i'm sick. my body is achey and i have a weird sense of exhaustion. i had a sore throat earlier-- this concerns me, all are symptoms of mono. however, i do have a friend who recently suffered swollen lymph nodes plus all of the above and tested negatively for mono. however his illness plagued him for awhile, and i don't have awhile. i've mostly slept on and off for these two days.

what have i been doing when i have some clarity of mind? reading about Columbine shootings, something that happened during my lifetime, very memorably, but as with most events that have happened in my lifetime I only took in the information as it came, and never really looked at the whole story. today, i tried looking at the whole story, and i feel more than ever that at some point, much later in life, i should return to school and afterwards assume a position of some sort of criminal rehabilitation therapist. on the one hand, this stuff is horrifying, but on the other, especially in the journals of the depressive, Dylan, you can see plainly the pain that could have been confronted, that is relateable, treatable. More than that, there is a puzzle, to me, in these events. I don't think one person could have swooped in to prevent it all and save both of these troubled kids, but of course it could have been different. Why did it play out this way, exactly? And what about fate? The most intriguing bit of the entire story, to me, is this other kid that had had some falling-outs with the gunmen, but had started to be friends with them again towards the end. When he saw one of them (Dylan I think), the day of, he asked him why he had missed class. The gunman responded that the kid should get out, and leave school, "I like you now," he said. Without questioning, he kid left. I don't feel that this means the gunman was merciful, necessarily, I certainly don't think he was somehow convinced by his more "psycho" friend, Eric, to kill everyone- he was gleeful where his partner was stoic, he enjoyed the killing. But by chance, amidst all that, the vengeful, on-the-edge gunman decided he liked his old friend that day, and he warned him.

Now I'm reading about Virginia Tech. I'm sure this research is partially motivated by some sort of horrible taste for the morbid side of things, though I hope not. I think, generally, the inner interest is the puzzle-- right now, in every way, it seems as though nothing fits together. The tragedies are like that. You think, now that it's all happened, that all these people are dead and the killer has desposed of himself, maybe you have all of the pieces and you can fit them together so it can make sense. Then you can hold up the complete picture and see if it matches anything else, you can make sure it never happens again.

..But it does happen again. And apparently it just gets worse (13 < 32).

all dolled up in straps, where have you been?

All this evening I've been looking into the au-pair life and getting info together in order for me to pounce.

Hi Dublin, let's be friends.

I'm very tired of lazing around here, nothing is going to happen until I really make money. There is no way I could stay in LA even if I got a cool job, the cost of living is just too high for someone who not only has an empty savings account but owes everyone money (gaaaaah!), and one of the things I most want to do is travel. So. Even though the au pair jobs don't offer huge salaries, they DO put you in magical places. Handy. At the very least I can look into getting something for next summer. I'm caught between Ireland, Italy, and Germany (Germany has the best salary, but... I love Ireland, and they speak some form of English... plus, I've read all of their books and seen all of their movies thanks to LMU, haha). If I did that through next summer, I could check out the area while I was there, then trek around using "WOOF," a program that houses volunteers on farms in Europe, and then I could take up au pairing again some time in the fall in another country. Hmm. These are ideas. Maybe the summer is indeed a good goal- in the meantime I can work very hard at making what money I can, writing up a storm, losing weight, and maybe making a jaunt up to Washington or, dream of dreams, NY. OH NYC, I need to be with you someday, it's driving me mad, it's driving me mad.

a thing that occurred to my stupid brain lately in a stupid way:

1) I saw an Cormac McCarthy interview with Oprah today, and Oprah asked him if writing was his passion, mentioning that she always tells young people to do what they feel passionate about without thinking of the payment because engaging their passion IS their payment.
.... ?!
!!!
of course, i've always thought that you have to pursue your passion and hope for money to follow, but i had never thought of it THAT way. engaging your passion IS your payment. writing, even if no one gives a shit, IS your payment, because you love it. if you're an accountant who loves to write, then you account so you can make money so you can write on the weekends, but that's almost pointless if you think about it. why not just write? ha! i scoff at Oprah sometimes, but you gotta hand it to her. nice job, O.

onward, blazing pens!!

one of my most favorite quotes from a play.

Felix: I can't stand it, Oscar. I hate me, oh boy, do I hate me.

Oscar: You don't hate you, you love you! You think no one has problems like you.

