why i am now in the world's oldest preofession

I  know it's sorta of silly, but I get really excited when the Criterion Collection announces new releases. Although I was late to the party with Criterion - my first purchase being Akira Kurosawa's Throne of Blood, Criterion's 190th DVD release - I've always admired the company's insistence on providing us only the very best presentations, for going all out with their releases.

So anyway, here is one of the many reasons I adore this company:

   AK 100:25 Films by Akira Kurosawa

Here's what sucks about this:

I already own ten of the films that appear in this collection: Stray Dog, The Seven Samurai, Yojimbo, Sanjuro, The Bad Sleep Well, Rashomon, The Lower Depths, Kagemusha and Throne of Blood - all of which have an absolutely insane amount of supplemental material. Sadly, this box set does not seem to include many of the special features included with the individual releases.

That leaves fifteen films - FIFTEEN! - that I have never seen.

It sucks because - damn it! do I have to explain everything to you? If this set had everything I already own PLUS those fifteen films I neeeeeeeeeeeeeeeed, then I could SELL the stuff I own and get this set for virtually free!

So uh....who's gonna give me a present of $319.00 + tax + shipping/handling? Hm? HM?!

Aaaaaaaaaand in the process of writing this I discovered that Criterion is releasing Yojimbo and Sanjuro on Blu-ray in March. So I need to start having sex for money immediately. Lets see, lets see...at my going rate it will take me 2, 14, 19, carry the one, divide by 10...AH HA! By my calculations I will need to sleep with ten thousand people to make the money.

Excuse me, I have to place some Craigslist ads...

oh, Samcro! what will i do when you go?

I just wanted to put this out there....

Sons of Anarchy is the best show on television (and you jerks know that I devour film and television like I could devour eighteen orders of cheese fries from Checkers). It takes immense talent to make a gang of gun-runners as protagonists, but Kurt Sutter & Co. have managed to do just that. I'm not going to pretend to be knowledgeable about motorcycles* or motorcycle gangs**, but I do know good writing when I see it. And Sons of Anarchy contains supremely quality writing.***

-------------------

* I do know this: motorcycles have two wheels and they go vroom...VROOOOM! Wheeeeert! Vroom! Vroom! Hey, baby! Wanna ride?! Vroooooooom!

** Although I saw a movie about a mouse and his motorcycle...uhhhhh....gang?!

*** But keep in mind that I friggin' love Golden Girls. So maybe I know more about Rose Nylund's time in St. Olaf than I do about motorcycle gangs.

the first five.

Just wanted to post this so people knew what I was up to. You know, other than doing puzzles and scratching my butt. So here, you prying bastards!

The first 5 1/4 pages of that will one day be The Deposed Kings of Red Rock are at the end of this post, just beyond the elephant. Keep in mind that it's Rough-rough and the .pdf I created before, so don't kill me for lack of clarity or typographical errors.

It's funny (I an shitty sorta way) that I'm writing this for EMF 377. About this time last year I was "helping" a friend with this class. By helping I was, in actuality, helping him cheat. At the time I had myself convinced I wasn't cheating -- had myself convinced. I didn't take me this long to figure that out, but I've only been thinking of it recently because I'm putting so much into work into the same final project for this class that I put into it last year. What makes it funny in that shitty little way?

I have the same professor.

Yup. I have a hard time walking into that class, and it only gets harder when I get my assignments back with notes noting proper formatting, story pacing, plots points...well, you get the idea. This time last year I certainly mistook "helping" with "cheating." I gave him older versions of treatments for The Nightmare. But while they might be older, I certainly can't use them here for any project at Towson.

I suppose I pay the price when I feel like shit for it and can't use my own ideas.

Because I helped someone cheat.

Aaaaanywho. Lets not makes this Poutytime. I have a question. Is a non sequitur a non sequitur if you ackowledge it before you engage the audience in what was, initially, a non sequitur?

What was I talking about? Oh yeah!

First five pages right now. First Act to come soon, if only because my grade depends on it. Rough draft of script? Before 2010, perhaps?



The first five pages of The Deposed Kings of Red Rock.


