appeared hurt, but offered to cut me a check right then for my services and would allow me to go. I took it, threw off the company polo shirt I was wearing, and walked home -- about 12 blocks. Later that night, I had my wife drive me over to West La to pick up my car. Even in this economy, you have to draw the line somewhere.

As I've said since, it all ended up working out for the best -- I have a better job, in a better location, working for a better boss, and earning more money. You know what I call that? Piggy luck!

The Grind

I have the next two days off, which is a much-needed break. I've worked six straight weekdays in a row, and while that might not sound that bad to you working stiffs out there, for me it's a marathon and a half. I haven't really worked in three years, and haven't worked full-time in over a decade. Think about that for a minute. Crazy, isn't it?

The good news is I got a great job. It's in a decent neighborhood (Brentwood), which isn't too far away, and has flexible hours which don't force me to get up too early, or stay too late. Not only that, but I have a cool boss, a fairly interesting job, and a good salary. But it's still work -- real work -- and that's just not something I'm used to. I don't know how all you lifers do it.

Opening Day... Sort Of

It's only opening day, and I'm already struggling to get in my promised daily post about baseball. This is true for two reasons: 1) I finally got a job* -- and a damn well-paying one at that -- and today was first day, so I'm very tired, and 2) The Giants didn't play today, and most of the teams which did, played to blowouts. And the most interesting matchup on opening day -- Red Sox vs. Rays -- was rained out. It just as well -- I would've missed all the action anyway, while at work. I won't be working completely full time, though, and will be able to make my own flexible hours (Hooray!), so I'll still be able to catch all the Giants games (live or on TiVo), plus a lot of other games this season. That's the good news.

The bad news is, the Giants might not play for awhile. They're scheduled to play tomorrow, but Andrew Baggarly (and everyone else) is predicting rain, so who knows. The only thing worse than not playing on opening day is following that with a rainout -- or worse, a long rain-delay, which could waste a Tim Lincecum start.

The best game from today was probably the crazy comeback in St. Louis, where brand new closer Jason Motte blew his first save chance. The most interesting performance probably belonged to C.C. Sabathia, who got smoked in Baltimore. Mark Texiera also took a collar and left five men on base. Think the Yanks fans are already getting heated on the talk shows about those contracts?

* I still have lots of things from my job search I'd like to write about. Hopefully, I'll still have the time now that it's over for awhile (knock on wood)

MORALLY OUTRAGED UPDATE: According to the excellent El Lefty Malo, the only reason the Giants didn't play on opening day is because they chose to have one more exhibition game. Why schedule yet another spring training game at the end of the longest exhibition season ever? For money of course. And let me tell you, without an ounce of irony, that I am shocked -- shocked! -- that a major baseball owner would place the pursuit of money above the enjoyment of the fans.

Nothing To See Here

You might be expecting me to wax poetically about the exciting conclusion to the WBC, discuss the action in the first two rounds of the NCAA Tourney, or look ahead to the Sweet 16. You might think I'm going to break down some issue related to the Giants, or maybe write about something entertainment-related. But I'm not. Instead, I'm writing about why I'm not writing. I haven't done a post recently because I'm a) busy doing a re-write for an interested producer, b) looking for a job*, and c) just wrapping up a move (and still waiting for the phone company to hook up my line -- or even act like they give a shit that they fucked up the installation in the first place). Until then, I'm piggy-backing on a neighbor's wi-fi, and very strapped for time/inspiration, and this blog has to fall behind all those responsibilities on my priority list. Hopefully, that will change soon.

* And the crazy stories from this are piling up quicker than I can write them.

Bunch O' Shite

Today, I enjoyed a rarity -- a meeting at a studio that went well and was promising, with notes given which made sense and were helpful. It had gotten to the point I was doubting whether those even existed anymore. It may not lead to anything, but it was nice just to be reminded of the possibilities. In celebration, I'm posting a buffet of treats. Links, photos, news, I got it all. And you want it. You know you want it. You want it so bad, you dirty little tramp, blog you.

--The WBC marches on, and so does the U.S. squad, who won in dramatic fashion in an elimination game. The semi-finals now include the U.S., Venezuela, and Korea, who beat Japan again to win their pool. Japan now plays Cuba in an elimination game to determine the final semi-finalist.

--Sasha Baron Cohen aired some footage of his upcoming movie based on his gay Austrian character, Bruno, at SXSW, and Cinematical has some really great spoilers.

--Screen Junkies has their list of the best 80's TV theme songs. That's why I love them.