Felix: Don't give me that analyst jazz. I happen to know I hate my guts.

Oscar: Come on, Felix. I've never SEEN someone so in love.

Felix: I thought you were my friend.

Oscar: That's why I can talk to you like this. Because I love you almost as much as YOU do...

also, because i've been thinking about it for 3 days:

one of the top 50 things that makes me laugh is this part from Good Omens, a mostly amusing book with a few moments of pure brilliance, as here seen:


"He had heard about talking to plants in the early seventies, on Radio Four, and thought it an excellent idea. Although talking is perhaps the wrong word for what Crowley did.
What he did was put the fear of God into them.
More precisely, the fear of Crowley.
In addition to which, every couple of month Crowley would pick out a plant that was growing too slowly, or succumbing to leaf-wilt or browning, or just didn't look quite as good as the others, and he would carry it around to all the other plants. 'Say goodbye to your friend,' he'd say to them. 'He just couldn't cut it ...'
Then he would leave the flat with the offending plant, and return an hour or so later with a large, empty flower pot, which he would leave somewhere conspicuously around the flat.
The plants were the most luxurious, verdant, and beautiful in London. Also the most terrified."

kill it! kill it! no- no, stomp it!!

Sleepy Hollow, like most of Tim Burton's movies, had so much wasted potential (the original story really is so great, and if Burton had just built from that it could have been really solid, but he just kind of took the concept and stretched over many hits and misses), still, I really like it anyway. The art is exquisite, and Johnny Depp miiiiight give my most favorite performance of his with his perfect interpretation of Ichabod. I also like the nice, stylized romance between Ichabod and Katrina.
Also, Johnny Depp says "Katrina" alot, which is reason enough to watch. Although I've gotten used to hearing my name in connection to sprawling destruction, there's no other Katrina heroine that I know of. I wonder what it's like sometimes for the girls with the far more popular names like Emily, Emma, Amanda, Rachel, and how often they encounter characters with matching names. It must be normal for them, but it's weirdly thrilling for me.

I've been having a hard time organizing my creative ideas lately, but I try, as ever. I have all of my screenwriting ideas (all of the ones I could remember, anyway, including fragments) written down and filed in my former school binder. It has a postcard of Edward Gorey's "Donald Imagined Things" on the front and random clippings that i used to have on my desk bulletin board on the back-- an ophelia postcard i used to be obsessed with (which may or may not have triggered my Hamlet craze, I'm not sure) a Breaking Bad sticker I got with the purchase of Season 2, a postcard from Madrid, a picture of NYC that I've had for forever, and one of Robert Downey Jr.'s pictures from the Rolling Stone photoshoot (the first thing I bought at the LMU bookstore, as a matter of fact-- the Rolling Stone mag, not just Robert Downey's picture... haha).

Right now I'm bouncing between five projects, one being the third draft of my thesis (which I was starting to hate there for awhile but now I have a new direction so it feels at least a little bit fresh), a revised sort of autobiographical "indie" type dramedy, a revision of my first screenplay (a 1960's period piece which is now becoming WAY more high concept-- I'm very excited), a revision of a short film that I once wrote and really wanted to film once-upon-a-time (which I feel will be ready for just that once I complete it), and, finally, the last being my new favorite shiny idea, a steampunk [Victorian meets 1920-30's meets sci-fi] story about the concept of humanity, which is, I suppose, at the heart of every sci fi story. I originally had the creepy idea of a robot who eats a lost cowboy, sort of a steam-punk the old west sort of thing (only... not Wild Wild West, I hope), but it's evolved way beyond that. I can't really bring anything all that original to the sci-fi genre, unfortunately, I can only borrow from other established story types when it comes to the atmosphere and the "World," IE the national/political situation in the story, however I hope that the focus of the relationship in the script will be the stand-out part, and that all the filler (zeppelins. zeppelins. my true steampunk love--- WHY CAN'T MORE MOVIES HAVE ZEPPELINS AND TRAINS?! they're so awesome) will not seem like that much of a rip-off if it's painted as vague and only incidental. I don't want to tell an epic story but a small one (am I trying to talk myself out of it? not sure). Anyhoo, those are the main things I'm pinging back and forth. I still need to return to my Clara Bow script with oomph, and in times of distraction I'm all about outlining for a period piece comedy (flapper comedy!!) and trying to sort out the characters for what will be my epic Magnolia/Tenenbaums ensemble masterpiece, Pluto, about the repercussions of planet pluto's demotion to "dwarf." I also recently started re-reading the start of a novel I began last year and I think it's damn good. So perhaps I should work on that when I get bored of everything else. The important thing is to write.

