Disney Fellowship

We're off to the races.

Today I finally got around to notarizing and mailing off my application for the Disney Fellowship.

The instructions weren't very clear on what exactly they wanted out of the Statement of Intent and Autobiographical Summary, but I managed, I think.

Showed them a gentler, more touching me.

Here's my Statement of Intent.

Dear Disney*ABC Fellowship Committee,

In 1978, when I was only a year old, my parents decided to flee from the civil war taking place in Beirut, Lebanon.

Only my mother and I were able to get a Visa, so we went ahead and came to the United States without my father. We would not see him for five years.

Without higher education and limited resources, my parents always worked long hours at mediocre jobs – but they always did it proudly. After making sure we had a roof over our heads and food on the table, their next main priority was my education.

They spent every penny they made putting me through private school.

When it came time to graduate high school, all my classmates went on to UCLA or USC, and eventually became doctors or lawyers. I know it would have made my parents proud had I done the same.

My destiny, however, was elsewhere. I was to be a writer.

Until now, I’ve maintained a career in advertising in order to make ends meet. My parents always taught me to put my heart and soul into everything I did, so I followed that career with all my passion for as long as I could.

Although I wasn’t a doctor or a lawyer, my parents were still proud of me.

As I come to another crossroad in my life this year – turning 30 – I’ve decided to finally put my heart and soul into becoming a writer.

I know a fellowship with an entity as prestigious as Disney would finally give my parents something to truly brag about.

I could become something bigger than myself, something bigger than a doctor or a lawyer – someone who touches people’s lives through their writing.

This is what I’ve always been destined to become.

A writer.

Please allow me the opportunity to make not just my parents proud – but Disney as well – by allowing me into your fellowship.

I wonder what they'll think when they go from reading that letter to seeing Ari Gold tell Lloyd that Eric wants to ragefuck him in my submitted spec?

I'm guessing diversity. Range.

Because I've got layers.

Like an onion.

Reject Me. Please, Reject Me.

You know what's the toughest part about trying to become a professional screenwriter?

Indifference.

After having gone through my first attempt at query letters, I find myself in the precarious position of yearning for rejection. Some sort of acknowledgment that I exist, even if it's negative.

Tell me I suck. Tell me you hate everything about me.

Tell me your anal fissure can write better pablum than I can.

Just tell me something.

It's a lot like trying to pick up a girl. You learn that rejection is just a part of the process, but when you're downright invisible, that's a whole different story.

It's one thing for the girl to think you're fat, or short, or hate your sense of humor - but if she doesn't even recognize you exist? That's the rub.

Now, don't get me wrong, I understand why Hollywood has to have such a closed-door stance on things. Over the past few months, I've been witness to how fucking batshit crazy a lot of so-called aspiring screenwriters are - so it's not like I can blame Hollywood for wanting to keep as much of a distance from these people as possible.

Hell, they scare me - and they're not even trying to get me to read their shitty script.

The unfortunate consequence of these wackjobs vying for the same ultimate goal as the rest of us, is that the barrier to entry has become almost insurmountable.

Almost. It's not impossible - but it's definitely not easy either.

So, we keep trying. Hoping we come up with a concept that gets us a read - then hoping we wrote a script strong enough to get us an option, or a sale, or an assignment.

It'll happen.

Oh, and to all you fucking lunatics out there making our life more difficult, here's a big hardy fuck you.

Or maybe I'm just bitter that I got one read request out of two hundred queries.

Today's Song of the Day - Loco, by Coal Chamber.

screenwriting

Here I Go Again On My Own

Going down the only road I've ever known.

That's right. As of a couple days ago, I'm officially writing solo again.

Me. Sans writing partner.

While I'd love to regale you with a sordid tale of betrayal and violence, the truth is simply that Annabel is a mother of at least three dozen children (if not hundreds more) with a whole lot of responsibilities.

My biggest decision of the day is what cereal to have for breakfast.

We'd have enjoyed continuing to write together - and I'm sure we will again - but, for now, I'm on a pretty tight schedule if I'm going to give this 12 month thing a real shot.

That means that I need to be pushing forward at full steam.

Even if it is alone.

With all its flaws, we cranked out a really great script together in record time. From inception to three full drafts in under a month. That's pretty awesome.

The sad part is, I really enjoyed writing with a partner. Having someone readily available to bounce ideas off of - who also happens to be equally invested in the project - is so huge that I can't even begin to describe it.

Oh well. C'est la vie.

So, here I am. Outlining my new masterpiece and about to get cranking on it.

Disney Fellowship application goes out tomorrow - so wish me luck with that as well.