--And finally, this is a Stormtrooper taking a dump:

Russell Maryland & the Link Dump

Three links today, but first a quick story: I've been a Miami Hurricanes fan since I was a kid in the early 80's (Bernie Kosar Era), and saw a parade of talent trvel through there on their way to great careers. Despite all the high-flying offensive talents, big-play defensive backs, and dominant pass rushers, some of my favorite players growing up have been defensive tackles (Warren Sapp, Jerome Brown, Russell Maryland).

Recently, my writing partner, Barry, got me some freelance copywriting work for a PR company. It turned out to be writing bios of former NFL players who are participating in a football camp in Dallas. They have played for eight Super Bowl winners between them, so you may have heard of them: Reggie Barnes, Brian Williams, Ray Mickens, Tony Tolbert, and... Russell Maryland. So that's what I did last night for my job -- wrote a bio for one of my boyhood heroes. Not bad work if you can get it.

College Humor has some parodies of those DirecTV ads. careful, a couple of these are pretty tasteless. Just how I like 'em.

If you know me, you know I love lists. Today, I have two of note:

1) Bullz-Eye has a list of their biggest Oscar snubs (and they titled it after another Oscar snub you may be aware of).

2) Screen Junkies has a list (and clips) of the 9 best movie scenes involving vomiting. Sounds good, don't it?

UPDATE: One more diamond found in the internet rough which I had to post...

Spotted at Runyon Canyon...

I've written before about my almost daily treks up Runyon Canyon here in Hollywood, and how it's a hotbed for star sightings. It's so commonplace, it doesn't really excite anymore -- unless it's an exceptional celebrity, or they're doing/saying/wearing something amusing.

Yesterday, I had a bit of a thrill seeing Mickey Rourke driving by in a convertible with a pretty lady, his ponytail blowing in the breeze. Today, I wasn't too excited to see 'American Idol' Season 1 contestant Ryan Starr (twice), although I've always thought she was kind of cute (in spite of overly-glam outfits and a lackluster singing voice -- two attributes which directly led to her appearance in the Lingerie Bowl. But it was what she was doing/saying that caught my attention.

The first time I passed her, she was very carefully and purposefully pulling up her short so as to absolutely maximize the surface area of her exposed midriff (there's nothing more embarrassing than the fashion faux pas of having an only 80-90% bared midriff, believe me). The second time I saw her, she was very animatedly chatting to her friend, seemingly complaining about something. As I passed, I heard her spit out the words, "I woulda won that damn show if I just..." By then, she was out of earshot. I assume she was talking about 'Idol', but what didn't she do which kept her from winning? "If I had just..." what? "Sang well"? "Sang naked"? "Slept with Simon Cowell"? Slept with Paula Abdul"? The suspense is killing me!

Memoirs of an Unemployed Man, Part 1: The Legend of Gainful Employment

Being unemployed is old hat for me. I've been lucky enough to find a way to stay "successfully unemployed" for long stretches in my life. When I was a kid, my mom didn't really make me work, and she was generous when I graduated college, and drifted from job to job aimlessly, with sizable gaps in between. When I first came out to LA, I did a lot of short-time work which paid nice chunks -- focus groups, PA work, helping people move, etc. And though I haven't had a ton of success in screenwriting, it has allowed me two long stretches of leisure in recent years.

But what I am not used to is being involuntarily unemployed, as I am now. I've been looking for a job, but unable to land one, which has never been a problem before. Of course, I'm not alone. There are lots of folks out there who are job-searching right now -- many much more desperately than myself. I'm lucky enough to have had some money still squirreled away from the script sale, and my wife just got a promotion/raise/office, so I'm not going to begging you for spare change outside the 7-11 anytime soon. But in these troubled economic times, I can't wait until the very last moment to get a job, so I'm out pounding the pavement internet looking for work.

This has led me to find out a few, very alarming things, chiefly that a huge portion of the ad listings fall into two categories: spammers and scammers. The spammers are just trying to get you to go to their site, fill out their survey, or join their site. The scammers are a whole different breed of scum. They run all manner of fake listings in an attempt to squeeze a few dollars out of you before you realize there is no money coming back. Many offer you a great income from the comfort of your home, or in your spare time -- always a red flag. Some ask for a small upfront fee, others offer pyramid schemes dressed up as corporations. One actually sends you checks which you can cash before you have to send out a percentage of it from your account -- only later do you find out the check bounced and you're out the money.*

After you steer through all that crap, you find the few actual jobs out there to find the pickings pretty slim. Many aren't worth applying for, and the best ones are flooded with so many it's hard to get through. But recently I did have a couple of interviews, which led to one short-lived, but very eventful job. It was a bad match, but a good story: The Ballad of Crazy Flower Lady. I've been wanting to write about it, and urged to by others, but I'm afraid it might end up being a novel. Only one way to find out, so I might as well give it a shot. Look for it in Part 2, coming tomorrow soon whenever I damn well please.