Red Rock -

MNF Live Blogging by The Nick, Eamonn, Lauren and Jason

11:24

Welp! That's it! Way to go for it on 4th and goal...AT FOUR YARDS OUT!

I'm going to finish the watching the game upstairs. Hopefully Jason's whimpering won't keep me up all night....you know, once I finish crying myself to sleep.

10:48

Rocky MacIntosh just SLAMMED Michael "Must Love Dogs" Vick.

See what I did there? Yeah, I'm a genius. No, no dear. There's no need to thank me. I do it out of the kindness in my heart. And another thing. Did you know that Michael Vick had named his home when he was running his dogfighting operation? Yup. He called it "Hotel For Dogs."

Ohhhhhhhh SNAP!!

P.S. Everyone else went to bed, so I'm only updating when I have something absurd to say. Because if I do live blogging now I'm just a lame dick talking to himself on the computer.

P.P.S. I'm going to see Where The Wilds Things Are. Tomorrow. Come hell or high water. Preferably high water because it'll give me a good excuse to try out my new swimmies.

10:09

NC: Halftime. Well, I guess it could be worse....we could be watching the game while battling a case of scorching herpes.

9:39

NC: TOUCHDOWN! WOOT!

EN: And...BOOM GOES THE DYNAMITE!

Jason says, "That touchdown was so pretty they're gonna give us 20 points for it."

9:33

NC: I hope Danny Smith has Irish blood running through his veins, 'cuz I'm gonna start calling him The Angry Leprechaun. But he's right; those refs blew that call harder than a Thai prostitute at a donkey show.

9:23

NC: Fumble. I don't think that was supposed to happen.

9:22

NC: Jason and Lauren are totally gay for each other.

9:09

NC: Jason says, "I don't know what's sadder, the fact that I have tits or that you're attracted to them."

9:07

EN: "MumumummMAHMAHmumum...bbbbbbb. AH!"

NC: Jason takes off his shirt. Cue my boner.

8:59

NC: Lauren put her stupid pear in my bowl of chips. I swear, some people have lost all common decency. I blame the raunchy music of 90's pop sensation Hanson.

Brian Westbrook got hurt. I also blame this on the music of 90's pop sensation Hanson.

8:56

LN: this is like a sweaty gang bang and only the Redskins were invited

8:54

LN: winningest is a stupid word. made up by stupid people, whiteys.

8:51

LN: Jason won't shut up with the effing geetar. Nick is pretending that a light saber/steady cam thing is an automatic weapon weiner thingy ma bob.

8:50

JN: Oh good, we get an opportunity to punt.

8:49-Myth Busted! Cats don't know how to use drills.

8:46

LN: I am not bashing the Redskins. I am just bashing what is taking place at this moment. Fuck.

8:45-Touchdown Eagles

JN & NC: Effing facepalm.

8:44

LN: Wow Redskins. you shit the bed already, you fucks.

8:42

LN: kickoff...your socks and pull up a chair!

8:41 - Kickoff

NC: KICKOFF! KICK ASS. Butts. Fart. Tee hee.

Tonight is a special one, for this is Mr. Eamonn Nagy's first Monday Night Football game with the Redskins. In celebration of this, the gang will be doing a live blog throughout the game. I would say that you should check back often through the evening to keep up, but you a-holes won't even read this until three weeks from now. So screw you.

The guilty parties:

Nick "BLT Hold the L&T" Colevas (NC)

Eamonn "Mini Maniac" Nagy (EN)

Jason " The Hung Jury" Nagy (JN)

Lauren "Shoepants Galore" Nagy (LN)

NC: KICKOFF!!

SUPER DUPER CEREAL

This junk is gonna be lighting fast. Ready. Steady. GO!!

UNO! From here on out all of my nerd-centric blogs will be called "Super Duper Cereal," in homage to Al Gore and Manbearpig.

DOS! We Shoot Horses should still be up and running by Halloween. I hope it will be Halloween of this year and not 2012...because that's the year the world ends...except for John Cusack.

TRES! The new American Steel record is teh sex. I don't , quite frankly, know what that friggin means, but my inner cool guy says it's all the rage with the kids these days. I don't quite know how anything but sex can be "teh sex," but what do I know?

