who dat? contest.
(yo stee. i know
pitcher jim catfish hunter
first correct answer:
My head, people. My head just hurts. So many random things in there. I have certain people I just babble to during the day. Mostly on the phone or via email, but still there's so many more random thoughts in there. That's much of the reason I write. I think, all the fucking time. It's also the reason I don't do drugs, because it would upset me too much to find my thought processes - which work for me and what I want to do - changed.
Last night we had the opening of my plays. They were good. Very good. I mean, I'm a perfectionist and would certainly change things as usual, but I'm pleased. The audience really surprised us all by laughing their asses off at what I suspected was the least funny of the three plays. In fact, it's pretty serious. But the cast was just tight and very strong and it's a testament to the old notion that when you're playing for laughs, it's a lot harder to get them than when you're playing it straight - when you're believing so desperately in the circumstances and those circumstances are skewed or somehow funny in some other way. Anyway, that was the one play never produced before and it excited me the most to see and gratified me that the audience seemed to respond the most to it. Anyway, I had a point. Ah yes. While watching last night, these three diverse and sort of strange plays that came from my head over the past four years, I couldn't help but thinking: Man, I used to be a whole lot smarter. There are insights in there - nothing huge - but in the middle play, a lot of stuff about possibilities and the scripts we write for ourselves and can you change them and the choices we make and just fucking make a choice and what are our options vis-a-vis fate and the nature of love and all this shit that makes sense and is pretty thoughtful - and yet in my daily life, I end up talking about things in such a retarded manner. "I don't know." I'm always saying, "I don't know." "What should we do about our relationship..." or whatever, and I respond, "I don't know." There's no great words coming from my mouth, man. There's no solutions or insight. There's stammering and shoulder-scrunching and smoking and bad analogies. I somehow have a problem reconciling the person who is learning to string together sentences and thoughts pretty nicely sometimes on paper, and the dude who walks around with his leather jacket and his shades and his hip-hop bag and his cell phone and his coffee and has to stop to look at the paper to figure out what's happening with the Presidency because he's sort of more caught up in his life and in Hollywood to care/know what's going on in the world around him - who can write about the situation in modern Russia and link it to Anton Chekhov's 1900 speech about what life will be like in one hundred years, and then can't figure out why he's mad at a certain friend for really no reason or how to fix any of the five lights that are burnt out in his apartment or can't remember to buy paper towels no matter what he does or just cannot fucking decide if he should kiss her or not.
But don't get me wrong. I comport myself well, I think. I'm kind to old people and animals, I can usually impress parents and make conversation with pretty much anyone and take good meetings and give advice that puts Ann Landers to shame. But on the inside, and this is the secret... I think I'm really pretty stupid. Funny and engaging and nice, yes, but kinda dumb. And I'm only getting dumber. For instance, I never lose things. Never. Knock on wood, but I haven't lost a wallet in my entire life or keys or really much of anything. Well, last week I lost my ID card, my sunglasses, my lighter, and a jacket. And I don't know where any of that shit even might be. Is that bad?
Ah. Fuck. And my schedule is filling up, as usual. I'm shooting a movie all January now and probably can't go to Slamdance with my finalist script there, which sucks. I have about 3 weeks to finish a rewrite. Meetings are being schedule for me with people who read the script around town, and I just got a call about New Years. I don't even know what I'm doing, but now I'm renting a limo with some friends for whatever we do end up doing that night. My sister comes to town in eight days and we hang here and then drive up North. I just made the car reservation. I have a concert to see tomorrow and a play on Friday and drinks with a friend and a party all that night. This weekend I do the rewrite. Good. I can do that. I continue with that then. OK. Yeah...
I'm babbling, folks. Obviously. I have to go home now and work for a while before a friend comes over and before we get drunk and watch the final The $treet. $o $ad.
Anyway, so the plays are good, stee is stupid and busy. That's it. That's all you learn today. But I'll leave you with a bit of email from my sister which cracked my shit up:
You're the whisper of a summer breeze. You're the kiss that puts my soul at ease. What I'm saying is I'm in to you. Here's my story, and the story goes: You give love, you get love. And more than heaven knows. You're gonna see. I'm gonna run, I'm gonna try, I'm gonna take this love right to ya. All my heart, all the joy. Oh baby, baby please. Rush, rush. Hurry, hurry lover come to me. Rush, rush. I wanna see, I wanna see ya get free with me. Rush, rush. I can feel it, I can feel you all through me. Rush, rush. Ooh, what you do to me. And all I want from you is what you are. And even if you're right next to me, you're still too far away. If I'm not inside your arms, I get dramatic baby. Yes I know. But I need you, I want you, ooh man, I love you so. Ooh, ooh. You're gonna see. I'm gonna run, I'm gonna try, I'm gonna take this love right to ya. All my heart, all the joy. Oh baby, baby please. When you kiss me up and down. Turn my senses all around. Oh baby, oh baby, I don't know. Just how or why but no one else has touched me so deep, so deep. So deep inside. You're gonna see. I'm gonna run. I'm gonna try. I'm gonna take this love right to ya. All my heart, all the joy. Oh baby, baby please. Rush, rush. Hurry, hurry lover come to me. Rush, rush. I wanna see, I wanna see ya get free with me. Rush, rush. I can feel it, I can feel you all through me. Rush, rush. Ooh, what you do to me... speaking of which. You're gonna see, Anne. That I didn't tell them anything. Really. I swear. Oh, but hey, can you come by my trailer when you're finished shooting. I have to get something from you... you know.
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