Dear Zeppelins, why are you so cool and freaky looking? i love you.

Whhhhy are my ideas so brilliant? WHY can't I make my writing as brilliant as my visions?! damnation! damnation!

I have discovered, at the very least, that this blog is nice and serves as a sort of warm-up (at times procrastination-ary) tool, and it's nice to be able to sift through the archives from time to time, even though most of my postings seem to contain mainly whining and "blablabla the beatles blablabla jon hamm bla." Oh well. When I'm accomplished I'll appreciate that. And Jon Hamm will too. 'Cause we'll be married.

there's a girl in coffee bean wearing a pair of shorts that have "DOGS" printed on the butt. bad call, even if they ARE for some kind of sports team.

So I have alot of writing work that needs to be done, thus why I am in a coffee bean at the most uncomfortable table possible (there are more comfortable spots, but nowhere near an electrical outlet are they, and my computer lasts about 15 seconds on the battery, which at this point I only use as a precaution (aka my computer gets unplugged mid-masterpiece writing). My mother loaned me some money for gas, thank the LORD (I made it home from Camarillo on Friday on what was probably quite literally fumes and momentum, the arrow was BELOW Empty, and the last time that happened I ran out of gas on the frikkin' highway), which I promptly used to fill up the gas tank and get out of the house.

The people I live with, an older couple (though they don't seem that old to me... lively chickens, they are), are really incredible people, and they are so welcoming and generous and loving. I think, despite their occasional tendency to sing THE most annoying hymns at random (not that I'm hating on hymns, I actually really like them, but not THESE hymns) that they make an excellent model Christian couple-- they are not oppressive or judgmental. I really admire them, and I'm fairly certain I can never be like them. Anyway, they are ALWAYS helping people and letting people stay in their house (and, in the case of me, even though i pay them rent i also occasionally eat their food and use their Q-tips) and loaning money and doing everything they can (but they're not pushovers either-- I don't know how that works). They have this one weird old guy friend who is living off of disability and who, a few years ago, got an RV in order to make his life more affordable. He has a key to their house and they let him use their shower and their kitchen when he needs to. Recently, he fell from his RV ladder and broke his leg (which has been broken about 8 times, apparently) and now his RV is permanently in the VanderLinden driveway, and soon he will be taking up the guestroom until he heals up. There was no question about it, they all just knew that that was how it was going to happen. I love that. And also kind of hate it, because again, no way you would catch me doing that for a weird old guy (with no money). I also wouldn't be nice to me, either.

...That wasn't even my point. This week and weekend the Lindens have all of their daughters in the house-- the eldest, with her husband and her twin babies and her two incredibly stupid, uber-yappy dogs (ARGH ARGH KILL KILL), and the middle, my old weird room-mate from my apartment times (whom I understand a good deal better these days but still have nothing to say to), and the youngest, who flew in for the first time in a long time to say howdy-hey to the rents. It is a packed house, not to mention every night seems to bring company for dinners, Bible studies, and open-houses. Lots of baby stuff jam-packed everywhere, lots of dog-barking (Melinda and Kim have two- much better behaved- dogs, and the girls who rent the apartment in the back of the house have a dog as well.... it's times like this that make me realize having a cat would be a bad idea), lots of baby-crying, lots of people everywhere! I feel super awkward every time I come out of my cave-- I don't know why, I just never want to disturb anyone or make them think ill of my lack-of-money or my hermit ways. I don't know why it bothers me so much. I think I need my own apartment. I think that would be ideal living for me-- I could decorate it any way I wanted to and not have to worry about doing things at certain times because of others I happen to be living with (true, I used to think everyone wanted that sort of freedom, but it occurred to me recently that a good deal of people prefer to live with people---- who KNEW?! i get the significant other thing, true love and all that, but do you really want roomies for the rest of your life? really? i don't understand).

ANYWAY, all this musing is to say that I had to get out of there, and now here I am with a long road of writing ahead of me and a nice, sugary coffee drink (compliments of my mother... again) next to me.