Wow, I was away for a while there, huh? Did you miss me like my dumb cat did? Did you climb under the covers and just sleep there for a week, occasionally emerging to fuck up the rug, puke, eat computer disks, and meow sadly? Yeah, I thought so. Does that mean now you're going to follow me around all day, trying to trip me? Climb on my chest when I lie down and drool on me? Yeah? Good.

Well, it's nice to be back actually, but man, did I have a good time. Problem with the type of vacation I had is that there isn't any huge news to tell. I relaxed. Naturally, my version of relaxing is quite different from many people's, but nonetheless, I did relax. The week is a blur though. Random images, impressions, activities to follow:

Oh right. So my reunion - my ghetto-ass reunion. Here's how it went... Ben and I drive to the park (a park! i know, right?) where it was to be held. We're both kinda nervous and a little excited... we find 25 people sitting around a fucking barbecue. We drive and get a burrito instead. So, no, we didn't go to our high-school reunion. I know. I know. We heard from friends that there really weren't a whole lot of people I would have wanted to see anyway. I'm just very pissed-off at my shit class presidents. I don't care if they have kids and are busy and shit. It doesn't even really make that big a difference to me, but it could have been fun as my class is full of pretty extraordinary people. Plus, I'm single now and it would have been nice to at least have the opportunity to maybe settle an old crush-score. Oh well.

Ben picked me up from the airport and took me straight into San Francisco to our friend's swanky bar. He plied us with drinks and my tired ass - I landed at midnight - danced and watched women lift their tops on the floor for no reason. Ben then wanted to stop off in a sex club. My drunk self was lead into a little room where I put a dollar in a slot. The window raised and three intensely bored women danced in a little room. Then I noticed the smell... Yes. What you're thinking. I looked down and saw come all over the floor. I immediately pulled myself in as tight as possible, making sure not to touch the walls. I grabbed the tails of my shirt in my hand and with some trouble, turned the doorknob and let myself out. I'm scarred now. Why would people... I don't know. My one experience at a strip club was nice, but this was... I mean, I like porn. I love sex. But the notion of whacking off in a small smelly room while standing in a puddle of semen as a line of frat boys stand outside waiting for you to finish... Not For Me.

My dog smells. Really smells. He basically followed me around the house for a week. I felt bad as I'd run downstairs for 5 seconds, and he'd follow. His legs are very short and running up and down 30 stairs isn't that easy for him. I'd try to tell him I'd be right back up, but he never got it. Poor stupid-ass.

So, I saw A Perfect Storm. I have to say, I liked it. Wolfgang Petersen makes good cheesy action movies, and isn't that what summer is all about? John is fantastic in the film. Seriously. He's the funny guy, and gets lots of screen time. Another woman in the movie with us plays his love interest. Though her size is used as an initial joke - I was impressed at how "real" a character she was allowed to be - something obvious and not stunningly "good" of the filmmakers, but nevertheless rare in a big Hollywood movie. Frank is editing his ass off on the 1/4th of the thing we have shot so far; he rented a G4 with an editing program on it. Then the tapes go out and hopefully the money comes in. A Perfect Storm can only help us. Oh, and I rented Next Friday. I fucking loved it. My friends said it wasn't very good. Maybe I'm just easily amused by stereotypes and weed jokes. And I watched Rushmore again. That's a fucking film, man. If you haven't seen it - bitchslap yourself for being so out of it, and then go rent it.

I also went and saw High Fidelity again. I do like the film, despite the fact that the book was much better. But the main reason I saw it was because it was playing at a very cool theatre in Oakland. This place shows 2nd run movies and it costs 5 bucks. They removed half the seats from an old theatre and put couches and tables in their place. There is a kitchen downstairs and you can order food and beer and they bring it to you during the film. It rocks. Every city should have one. (I know Austin does.) If you live in the Bay, go there. And bring someone to hold.

Pac Bell Park. (The new Giants baseball stadium.) I went. I lucked into tickets. Not only were they tickets to this new and always sold-out park, but they were behind home plate. 11th row. No fucking kidding. I've been to hundreds of games, and never had seats this good. The park is very impressive. Small and beautiful. The grass is cut straight, and not in the annoying patterns favored by so many teams these days. The place looks out onto the Bay. Felipe Crespo hit a homer into the water - only the fifth ever. And the best thing - the Giants broke a tie in the 9th to win. Jeff Kent. It was just a kick-ass time. No more eloquent way to say it.

What else... I saw a good number of friends. Ate out a lot. Sat in the backyard. Walked the dog. Watched a lot of baseball.

Oh, and I did a lot of work. I was working on two scripts daily as I also did my Road Rules recap. Oh shit, there's another one on tonight. They don't stop, do they? Next vacation, however, I won't give myself as much to do. And I read Hannibal. I liked it alright. Hannibal is such a wonderful character, but I thought the story was a bit weak.

And I made a new friend. That was a very good, very nice thing.

And what does it mean to be back? Well. I'm refreshed, for one. I have big plans. I am determined not to get discouraged and tired, which I tend to get down here. I am at my best up north, and I need to keep it going. I have meetings and rehearsals already scheduled. Meeting with a producer tonight. Interesting things coming up. For instance, a theatre company called me, wanting to do an evening of my one-act plays. They wanted to do two that have already been produced, and I suggested they also do a third new one. They're reading it right now. Low-rent LA theatre is not a world I'm much interested in anymore, after being immersed for years - but I love these plays and think it could be fun to see them done again.

And... upon arriving home yesterday, I was beset with an urge to purge - which I never get - so I threw out / am giving away about 10 bags of clothes. I also finally went through the bathroom drawers, throwing away girlie shit from the ex. I guess this is what I'm supposed to do. I just hadn't done it yet. Well, here we go...

Anyway, to recap: I had a great time. And I'm also actually vaguely sort of glad to be back. Go figure.

The Larry King Happy Song Corner

 
 
She lived on a curve in the road, in an old, tar-paper shack. On the south side of the town, on the wrong side of the tracks. Sometimes on the way into town we'd say: 'Mama, can we stop and give her a ride?' Sometimes we did, but her hands flew from her side. Wild eyed, crazy Mary. Down a long dirt road, past the Parson's place. That old blue car we used to race. Little country store with a sign tacked to the side. Said 'No L-O-I-T-E-R-I-N-G Allowed'. Underneath that sign always congregated quite a crowd. Take a bottle, drink it down, pass it around. One night thunder cracked, mercy backed outside her windowsill. Dreamed I was flying high above the trees, over the hills. Looked down into the house of Mary. Terrible thoughts, newspaper-covered walls, and Mary rising up above it all. Next morning on the way into town. Saw some skid marks and followed them around. Over the curve, through the fields, into the house of Mary. That what you fear the most, could meet you halfway. Take a bottle, drink it down, pass it around... speaking of which. I knew a girl named Mary. Way back in the Roaring Twenties, I think it was. One night we were huddled around a still my pal Johnny Mac had constructed in his bathtub, and we were making gin. The party was hopping and Mary was nowhere to be found. Larry doesn't fret, brother, when his best gal is missing, because there are always plenty of ladies around. Well, this little flapper named Lulu dragged me into a back room where we went at it like two rutting cats left alone by mistake in the play room at your local kennel. Well, just as I was about to turn her over and play the back nine, as they say, Mary busted through the door, looking wild-eyed and crazy indeed. Luckily the gin was skunked due to a problem with the filter coil, and Mary went into cardiac arrest and had to be rushed to the hospital. Best thing is, when she recovered, she didn't remember anything! Ha. I love that Johnny Mac and his dubious still-making abilities.
 
 
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