Other than that, stay tuned as I have a blog or two to throw up here in short order.

Coming up: My First MILF

And it's only fitting that today's Song of the Day is - Whitesnake. Here I Go Again.

5 Seconds Of Hilarity

First Indiana Jones 4 Picture

Is it just me, or does the picture above make you feel like a kid again?

INDIANA FUCKING JONES.

And today's Song of the Day...

While out at lunch with a group of friends this afternoon, I was shocked to learn that none of them had heard the Devo cover of Nine Inch Nail's Head Like a Hole.

Shocked, I tell you.

This is arguably one of the best covers ever.

In order to save some of you the embarrassment of having me look at you the way I did this group today, I present you with Song of the Day: Devo, Head Like a Hole.

Bask in its glory.

My First Blowjob

When most people remember their first sexual encounter, it's usually a fond memory. A little nostalgia, a bit of unease, and some curiosity.

I think of prison and my parents.

The year is 1993. All the other jagoffs in my private school have gotten a Beamer or Mercedes for their sixteenth birthday, while I've had to work all summer for my car. I've busted my ass, though, and made just enough to buy myself a 1972 Mustang - blue with white racing stripes.

The kind of car I'm hoping will be, as they say, a pussy magnet.

As you can probably tell, I haven't changed much since my teenage years.

The car is a hit with the girls. Within my first week of owning it, I've hooked up with some ridiculously cute hottie from Pasadena. I ditch school and pick her up every day, and bring her back to my house in Hollywood while my parents are at work.

We make out all day long.

This continues on for several weeks, but all we're doing is making out. Maybe a little second base action. I'm sixteen, with a car, dammit - I demand action. So, I stop making the trek to Pasadena in hopes of finding someone a little more adventurous closer to home.

One day I'm visiting my grandmother when out of the corner of my eye, I spot this curvaceous brunette making her way over to us. I puff out my chest and try to look as suave as a sixteen year old can.

She's the daughter of my grandmother's landlord. Almost 18 and about to head off to U C Berkeley.

As worldly as I may be now, due to my experiences with the girl from Pasadena, I'm still not so comfortable around the ladies. But she's sure got huge boobs...

I honestly don't know what came over me. As she's walking out, I stop her and without even thinking about it - I ask her out. More importantly - She. Says. Yes.

The next thing I know, we have plans for that Friday. I have a date with a college student - and she's got big boobs. This must be what Corey Haim felt like.

Friday rolls around and I'm totally excited. I've washed and waxed my Mustang so many times my hands are permanently pruned. I've got on my Dad's best Drakkar Noir, and I have a condom in my wallet that hasn't even had a chance to form a ring in the leather yet.

I'm fucking ready.

Better still? She's ready too.

She tells me to drive to Griffith Park. I do it. We park in a row of cars and without even a hint of conversation, begin to make out. When did I become such a pimp? I don't know. I'm not going to ask. This is the awesomest thing that's ever happened to me.

I knew buying this car was a good idea.

A good half hour goes by, and my suave self hasn't even made a move yet - but that doesn't stop her. Before I even know what's happening, my jeans are unzipped and she's lowering her head onto my lap.

I wish my friends were around to see this.

And wow, did it feel good. Just as I'm shutting my eyes to get into it--

There's a loud banging on my window, and a flashlight pointed right at the top of her head.

Fuck. Me.

Apparently getting head in a public park is not such a good idea, because not only do they make us stop - but they take us into the police station. In handcuffs.

Oh. And now I know what blue balls feel like.

So there I am, handcuffed to a bench in a police station with my balls in pure agony. And worse yet, both our parents have been called to pick us up.

I don't think they told our parents why we were there, because her father wasn't nearly as furious at me until he had a moment to talk to the officer. That's when his face turned bright red and his fists tightened. He rushed his daughter out of there so quick, I didn't have a chance to say goodbye. Let alone make a second date.

My Dad, on the other hand, was only furious until he talked to the officer. From then on, he just tried to hide his grin from my mother.

He even gave me a wink in the rear view mirror as he drove me to pick up my pussy magnet - waiting patiently for me at the park.

Father's Day

I'm not very good with true emotions.

I shoot from the hip and run off at the mouth. I'm great at a party and can captivate an audience, but when it comes to anything deep or meaningful, I run for the hills.

When I found out I had a son the November before last, it broke my heart.

Not a day goes by I don't think about him.

I wrote him a letter this weekend.

Dear Son,

You will likely never get this.

You don't know my name, and I don't know yours - but I write this letter in the hopes that maybe one day it will find its way to you.

By now you've given your first smile, taken your first steps and said your first words - I wish I could have been there to see them.