CUATRO! I joined the rest of civilization and purchased a Wii. The idea is that the Wii fit will encourage me to exercise more. That is, I plan to use it as something of a supplement to my weight-loss plans. For example: On days I have school I have to leave at 8:00am and I have class (with breaks) until 10:00pm. Then of course comes the dreaded ride home. Therefore, I can't get my Greek ass to the gym. But if I can burn a few calories pretending to Mario playing King Koopa at tennis...well then that can't be bad, can it?

Plus it's way fun.

CINCO! A few pictures of the best kid ever. Undeniably.

Dude. Lookit' them there blue eyes! He's like Henry Fonda! But a baby. He's like a baby Henry Fonda. Except he's not an actor. So he's like a non-acting baby Henry Fonda.

Good Lord....That kid has helped change my life for the better.

SIES! My EMF partners like my film project ideas. So does my professor. So that's cool.

OCHO!! On Tuesday I turned in my Sound & Story treatment. I turned The Pogues' "Sally MacLennane" into a treatment for a short film. I hand it in and my professor goes, "Hey, the Pogues! Nice choice!" That made me feel pretty cool.

NUEVE! The Wizard of Oz came out on Blu-ray....so uh....yeah. I just wet my pants if I am not mistak -- yes, yes...I have. I have wet my pants.

That is all.

P.S. Add

The Crazy Totally Longest Blog, Part 1

In my opinion, one of the most productive (not to mention fun!) writing exercises the the Stream of Consciousness one. You know. That one where you write in a stream of...uhm....something. Or other? I don't know. Whatever.

So as I was saying, I love the stream of consciousness exercise; it's proven itself time and again to be quite fruitful for my writing. Now, I've never come upon a fresh idea for a story. I've never had some amazing breakthrough with a story in progress. Never have I unearthed some mindblowing clarity on a long lost story I gave up on years ago. So why's it so friggin awesome? Here's the rub: this exercise has been my Giant Killer. The Giant?

Writer's block. UGH.

Something about SOC gets the creative juices flowing. Not having to worry about grammar, misspellings or typos, allowing myself to be nonsensical and silly, shooting from the hip and, in the end, allowing myself just to...well, GO! There's is something so fruitful about this that it just breaks through writer's block (or, at the very least, busts a few bricks).

I'm not suffering through writer's block right now, as taking two writing courses had pretty much forced me not to (ha!). But on the way home today I felt the urge to take a few minutes to just...GO! To just friggin write something!

So here's what I'm gonna do: Come Halftime, I'm gonna start writing and I won't stop until the second half starts. I'm clearing my head until the clock hits 0:00 and then I'm just gonna go beserk. It's funny; the last time I did this publicly it was posted on my MySpace blog and my friend Scott commented that if he didn't know any better he thought I was drunk or high when I wrote what I had written. A few years later, I've had more than my fair share of drinks - and a few of those drinks lost me The Good Life -- but tonight I'm stone cold sober and ready to....

----------

GO!! ( 10:07pm)

So here's what I'm thinking for Deposed Kings: it's not about the Western, it's about race and reconstruction; think Ford's The Searchers, right? But here's the thing. Ford didn't really succeed with The Searchers in his attempt to portray racism as a terrible thing, he made Wayne, the protagonist, the racist, so you have all of these racist butts thinking their position is justified. So here's the problem: you can't be heavy handed in the approach. Clearly, the antagonists (the former confederate mercenaries) are the evil folks preventing forward progress. And clearly, Alex and his fellow townsfolk are the physical representation of a Utopian society - race, gender, age, and all that - it's all relative when it comes to society. Wow...pretty deep? or not. It's hard to get deep when you're pumped full of diet coke and worried about getting your yellw legal pads in order. Seriously....yellow legal pads. I have tons of them now. Every time we send an archived file to be "destroyed" (you know they just throw it in the dumpster) I go through it and take out all the binder clips, legal pads, paper clips and folders i can find. i save all the stuff except for the yellow legal pads for the firm. why? everything else gets re-used....no one ever uses a legal pad with three pages in it so they told me i can just take them. so i do. so now after the move i have a fartload of them in my room. i asked jason and lauren if they wanted any but they said no, their loss. i just took a sip of diet coke to eas my nerves this feels like a PG rated Hubert Selby novel. wow. who gets that joke? and how lame was it? very. whatever, you kids need to read Selby so you don't end up drug addicts. anywho

