Round Semi-Circles

Every once in a while, in one's straight path of life, they are faced with an a) moment, b) person, c), opportunity, or d) all of the above, that alters their momentum in the opposite direction, or 180 degrees if you will. I had such a moment a bit over 18 months ago, when, while intoxicated, I stumbled upon a myspace page that was headlined with a picture of a girl who had strategically turned her face away from the camera and a simple proposition: Are you good enough to marry me? And naturally, I thought, "No. But apparently you're not good enough to show your face, so I guess we even out."

Well, I messaged said profile, and not long after, I found my life in a place that was about as far away from where it was headed as I thought possible. I was supposed to be in another continent. Nope. I was supposed to be lonely. Negative. I was supposed to be depressed. Not a chance.

I found that while attempting to head straight, I found a tempting round head instead. And I am ever so grateful.

So, here's to getting up at 5am in the rain to talk to someone you hardly know on IM. And while those times may be behind us, I can sleep soundly knowing that there are so many more a(round)head.

Quarterly Review

To those of you who are actually reading this after all the disappointment of no new blog posts for the last 3 months, kudos. I feel entirely comfortable offering these kudos to the pair of folks who the kudos actually apply to, because, well, while I'm in no shortage of kudos, I'm just too lazy to give any more out.

It's been quite a few months in the land of me. A few months which stands in complete opposition of my last post. I believe that the very next day after posting my last...post, I actually got a job offer. So now, I have been working for nearly 3 months, which sadly, is a record of sorts.

On top of that, I finished my very first draft of my very first screenplay. It's no "Snakes on a Plane," but it ain't bad. Oh yeah, and I also got into USC for film school. Now my pretension will be backed by a very expensive rectangular piece of paper. Sweet.

That's pretty much it for me. I'd like to say hi to Sarah, and wish her the best of luck on her many final projects for school, even if she did get the due dates wrong. You are so much better than I deserve.

Mehhhhhhh...!

Quotations and Metaphors

It seems as though the only time I actually blog anymore is to avoid doing real work. So I guess it follows that if I actually had some real work to do, I might blog some more.

Bah, that's just my self-deprecating self talking, I know. I have "real work" to do, I guess. It's just so hard not to get caught up in what feels like everybody's definition of "real work." Yes, I don't "pay the bills" or "bring home the bacon" or "generate income" or "contribute to society as a whole in any way shape or form," but you know what, I'm tired of apologizing for it. I hate feeling ashamed for telling people that I am 25. I live at home. I sleep in the same bed I did when I was 12, which is situated in a room adorned with race cars. I've got a mediocre penis. I know that doesn't have anything to do with being unemployed, and you're probably wondering why I tell people that, but I mean it in more of a metaphorical sense. You know what I'm getting at.

Anyhow, if there's a point to this whole diatribe, it is this: I surf the web, I IM with folks, I update my myspace profile, and I blog occasionally, which means that the only things that differntiates you and I, is that next friday, you're going to get a paycheck and I will continue to weep.

...Metaphorically of course.

"You Got a lot of nerve showing your face around here, after what you pulled."

So this evening, I and the loveliest of round monsters shared a dining experience at a quaint little sushi bar in West Hollywood, my current stomping ground. The food was pretty good, but not really worth the monumental bill that followed it, not to say that I'm cheap, just...you know, unemployed.

As we were leaving, Sarah exited ahead of me, but in order to depart, we were forced to wade through a small pond of sharply dressed older gentlemen. As she forged ahead of me, one of the gentlemen blantantly perused the goods in which she is in possesion of. Though I clearly understand why he did this, it still miffed me a bit.

My interior monologue went something like this:

"Hey old guy. Stop staring my special lady friend. Go about your old ways, persisting in your old existence, oldie. And keep your old eyes to your old self. Sheesh!"

But as I walked past him and glared into those old eyes of his, I sheepishly realized just who had been ogling my special lady friend: Billy. Dee. Williams.

Yep, that's right. Mr. Colt 45. Mr. Lando "Former owner of the Millenium Falcon" Calrissian.
Billy Dee Fuckin' Williams.

Needless to say, I backed away quietly as my interior monologue screamed its apologies and relished in his performance as Harvey Dent.

Package Packing

If the saying goes "The best things come in small packages," then shound it not follow that Asian men be the most sought after for said "packages?"

I mean, come on!

Sure, the package that I'm packing may be small, but it is filled to the brim with nut.

I mean...packing nu...STYROFOAM PEANUTS!

Unless of course the "best things" are the packages, and the "small packages" they "come in" are...well, you get where I'm going with this.

Just a thought.

Today I realized that I could never touch the sky without wanting to fall.

Flying at 29.97 Frames Per Second.

Back in the day, I used to play so much Tetris, that at night, I would close my eyes and imagine block after block falling perfectly into place in a symphony of symmetry.

While those days are behind me, (well, up until I go to Mexico this weekend), this past week has found me a new sandman sidekick. Ladies and gentleman, I now dream in timecode. Those of you familiar with editing films will know this as the exact hour, minute, second and frame of the image displayed before your very eyes. Therefore, you are also familiar with the spectre-like quality it assumes as your own hours fly by in the editing room.

Well folks, this same ghost has now invaded my very slumber. At night, digits progress at such an alarming rate, it's hard for me to concentrate on whatever is going on in my dream. Thus, I have found that it is very difficult to fly at 29.97 frames per second.

Oh well. It's the life that I have chosen. At least for now. I guess it's always better than dreaming in pause.