I also won't be there to let you ride the pony outside the supermarket as many times as you want. To play your first game of catch with you, no matter how busy I am with work. To take you to your first concert, even if the band sucks. To help you study for your first big exam. To get you ready for your first date. To tell you how proud of you I am, no matter what trouble you've gotten yourself into.

I won't be there for any of that.

But you'll be fine, son.

You will grow up to be brilliant and excel at anything you put your mind to.

You will have a way with girls that will make the other boys jealous.

You will run the world one day.

I will miss you and think about you until the day I die.

Love,

Dad

Progress Bars

It only took me three months, but I've finally gotten around to adding those nifty little progress widgets to my sidebar. I added one for the overall progress as well. Now you can keep up with how badly I fail at my 12 month goal in real time.

Neato.

Today's Song of the Day is from one of my favorite movies - Empire Records.

It's Sugarhigh by Coyote Shivers.

While I'm sure Coyote would rather we love the original version of Sugarhigh, there's just something sexy about Renee Zellweger's scratchy vocals from the actual movie.

Unfortunately, there is no studio version of the track, so this had to be ripped directly from the DVD - in other words, don't expect fantastic quality - just an awesome version of an awesome song.

I've oftened fantasized about a Renee Zellweger & Joey Lauren Adams threesome - but would that be sexy, scratchy voice overload? I guess I'll only know once I try it.

Enjoy.

Song of the Day - Watch Your Back

As I've mentioned before, music is a huge a part of my life. If I'm not watching a movie, I'm listening to music. I listen to music when I write - all kinds of music. My iPod goes everywhere with me. Movies and music - really, is there anything better in the world? Well, besides sex.

If you've noticed, for the most part, I try not to talk about actual movies too often on the blog. It's because I think it's a bit unwise for an aspiring screenwriter to critique films when they're just barely trying to break into the business. If for no other reason than not to burn bridges.

However.

I would love to talk about music more. So I thought maybe I would do a little semi-regular feature called Song of the Day where I would share some of my favorite songs with you guys in between my ramblings about cock blocking and douchecunts.

Without further ado, here is today's Song of the Day.

Benny Cassette - Watch Your Back

Before LA became a haven for scenesters with bad hair cuts, before emo guys started cutting themselves because they wanted to kiss other emo guys, there was Benny Cassette.

Benny's music will make you wanna rock out with your cock out, chill out with your drill out, and hang out with your wang out. The kid can appreciate the old school along with the new. Plus, he's got a cool name, and that makes him A-Okay in my book.

Check out the song here.

Writer's Cock Block

It's bad enough to be cock blocked in the first place, but to have said cock blockage perpetrated by a fellow writer is enough to send a guy spiraling into a life of alcoholism and bad porn with unshaven bush.

Let me explain.

So, we're out doing guy stuff the other day. Nothing of consequence, mind you - just an irrational request from a friend who is about to get married, demanding the boys spend a day together doing guy stuff.

Where I come from, the aforementioned "guy stuff" usually just meant naked women, brass poles, and hard liquor.

This was not the case.

Apparently, the new definition of guy stuff is shopping, lunch, and bowling. In other words, shit that begs the question, "Why did I even leave the house today?"

But, I'm a good friend. And as a good friend, it's my responsibility - nay, my duty - to make the last days of one of my brethren as comfortable as possible.

Six weeks from now, when that poor sap realizes he's just signed away half his belongings and income in exchange for dwindling sexual return, I want him to at least have the fond memories of our escapades together to cling to.

Experiences he'll never be able to duplicate now that he's about to get married.

Anyway, that's not the point of this story.

We're out at a bowling alley of all places when out of nowhere this absolutely stunning girl and a little boy take the lane next to ours. She's 18. She's dumb. She's gorgeous.

In other words, she's perfect.

Without much prodding, she tells us how frustrated she is because she's stuck babysitting her little brother when, and I quote, "she can be out getting wasted and having fun."

Blood in the fucking water.

I slide over next to her and start chatting her up - completely forgetting about my friends. She's dumber than I ever imagined. She's even more perfect.

We talk for about a good half hour and compare tattoos. I'm in heaven.

Just when I'm about to contribute to the delinquency of a minor or whatever it's called and buy her a beer, she asks me what I do for a living. So I figure - why not, I'll try pulling the screenwriter card for my very first time ever.

If anyone's going to be impressed by it, it's this girl.

Before the words even finish coming out of mouth, my annoyed and soon to be married friend says, "Yeah, ask him how many actual movies he's written."

Cock blocking son of a bitch.