i have this idea. (well a few) for my emf 222 class but i don't know if my partners will go for them. here's the thing. in intro to film (now film/video) you're warned that you won't make your masterpiece - i heard this twice!- both times i listened. back before i fucked everything up with school a couple years ago i was well aware that i wasnt some great artist, but i was just a student. at 28, i still think that way. i still think i'm learning. so anyway, my partners have had lackluster responses to my comical ideas for short films ( all shorts are sposed about 1 minute except for the last two) They have these very serious ideas....mine are funny. lame, but funny. but the important thing is: they provide ample opportunity for execution of basic film techniques. and thats the point, right? meh.

i have to get my transcript from CSM so towson no longer thinks i'm a fuckup.

imean an educational, institutional fuckup. not like a whatareyougonnadowithyourlife kind of fuckup. meh. i'm working at it. atheism? forget it. agnosticism? psh. honestly there HAS to be a GOD if i'm still alive. there had to be a GOD. there's a reason i'm still around. sure, sure, all ya atheists will come out and say something about survival of the fittest and i'll say: look at me? ya think i'm the fittest?

and then they'll get all cute and start talking science talk so i'll quote charlie from It's Always Sunny in PA and say "what's with all the science talk" and they won't get it so/

/i'll flash a little hog and be on my way, not really caring if they like me or not because damn it it's sorta fun to be living.

(10:27)

----------

That little slash is where my alarm went off. I finished the thought. I'll be completely honest; I wish I could place that backslash so that my post-alarm verbage read:

it's sorta fun to be living.

But alas, that was not to be. It would be almost fitting, wouldn't it? I had once convinced myself I wanted to die. Had convinced myself that no one loved me, that no one cared. I had myself convinced that I was alone. Well, I still feel pretty lonely at times, considering at this point last year I was screaming as loud as I could "I'm in love! She's The One!" and yet having no faith in myself or anyone else which led down a dark road and, well...we all know how that turned out....

I've found faith. I've found God.

And so I may be lonely here on earth, but I know I'm not alone in the end.

(P.S. I cut this blog short before it became too preachy.)

Roman Polanksi: Cowardly Fuckhead

I raped a 13-year-old girl. I pled guilty to the crime. I fled the country to avoid time in prison. Thirty years later, I am a nondescript person in France. I have a typical 9/5 job.

Am I guilty of the crime?

----------

Well? Is he? Of course he is!!

Err, right?!

I Tweeted (lame!) a couple hours ago about how absolutely infuriated I was at the notion that people in the motion picture industry had jumped to the defense of Roman Polanski since his capture in Switzerland. And yes, I use the word capture. The man is a damned criminal. He has been on the lam for thirty years....

Before I continue, I point you to the FilmDrunk take on the whole situation, as it ultimately makes my point (but it's also funny). My take isn't quite as amusing as I've had much disdain for this man ever since I read about his crime. So you're reading it here, folks. This is one of the few times I'm actually taking something seriously.

In summation: Roman Polanski raped a 13-year-old-girl, Samantha Gailey. During the course of criminal proceedings, he pled down to statutory rape. He fled the United States before being sentenced. Since then, he's spent his years making movies and...well, living. His victim has since forgiven him and wished that charges be dropped. I praise her for being so forgiving.

Mr. Polanski? He continued to make films, continued to receive praise. He won a Best Director Oscar for The Pianist. Why could he not accept it at the ceremony? Duh....

Roman Polanski: He's a cowardly fuckhead.

I cannot mince words here; Polanksi was charged and convicted of a crime, pled GUILTY and then fled the United States to live in a country that would not extradite him. He is a coward. He gave videotaped evidence in a civil case so that he would not risk extradition by the U.K. to the U.S.