* I think in this way, one could argue, the internet has made the job market a worse place. Yes, there are advantages -- speed being chief among them -- but what was so wrong about searching the want ads in the paper? At least they were real. Mostly. I did run into a couple of pyramid schemes in my day, but nothing like there is now.

Words of Wisdom

"Fight on my men, Sir Andrew said
A little I am hurt, but not yet slain
I'll just lay down and bleed awhile
And then I'll rise and fight again"

That quote from an unnamed old Scottish warrior, was used as an inspirational tool by former Buffalo Bills head coach Marv Levy. That was one of many interesting, touching, and surprising nuggets to be found in the episode of 'America's Game' about the 1990 Bills. For those who don't know, 'America's Game' is a great show by NFL Films which airs on the NFL Network. The first edition featured all the Super Bowl winners, and the second edition, titled "Missing Rings", chronicles great teams which fell short of a title. If you've never seen it, and you like football, you're missing out. The Bills episode is especially good, mostly due to Levy, who's one of the great character's in the history of football.

Levy was a master of inspirational quotes (Winston Churchill was his favorite source), but this one stuck out to me. The poem is sort of apropos to how I feel after the whole Boulder debacle -- I feel a bit deflated, and disappointed, but I also know I have to re-group. The trip out there was fun, and nostalgic, and an adventure, and while it had quite a cost -- in terms of money, time, maybe even a friendship -- I can't afford to dwell on the past. I have to move forward, and that means interviewing for work and looking at new apartments in LA traffic. May God have mercy on my soul.

Update: Back to LA

Remember all that stuff I wrote about moving to Boulder? Well, that might've been a tad premature. Really, it was more of a test drive than anything else, and as it turns out, I'm not buying. Although I'll always love Boulder, and visit as often as I can, all things considered, LA has more for me right now -- in terms of career opportunities, friends, and of course, my wife and kids, er, pets. So now I'm headed back this week, and looking for work. If you hear of something, you just let me know.

It's amazing what a little taste of something new can do to remind you of the upside of what was old. It's like the backup QB for an NFL team without a stud starting QB. Every time the starter stumbles, you imagine the backup might be better. But when the backup plays, you usually see pretty quickly why he's the backup. After living apart from my wife, my home, and my routine for a week and a half, I'm ready to get a big ol' heaping of the old.

Link Dump

So, I mentioned in my Top 10 list of movies from '08 that I hadn't yet seen 'Slumdog Millionaire'. It's quickly ascended to the top of the Oscar candidates, but I haven't even tried to see it, because I've heard a couple of takes on it, and am pretty sure I'd hate it. I know, everybody's raving about it -- it's the feel-good, heartwarming, tear-jerking, blah, blah, blah -- but from the sound of the plot, and a description of the storytelling techniques, I knew it wasn't my cup of tea. That's why I didn't feel bad making my Top 10 list without seeing the movie likely to walk away with "Best Picture".

That original take was only solidified when I read Film Drunk's review today, which basically says everything I'd heard, imagined, and feared about the movie. It outlines some specific issues I already had with the movie, the general feeling of absurdity, cliche, and self-satisfaction I expected, and even a couple more weaknesses I hadn't heard of/imagined. I'll probably see the movie eventually -- I'll be in Boulder soon, without much to do, and have already seen all the good movies coming out across the country this month -- but more out of morbid curiosity than eagerness.

Today, Film Drunk also posted review of 'The Wrestler, making me feel bad I didn't call it the best film of the year, which it just might be. Every time I read another review of it, I'm again amazed to think about how great Mickey Rourke's performance was. If he doesn't win the Oscar, I hope he puts whoever does in a Figure Four Leglock a la Brutus "The Barber" Beefcake.

While were talking about movies and dropping links, here's Rotten Tomatoes' Top 10 Sci-Fi Flicks for the Thinking Man. Some good ones on this list, including a couple you don't hear talked about much -- 'Gattaca' and 'Primer' -- along with the more usual suspects -- 'Children of Men' and 'Blade Runner'.

Lastly, I'm headed off to Boulder early next week, so the posting may not be too regular for a while. We'll see how it goes, but I'll be juggling a job, the completion of the script I'm working on, and my football column (at least through the Super Bowl), all while staying at a friend's place, so it could be spotty at best. Then again, I may have to get online to rant about driving cross-country (well, halfway across anyway), or living in snow, or how nice the people outside of LA are, so you never know.