This, of course, leads to a series of questions that eventually ends with her asking, "So, you don't really do anything right now?"

Not really, no.

I try to defend myself and point out that he's never sold shit either, and he's been doing it for more years than she's been alive - while I've only been pursuing it since February.

But it's too late.

Instead of being the cool older guy with tattoos who was going to show her a good time once she ditched her little brother, I'm now the creepy old guy trying to scam on her.

I fucking hate my friends sometimes.

At least he'll get what's coming to him soon enough.

Marriage.

Light Reading

There seems to have been an influx of new readers to the blog over the past week, so I thought now might be a good time to point out some of my favorite entries of the past.

Change - The story to end all stories. My journey into self-destruction that has led me to where I am today. For better or worse, it's good to still be around and following my dream.

Goonies Never Say Die - Karma is not without a sense of irony. Stumbling is good for the soul - as long as you pick yourself back up and keep going.

The Half Elvis - One of my favorite stories from my time in advertising. Nothing says a good time like a co-worker passed out on a toilet.

Fuck Like A Republican - Say what you will about the Grand Old Party - those old bastards can get you laid.

The Little Things - Revenge is dish best served cold. Especially when the guy is your boss.

Los Angeles is Burning - You never know who you're going to meet when you party with squatters.

There's a few more I wanted to include in this list - but I think this should suffice for now.

Enjoy.

Douchecunts

Douchecunts. They're everywhere.

People that you absolutely loathe from the moment you set eyes on them. The kind of mother fuckers you just want to eviscerate, before you've even learned their name. The sort of people you would travel back in time for - just to make sure they choked on their god damn umbilical cords.

We've all known douchecunts in our lives.

We all know a douchecunt right now.

Unfortunately, society dictates we be political. Whether in an office environment, or an online community - the burden is upon us to be the bigger person. We can't simply call a spade a spade and be done with it. We're forced to ignore their antics and suppress our dislike of these individuals.

Thus, allowing the douchecunt to operate with impunity.

I'm reminded of several of these people I've had to endure over the years.

One guy, I had to fire because he was downloading gigs of porn and watching them - in the office, during work hours. He had the nerve to throw a tantrum and kick desks as he packed up his shit and headed for the unemployment line.

Another cat, so ugly he could only date chicks the rest of us wouldn't even fuck for practice - would incessantly jabber on about his latest and greatest money making scheme and try and get us to "invest" in his idea, long after we'd tried to change the subject. Mother fucker wasn't even part of our circle of friends, yet he'd just fucking show up wherever we were at.

Last but not least, the bitch with a forehead the size of Europe. Constantly second-guessing and going over my head to our superiors when I was just starting out in my old business. I hope she dies in a car fire.

The only reason I can mention these people now, is because they're ancient history and no longer a part of my world, or even my career at this point.

So a big fuck you to you douchecunts of the past. May you get the crotch rot.

As for the recent spike in douchecunt activity that prompted this blog, I really can't really talk about it.

But I will. One day.

Blogging is Hard

Sorry for the lack of updates. I've been contemplating suicide and watching porn.

At the same time.

I call it Snuff Masturbation.

We've actually been working hard on rewrites and ideas for the next spec - so I've been pretty drained of any sort of creative energy. Blogging is hard work, man.

I did go see Knocked Up & Ocean's 13 this weekend - they were both quality flicks.

Anyway, that's it for today.

Tune in tomorrow for some hard core Snuff Masturbation talk.

Snuffbation?

Vegas, Baby. Vegas.

I occasionally have the need to play cards.

Sometimes this leads to problems.

Not long ago, my ex and I were at Commerce Casino here in Los Angeles playing some poker. Well, I was playing - she watched.

She also happened to be the only non-asian girl there at the time.

It's about four hours into my night at Commerce and I'm up about two buy-ins and complaining to Ruth (the ex) about the fact that I hate having to pay for drinks while I gamble.

She says, "Well, let's go to Vegas, then."

I laugh it off, because a twenty minute drive to Commerce is one thing, but a three hour drive to Vegas is another. Just as she's being all cute with her let's go to Vegas comment, a relatively attractive but very annoyed looking asian girl passes by and gives Ruth the evil-eye.

Ruth snarls at her, and I immediately respond with, "You should totally kick her ass."

And without thinking much of it, I go back to looking at what hand I've been dealt.

Now, I say those sorts of things all the time. They just come out of my mouth.

I rarely think before I speak.

Ruth, having had a few drinks in her, jumps out of her seat and shouts, "Game on!"

Instantly, I realize what I have done.

"No, no, honey. I'm only kidding," I try to get out. But it's too late.
She's already pointing at the asian girl and yelling, "What's your problem, bitch?"