----------

My name is xxxx. I raped a 13-year-old girl named xxxx. She is related to a famous Hollywood director. I pled guilty to the crime. I fled the country to avoid time in prison. Thirty years later, I like to make feature films for a profit.

My victim has forgiven me.

Am I guilty of the crime?

-----------

Well? Is he guilty? Of course!!

His victim may forgive him, but he has still committed the crime. Who cares who she is or what he does, right? He raped someone and he was caught, charged and convicted of the crime.....

If you're reading this blog, you know I'm one of those wannabe Hollywood dorks. I'm one of Bill O'Reilly's Hollyweird Librulz. I'm anti-war and anti-death penalty. I think the war on drugs is stupid. I even give dumb asses like Sean Penn a pass when he acts like a complete jerk, breaking the No Smoking law in L.A. But ya know what? Sean Penn didn't rape anyone.

I really loved Martin Scorsese, Terry Gilliam, Pedro Almodovar and Darren Aronofsky before today, but at this point I can now see that these filmmakers are so entrenched in the artsy-fartsy version of reality that they can no longer distinguish between right and wrong. These are a few of the folks who have signed a sort of Free Roman Polanski petition.

Honestly, it is quite disturbing that so many filmmaking institutions have come to Polanski's defense. I've read quite a few stories on this, and it seems that only filmmakers are coming to Polanski's defense. It would be my assumption that none of these men (yeah...men) have dealt in any way with rape in their lives. God forbid any of the above film directors have daughters, nieces, or ANY family members who are raped. If they have, I'd be very surprised.

A number of female actresses and directors have defended Polanski as well. I do not honestly know how to explain this phenomenon.

And finally, we will take this into the Third Act....

------------

My name is Darren Aronofsky. I raped a 13-year-old girl, the daughter of Martin Scorsese. I pled guilty to the crime. I fled the country to avoid time in prison. Thirty years later, I like to make feature films which receive great acclaim, even an Academy Award. They also make a great profit.

Am I guilty?

----------

Yes.

May God please forgive me for being so horribly brutal, but any person who has aligned themselves with such an insipid crusade deserves to have their names inserted into such a treatment....

But if Darren Arronofsy had sex with the unwilling daughter of Martin Scorsese, what would happen? Or vice versa? Would either be so willing to cry foul at the prosecution of the rapist?

We cannot know.

----------

My name is Roman Polanski. I raped a 13-year-old girl. I pled guilty to the crime. I fled the country to avoid time in prison. Thirty years later, I like to make feature films which receive great acclaim, even an Academy Award.

So how has anything changed? From an unknown rapist to a renowned Hollywood filmmaker:

I raped your 13-year-old daughter. I pled guilty to the crime. I fled the country to avoid time in prison. Thirty years later, I am a nondescript person in France.

Am I guilty?

----------

Well?

Is he?

boring writing stuff while i watch football and the emmy's

I've finally hacked my through to a solution on hammering out the treatments of my stories in a fashion that doesn't have me creating temporary solutions that, without a doubt, wreak havoc in the scriptwriting stage - but to be more specific, the problems come when revising.

For all these years I've created unnecessary problems for myself when it came to revising my drafts and finalizing my ideas; when I would write my treatments - and subsequently my first drafts - I would half-ass it when it came to filling in holes in the story. I'm not speaking of plot holes, but rather the simple A,B,Cs of the story. For instance, when I came to a point where it went like so:

Okay. I know what I know in the next scene between these two characters, but I know I'm missing an action beat. But since I don't feel like figuring this out, so I'll just move on. .... Damn! Does this sequence fit with the rest of the story? Does this character arc even seem realistic? IS the theme clear?

These were all questions that have plagued me with every story has has made it to the revision stage. And this is only because I hated so much to bring my excitement for the story to a halt in order to focus on a seemingly minute detail (I know, right? I've previously considered the clarity of theme as a minute detail! Shame on me!).

Now, I don't think this is so much a problem that occurs that the Treatment stage, but more of something that occurs in the brainstorming/spitballing/whatevering stage. I think it's had something to do with me going directly from Idea to Treatment. That is, I never spent much time thinking about all the little details within the acts, so my treatments simply became an extended version of a simple idea, and not a more detailed and intricate execution of said idea.