Right now, the biggest issue is that I can't find my favorite album -- Radiohead's 'The Bends' -- for the road trip. I've uploaded all my other CD's to iTunes (finally joining the 21st century), but can't find it anywhere. Was it stolen? Lost? Taken by CD fairies? Did I loan it to someone? I can't make it 1,000 miles on the open road without it, so if I lent it to you, this is the time to return it. My sanity is at stake.

That's it for now. See you when I see you.

Always Skype & stay off the pipe

I'm entering the final preparations before leaving for Boulder, and getting a little queasy/antsy like I always do before a big change in my life. One thing that has eased my worries, however, is the fact I've been successfully writing over the Internet for a couple of months now, and it hasn't changed a thing about our process. Well, except for make it much, much easier. No more commutes, no more parking, no not having the food or drink I might want handy, no more trying to find a comfortable place to sit which didn't hurt my cranky back.

Now I just get into my most comfortable position/clothes/beverage-wise and write -- my partner in the corner of my screen looking back at me. We can talk -- it works with speaker, headphones, or no attachment -- and both work at the same time. Sometimes, we use this to get two scenes done at once. We use Skype, which is absolutely free when we use it between computers (they charge you if you call a phone). The set-up is also free and takes about five minutes total. My writing partner, Barry, uses it to talk to his sister. While I'm in Boulder next month giving my new J-O-B a test drive to make sure I like it well enough, my wife and I can use it -- if she gets her hands on a webcam, that is.

The service is great -- good picture and sound, streaming without much if any delay (this PC setup is different than my Mac, but it gives you the idea). We had a few glitches early, like getting kicked off now and again, freezing up, and losing the picture, some of that may have been due to with WiFi or computer issues. Either way, the problems have all but disappeared recently. Sometimes work for more than four hours without any interruption.

Because one of us always had to drive 20-30 minutes each way to the other's place, we can now add that time to our sessions and not lose any quality time with our significant others -- my wife often walks throughor joins in the conversation for a moment. And we're always just a few step away from our own bathroom when nature calls. There's not forgetting of materials, or cords for computers, etc. In the old days, if one of us was sick at all the other wouldn't want to go over -- no problem now.

So that makes me fel better about going to Colorado. I still have that odd nagging thought that I'll lose touch with my contacts and won't have anybody to send a script to, or that I'll lose the will to write, or something bad I can't even think of (Joaquin Andujar said his favorite word in baseball was "youneverknow"), but I know I've been thinking about this too long not to give it a shot. At least now, I know I won't stop writing because the long distance process made it too difficult. Because of Skype, it might actually make it easier.

This has not been a paid endorsement, but if the good folks at Skype want to pay me for my spokemanship, I'd like them to know that I am currently listening to offers.

PROGRAMMING NOTE: So, because of other demands, I haven't yet gotten to my Top 10 lists. I have the lists, just haven't written the, you know, actual post about them yet. I know, you can't wait. All three of you. But I promised them this week, and dammit, that's what I'm going to deliver. Check back later.

Navel Gazing: Great Success! (UPDATE)

When I started this blog, my chief hope was just that I might find a place where people would read my writing. You can't imagine how frustrating it can be being a writer in Hollywood -- pouring your heart into something, and then having to twist arms just to get somebody to read it. In my experience, writers write for two reasons: 1) For the experience/catharsis -- that is to get the voices in our heads down onto paper (or screen) and have them realized, and/or 2) To have that work read by others -- we all hope to affect the world in some way, be it on a global scale, or just by making one person laugh/cry/scream/whatever.

Since I started posting here, I've often doubted that anyone was really reading. Sure, I had told a few friends, and maybe they told a few friends, and maybe even a couple people stumbled across this space while looking for something else, but I felt a bit like a castaway, writing messages in bottles, hoping someone might find one. I've gotten a couple of comments from strangers complementing my reviews, but for the most part they didn't quell those fears. That's why -- or at least one of the reasons -- it was such a thrill today to receive an e-mail from someone who had found one of those messages, someone whom I happen to admire very much.

Last night, I posted my latest TV review -- of one of my favorite shows on the air, 'Sons of Anarchy'. To be honest, it was late at night, I was getting tired, and I don't even think it was particularly well-written -- I left out some important points I'd meant to include. But in the review, I wrote about the show's creator, Kurt Sutter, and how he came from one of my all-time favorite shows, 'The Shield'.* This morning I woke up and checked my e-mail to find a message from Mr. Sutter complementing the blog. At first I was sure it was a prank -- my writing partner Barry works in publicity for FOX, and actually deals with Sutter and others from the show as part of his routine (besides being a big fan of it), so I immediately assumed he had figured out some way to fake the e-mail.