I love me a feisty woman, sure - but not when I'm playing cards, dammit.

I reach around behind Ruth, and give an "ignore her and just keep going" wave to the asian girl as I try to commandeer her attention.

"Hey, you know what, baby? Screw it, let's go to Vegas!" I announce.
She immediately turns around beaming, "Really?"
"Yeah, let's roll." I say as I pick up my chips.

I'll take a three hour drive over dealing with the thirty Jackie Chan's the other girl came with any day.

We cruise into Las Vegas around 3:00am and I decide to not bother finding a comped room on the strip and go to the one place I know will give me a room any day of the week - The Fiesta in Henderson. It's a bit of a drive to any real poker action, but who cares, it's free.

We check into our room and go downstairs to continue drinking.

I had planned on putting Ruth to bed and heading over to play some cards at the Bellagio or Wynn, but she was feeling frisky and I'd been drinking far too much to even consider real poker at that point.

We ended up meeting a really gorgeous cocktail waitress, though - and just as luck would have it, she had the next day off and wanted to "hang out" with us.

Hang out. That's code for "What happens in Vegas, will get posted on my blog."

So we exchange numbers and head up to the room and start fooling around. We fall asleep a couple hours later.

Seven in the god damn morning the hotel room phone rings.

"Who the hell knows we're here?" I grumble groggily.

Ruth doesn't respond. She's not a morning person.

Immediately, my imagination starts running wild. That asian girl's boyfriend had to be Yakuza and they tracked us down. I'm going to have to move to the midwest and live under an assumed identity. I have a small panic attack but eventually pick up the phone.

"Morning, sunshine!" says the voice on the other end.
"Uh, hi." I respond, confused.

It was the cocktail waitress from the night before. Does she know what time it is?

"Hey, we barely got to bed like two hours ago." I grumble at her.
"I figured," she continues on like I hadn't even said it. "Listen I can't meet you guys at the hotel since I work there, but I figured you can come over here and we can head to Sunset Station or something together?"
"Yeah, sure. Later." I mumble as I hang up the phone.
"Who was that?" Ruth asks, but I'm already asleep again.

Just as I'm slipping into some really fantastic dreams involving an entire college cheerleading team, there's a knock at the door. I look at the clock and it's 10:00am, so I figure it's the housekeeping people. Don't they see the Do Not Disturb thingamajig on the door?

"We're sleeping!" I belt out.

There's another knock.

"I'm gonna stab this housekeeping person in the neck," I mumble as I get up to answer the door.
"Hey cutie!" What the fuck? It's the cocktail waitress from last night.
"Whoa," is about all I got out.
"I snuck in!" she says, as she invites herself into the room.

At this point, I'm a little freaked out. This chick is going to start boiling rabbits or something any minute now. But, I have morning wood and new tail is new tail, so I shrug and wake Ruth up and point to the strange woman in our room.

I don't remember her name, I hope Ruth does.

"Hey..." Ruth pauses, she doesn't remember the name either.
"Julie!" says the cocktail waitress as she kicks off her heels and puts her purse down on the dresser.

"Right, hey Julie." Ruth pats the spot on the bed next to her and smiles.

Apparently, we all had morning wood.

Hardest Working Man In Show Business

I know I promised I'd blog some this weekend - but, wow, was it nice to just lounge around and do absolutely nothing for a couple days. I'm a big fan of doing nothing.

Well, technically I did do some work.

For example, I spent most of today compiling the names and contact information for the first batch of Literary Agents we'll be hitting up with query letters come tomorrow. This was a pretty exhausting task - mostly because I wasn't quite willing to dish out the $200+ dollars for the Hollywood Creative Directory just yet.

I'm sure I'll eventually have to bite the bullet and subscribe to it, but for now, I'll stick to the poor man's route. I'll let you know guys know if and when we get some bites from the query letters - we'll be sending out a batch a week. Exciting and scary all at the same time.

Time for me to go watch some Sopranos and Entourage. Tune in tomorrow - who knows, I might have a story involving boobs for you.

Off To The Races

The first spec was shipped out to Austin Film Festival today. It's a pretty interesting combination of emotions. I'm not exactly sure how I feel right now, so this blog won't be overly long.

Other than that, looks like I'm also about ready to schmooze agents and producers and get reactions on the first spec while getting started on a second.

I'm pretty exhausted - we've been writing non-stop for the last month on this one spec, so I think both Writing Partner and I are taking the weekend off.

My plan is to scratch myself, watch some movies, and get a couple hummers.

Oh, and I might blog some too.