But, upon further review, I found the e-mail led back to a blog right here on Blogger run by Sutter, himself. "SutterInk" is the name of the blog (the link is now in my blog roll on the right side of the screen), and you should really check it out -- and not just because I love both Sutter's work and his politics, though that's undoubtedly a big reason why. It was certainly a thrill to hear personally from someone I idolize, but it also presented a common dilemma in this town.

See, I'm a struggling screenwriter, and that's not uncommon in LA. In fact, we're a dime a dozen. But none of us feel like we're a dime a dozen -- we all feel uniquely special (whether we are or not is someone else's call). So whenever we meet someone in a position to help our careers, there's both the temptation to ask, and also the knowledge that doing so makes us not only a pest, but even worse -- a cliched pest. That's when pride often steps up to block our way. In a desire to not be That Guy, we don't say what's on our mind. We don't ask for what we want. And in my experience, if you're too afraid to ask for what you want, you'd better be resigned to going without it.

I am certainly not resigned to going without a career in screenwriting, but I've often found myself too prideful, or too embarrassed, to ask for someone's assistance in my career -- even when I've known they have the power to grant it. This happened recently to Barry, who had to opportunity through his work to hang out with Shawn Ryan, the creator of 'The Shield' (as well as 'The Unit') for three hours the other day. They talked about writing and the business and all sorts of things, but because Barry was there for his job, he felt too awkward to mention the fact he's a screenwriter who's been screwed over a few times (I know because I was bent-over right next to him at the time) and could use a helping hand.

I totally get why Barry didn't mention his situation to Ryan -- it might have been unprofessional in his position -- but I swore that I wouldn't pass up the same type of opportunity. I'm not going to let my pride stand in my way -- at least not anymore. I can't afford to. My screenwriting career is on shaky ground at this moment -- due to the economy, my representation situation, and the fact I'm having to move to Boulder, CO because the only solid job opportunity I currently have resides there -- and I need to do whatever it takes to breath life back into it. So, I did the unthinkable (at least for me): I swallowed my pride and replied to Mr. Sutter, asking if he had any advice for a poor, struggling screenwriter like myself.

Part of what inspired me to do this was reading his blog, which mentioned a time before 'The Shield' when he was a struggling screenwriter himself, and how Shawn Ryan helped and mentored him. But mostly, it was an admission that I need to change -- I need to realize that truly dedicated people do anything they can to achieve their goal, and that it's not a sign of weakness to ask for help (at least, not an unforgivable one).

I know Sutter probably won't have any great news for me -- I'm sure he gets these types of requests all the time. Although I'm willing to take any job on the ground floor of TV or movies right now -- writer's assistant, PA, fluffer, you name it -- the economy sucks, and I'm sure there's a long line of people ahead of me in the same predicament, if not worse. But the important thing to me is that I tried -- I don't want to leave LA knowing I left any stones unturned. To me, that's a notable success. As is the discovery that someone out there is actually reading this blog -- someone whose work I've been religiously following for years. I'm through the looking glass, and I love it!

UPDATE: So I heard back from Mr. Sutter, who very graciously shared a poignant anecdote and some quality advice. I'm tempted to copy and paste the whole e-mail here, but somehow I feel it would lose its coolness (and make no mistake, this whole thing has been very cool) if I did. So I'll summarize: Don't make excuses, don't blame other people, don't worry about if you'll sell anything -- just write. Write what you want, write a good story, and the rest will follow.

That's great advice, and as I've written in this space before, it's advice I'm already taking. Barry and I have been writing our dream project for a little over a month -- a project we've put off for years in favor of more "commercial" projects -- and I've often thought during that time that it's a opportunity we would never have had if not for our fucked-up representation situation. So I'm taking it as a blessing that we can write what we want, that I know we're writing a good story, and we don't have to listen to anyone else's input. That's an opportunity I cherish, and whether it ever sells or gets made is beside the point.

I have to add: Today gave me a mental boost -- just hearing from someone I admire, whose work I enjoy, and having him take the time to offer me some helpful words. And it was all thanks to the internet, and this silly little blog! Thanks, Al Gore!

* Just to give a quick head's up, I hope to post my review of 'The Shield's' final season sometime this week.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Just ran across the street to the grocery store for some last supplies before I lock it down for the holiday weekend, and who do I see at the Bristol Farms on Sunset and Fairfax at 10:15 on the night before Thanksgiving? Well, I was in line behind Jason Segal of 'Forgetting Sarah Marshall' fame, and ahead of Drea de Matteo of 'The Sopranos' fame.

And here I am, running right back home so I can quickly blog about it. How very 21st Century of me.

That's one thing I'll miss about LA -- it's always a little kick when you can buy bananas or play pick-up hoops with random celebrities, and you can't get that consistently anywhere else. Hope everybody else out there has plenty of stuff like that to be thankful for this year -- like maybe a turkey like this baby:



Happy Thanksgiving!

Hollywood Horror Show: Development Hell, Part 2

This is a series detailing the strange, sometimes traumatic experiences I've had in the entertainment industry -- run-ins with celebrities, development execs, and douchebags of all shapes and sizes -- since I moved to LA 11 years ago. A link to the previous installments can be found on the right hand side of the page, and also here.

The exciting (not really) conclusion to yesterday's post in a moment, but one quick note first: I'm being purposely vague about the companies, projects, and names listed here to protect both the innocent and the guilty. I would like to work in Hollywood again, even if I'm not in Hollywood.

After losing two deals and my agent in the matter of a few weeks, I went into a depression, didn’t want to write, thought about how close I’d been to becoming For Real in the industry, ate a lot, slept late... You get the idea. But my mama didn’t raise no quitters. I wasn’t about to give up. I forced myself back into it, wrote a couple of decent scripts, got a new manager, and eventually hooked up with my current writing partner, Barry.

Writing with Barry, we had some success -- not at selling scripts, mind you, but at least we made some fans by the beginning of 2006. One was Brad, the old producer with Original Film, who we’d turned down twice. He was now running a company with overseas money looking to make genre films (comedies and horror) and wanted us to pitch him ideas.

For months we threw ideas at Brad, and he managed to find a small flaw in each of them. One of them had the exact idea which has since been written and made by someone else. One he loved, only to find out a similar idea was already in production elsewhere.

Finally, after three or four months, we found something. Our managers represented a graphic novelist who already had 10 projects in development, had a book Brad wanted us to adapt. It seemed to good to be true (usually a good clue) -- we didn’t even have to come up with the idea, just come up with a take on it and detail it in a treatment.

We did, then traded notes back and forth for another few weeks. Some of these were ridiculous -- first he said he wanted them to be stoners, then he didn’t; at one point he wanted us to put in a cameo for music producer Rick Rubin. Why? I have no idea at all. But finally, Brad had a treatment he liked, and just had to pass it by his boss. That was more than two years ago, and I’ve never heard from him since.

After about a month, he told our managers he could buy it, but not for another month or so -- after he got another project into production. He called a few months after that to say he still was interested, and loved the treatment, but said his company couldn’t make any comedies (despite the fact that was one of the only two kinds of movie he said they could make). Months later, our managers heard from him again, saying he still hadn’t given up on buying it.

Maybe he hadn’t, but I know I had. Barry and I had moved on, and in March 2007, nine and a half years to the day I moved to LA, we got an offer from a production campany on a pitch we’d made to them. It was a low-ball offer -- they knew we’re non-union and could acceot a less-than-scale offer -- but I really didn’t care. I’d sold a script. I was a failure anymore. I was a screenwriter! I mean, I’d been saying I was a screenwriter, but now it was really true.

I enjoyed that moment, and I’m glad I did, because it was all downhill from there. If I had thought getting random, nonsensical notes from producers on their project was tough, I had no idea what it was like to get those same kind of notes on my own project. But see, that’s the thing about selling a script -- they don’t give you that money for nothing. They get something, too: Your script. If not your soul as well. You don’t own your script, they do, so whatever note they give you has an ugly subtext: If you don’t want to do it, they can surely find somebody who will.

At first, the notes from the production company’s development team -- founding partners and exec producers, Marc and Trevor, and creative execs, Katherine and Anil -- were fantastic. I thought the first round of notes on our treatment -- mainly that we should change one character to a girl -- were very helpful. Their first round of notes on the script were even better. By the time we handed in our second draft of the script, I was actually looking forward to their notes. They then gave us the best round of notes I’ve ever had on a script.* I was thrilled.

And that’s when the roof caved in on me. The last round of notes is what’s called a “polish”: it’s supposed to be smaller -- and pays less -- than the other steps of the process. But it was at this time, that Marc and Trevor decided to drop a very big note of us: change the entire opening. That was a huge change to make that late in the process -- definitely a “screamer” of a note.

We did the best we could, but the new opening, based on a shaky concept given to us by them, didn’t turn out great. Both us and our managers prefered the original take (and still do), but the company went full steam ahead with the new script -- sending it out to directors, then studios.

They failed to attach anybody, or get the co-financing they hoped for, and I can’t help but wonder if the better opening might have pushed it over the top. Most people say a script either grabs you in the first 10-15 pages, or it doesn’t, and our first 10 were not as good as they had been just a few weeks before we went out with it. That’s hard to swallow.

Even harder to swallow was the handling of the announcement of the script -- or lack therof as it turned out. An announcement is vital because it tells the industry you’re a money-maker, someone they need to talk to. Most people I know of who’ve gotten announcements have had 20 or 30 meetings set up based on that along -- meeting where you can pitch your next project and often partner up with someone looking tom catch a rising star.

Upon selling them the pitch, they said they would announce it soon, and asked for publicity photos of Barry and I for the articles which would appear in Variety and The Hollywood Reporter. We sent them in and waited.
Usually an announcement appears within a few days, so we were surpised when a couple of weks went by. They said it would happen soon, but hinted they wanted to have a copy of the script in hand before it hot the trades, so they could send it out to inquiring parties.

That made sense, so we wrote the script. When we were done, they wanted to wait until it was all polished and ready. When it was, they wanted to go to A-list directors first, because an attachment like that would make for a better story. Then they finally blew it off altogether and took it studios becuase they were so confident there would be a deal to announce in a matter of days anyway. There wasn’t. But that time, there was no point in announcing it -- everybody in town knew it didn’t get picked up.

The production company dropped the ball by not announcing not only because it cost us this priceless opportunity, but also because it could’ve gotten people excited about the project in a proactive, rather than reactive way. Our managers, who kept promising to announce it themselves if it didn’t happen soon, were also at fault for failing to follow through on their repeated promises. Though it was not the direct cause, the tension created by this, I believe, ultimately caused us to leave them.

And that’s how the sale of my first project -- as a pitch no less -- became the most frustrating, disappoint, and anti-clamactic moment of my career, if not my life. And it made me realize that even “success” in the industry (i.e. selling your idea for money) wasn’t necessarily going to make me happy. That was the first step to realizing I needed to move from LA.


* The best kind of development notes you get on a script are the one which make you wince just a bit when you hear/see them. A big wince (or scream) means they’re bad notes, impossible, or just stupid. No wince means they’re probably too easy to execute. But a little wince and queasiness in your stomach means the note is hard to execute, but badly needed.

Hollywood Horror Show: Development Hell, Part 1

This is a series detailing the strange, sometimes traumatic experiences I've had in the entertainment industry -- run-ins with celebrities, development execs, and douchebags of all shapes and sizes -- since I moved to LA 11 years ago. A link to the previous installments can be found on the right hand side of the page, and also here.

I’ve wanted to write about my mysterious, head scratching, and downright maddening experiences in the world of Hollywood development for sometime now, but some of the memories are painful just to think about. The first nine and half years I spent in LA were incredibly frustrating for me as I was unable to sell any of my scripts. Little did I know, the most frustrating episode of my career wouldn’t happen until I sold my first project.

I came here to make it as a screenwriter in 1997, and by 2000 that goal had not yet materialized. Sure, I’d made a little money as a screenwriter*, but it was uncredited, so officially I was still a nobody. I had encountered repeated rejections and failures, which never makes anybody too happy.

But I got a big break when my buddy Phil was coming off a big success (’Dude, Where’s My Car?’ grossed $50 million in theaters domestically) and wanted to co-write another idea based very loosely on my life -- my phone number somehow got confused with a man named Oscar Bertichevsky, and the mysterious phone calls and voice mails I recieved inspired an idea for a mistaken identity spy adventure comedy.

Phil and I wrote the script as a spec, then went out with it in February, 2001. Unfortunately, at that moment, the threat of a writer’s strike hung over the industry like a dark cloud. Studios had bought up scripts like crazy for a period of a few months in preparation -- “stockpiling” for the long winter -- and now the trades, usually filled with news of sales, had one had one or two a week.

I questioned if this was the wisest time to go out with the script, but was ignored by our agents -- in fairness, I am a screenwriter. The script, despite being taken to studios by several prominent producers (including Team Todd, who had produced the most recent hit spy comedy), it was ignored by studios. We never even got passes from all the studios -- they were just in a holding on everything until the strike was resolved.

The good news was (or supposedly was) several people liked the script a great deal and wanted to meet with Phil and I to talk about working together. One, Neal Moritz’s Original Film, wanted to discuss a rewrite deal on a script they already owned. I was thrilled...until I heard the title and concept -- ’Book ‘Em’: A library’s book detective investigates an overdue book only to stumble upon a big-time criminal.

It was lame, but I wasn’t in a position to be choosy, so we worked up a pitch. Brad, the producer at Original, was a big fan of ours, and Brian, the studio producer, was a big fan of Phil’s from his TV work. Everybody got along great, things were fast-tracked. Within a couple of weeks, we’d gotten down a pitch which the producer was ready to take to the brass. It was all happening so fast and easily -- just like all the people who’d know say it does. There was no way this going to fail.

Only it did. At the time, the “Greenlight Guy” at Paramount -- the man whose okay you needed to get a deal done -- was John Goldwyn, and he had an opinion we couldn’t have possibly anticipated. John Goldwyn didn’t like art thief movies, or at least, not comedies involving an art thief. See, that was what we’d pitched for our antagonist’s crime. “We’re not making ’The Thomas Crown Affair’” was the quote relayed from an incredulous Brian, who begged us to find another crime.

This as a bigger problem than it sounds like. Because it was a light comedy, a murderer was too dark. Because it had to do with overdue books, kidnapping didn’t make much sense. A bank robber wouldn’t need books either. Everything we thought of, either they had a problem with it, or we did. Finally, Phil became so frustrated, Brian actually told him to smoke pot. That didn’t work either.

Phil told me he wanted to pass on the project, which was heartbreaking to me -- to come so close to getting my first gig, a big studio job, only to say “no” -- but I understood. Our agreement was that if either of us wanted to pass we would. So, we passed.

The next day, I woke up with one of those, “Why even get out of bed?” moods. But when I checked my voice mail, I found a message from Brad, wanting to talk. He said he really wanted to work with us, and had another project we’d be perfect for. My spirits soared -- we still had a chance.

The new project, ’Employee of the Month’ (yes, that one), was a more palatable concept: Two best friends are torn apart by the love of one woman, fighting to win their company’s employee of the month award in order to win her heart. I knew it wasn’t Shakespeare, but it was a lot easier coming up with a pitch for this than for ’Book ‘Em’.

Brad quickly got us a pitch meeting with a producer from Lion’s Gate, and the Greenlight Guy at Sony, Matt Tolmach. Only that week, a stuntman had died on the set of ’Spiderman’ in Chicago, and Tolmach had gone to see to the situation personally. So instead we meet with another studio producer, Rachel. She heard our pitch, and clearly liked it. We waited while she relayed it to Tolmach.

Rachel came back with one note, which we quickly executed. We were ready to pitch it again, but Tolmach wasn’t back in town yet, but Brad relayed to us that Rachel claimed she was Tolmach’s “proxy”, and had the power to say “yes” to the project. Since it was hard getting everyone’s schedules to mesh, a conference call was arranged. We pitched Rachel, she had no notes, and once again we were on the doorstep.

We waited. And waited. After a couple of weeks, I could tell Phil started to sour on the deal -- he had another deal working for the ’Dude’ sequel. I tried to get our agent, Justin, to give him a pep talk, but he said that wasn’t his job. I prayed we’d get a offer from Sony before Phil completely quit.

Then, the very next day, Brad called. Surprisingly, there was neither an offer, nor a pass -- Rachel had tried to relay the pitch to Tolmach (despite the fact she supposedly had the power to decide on her own), and according to her, something was lost in translation. He needed to hear the pitch in person. I was pissed. Justin was pissed. Phil didn’t want to do it.

I thought Justin would understand this, since I’d just predicted it the previous day, but in stead he was shocked. He tried to give us a pep talk to do the meeting (despite the fact he said that wasn’t his job), but Phil wouldn’t budge. One meeting away from becoming a done deal, the project was dead. (At least with us -- obviously, the producers were able to find someone who would take that meeting). We had turned down two studio projects within two months.

Having two rugs pulled out from under me back-to-back like that was very difficult to take. Even worse, because of our “unprofessional” behavior, there was tension between myself and Justin, and soon he wasn’t returning my calls. I honestly thought my career might be over right then and there.

It wasn’t, but I hadn’t seen the last -- or even the worst -- the world of development had to offer. You can read about that tomorrow in Part 2.

* I’m sure just about everybody reading this knows this by now -- and at some point I’m going to get around to doing a post on it, so I can just link to that in the future -- but just for the record: ’Dude, Where’s My Car’ was written by my friend, Phil Stark, based on one my first nights in LA, when I (you guessed it) lost my car. I contributed a few ideas to the script, and got a nice little chunk of the big pile of money Phil sold the script for.