Does that make sense? Probably not.

Ah, hell.

So what I'm doing this semester is hammering out a screenplay from start. A western in the style of Leone's flicks (especially Duck, You Sucker), as well as The Wild Bunch, Rio Bravo, and The Searchers. Thematically it's closest to Ford's Searchers, as it's a study of institutional racism the Old West.

The key this time around is that I started with just the vaguest of ideas of how I wanted to tell the story. I knew how it started, and I was pretty sure I knew how it wanted end. I had an idea of the main characters and the settings. I had a nice sense of the style I wanted the picture to express. And not much else...

...but I'm taking a lot of time to flesh out the little details one at a time as they come until I have a treatment created organically. The first time through it was one page. The second time it was about three. The third draft was six. I've made two attempts at the fourth run-through, but

started over because I stopped to figure out the tiny little details of just one sequence.

It feels pretty darn good.

Told ya. Boring writing stuff.

We started the swear jar. Now Eamonn's first word is less likely to be an F-bomb!

Carrot top is the joan rivers of the prop comedy world

I just realized that i like sundays a little less than i did before. But it has nothing to do with the actual game

tweet tweet like a stupid bird

Oh yeah! Two other things:

1) I have a Twitter account. I don't know why. (http://twitter.com/nickcolevas)

2) I can post from my cell phone now. This serves no practical use other than keeping a public file of all the insane/inane thoughts that spring forth from my mind. So when you see the little one or two-line blogs sprouting up with no subject line, you'll know I just came up with comedy gold....

...or not. Whatever, dude.

a bit about school and then yelling at stupid andy

I told myself that I would be confident when it came to stepping up in Film I...

...And I was. I didn't even need to up my meds (ooh, lookit me being all hip and tragic and emo, using phrases like "up my meds"). Man, I'm so super cool. I've formed my group and they both seem like cool kids so I'm psyched.

This semester's gonna be pretty badass. Making short films is gonna be good for me, but my writing courses are gonna be a blast. Between the two of them I get to write a feature length screenplay (I've done that before, but I haven't finished one in two or three years) and adapt a short story as well as a myth as a script for a short film. I'm thinking for the short story I want to adapt Gabriel Garcia Marquez' The Trail of Your Blood in the Snow.

I do have one major regret and that is that I can't use one of my scripts because...well, lets say I gave it away -- at least as far as using it at Towson is concerned. I've regretted this for a while now, but it's come full circle. We won't be seeing The Nightmare on film any time soon. Shit, for the first time I ever I feel icky when I'm reading academic integrity policies. Scratch that - I feel like a complete douchebag. People told me that I would regret it. But did I listen? Nope.

I never said I wasn't stubborn or stupid.

Aaaanywho, if any of you jerks wants to be in a few goofy short films (WHAT?! You think I'm gonna waste my serious work in a Film I class?! Pffft!), gimme a shout. Jason and Lauren said I can film in their house.. BUT ONLY IF ANDY FINISHES THE DAMN PAINTING IN THE DOWNSTAIRS BATHROOM!! Oh - hmmm....lets see if this will light a fire under his bony butt....

So when we first moved in the Nagy's and I procured the services on one Andrew M. Craven to paint a portrait of Godzilla in the downstairs bathroom, which I would be using for the most part. Andy, being the champ that he is, blazed through most of it in just a few hours.

That was in May.

Now, every time we have visitors they ask, "Is that ever gonna get finished?" My mom hated it at first, but when she came to visit Sunday she goes, "You know, that would look really nice if Andrew would finish it." Is my mom a fan of Godzilla? Only time will tell.

So to you, Sir Craven! I challenge you publicly! Finish this painting by the end of September, or I shall post incriminating photos of you all over this blog - NAY! - all over Facebook! And I think we know what I'm talking about. winkwinkandydressedasababywithdirtydiaperwinkwink

Finish the painting, sir. So that I may you-know-what in peace and tranquility.

But no seriously. This semester is gonna rule.

oh, fudge!

I drove all the way up to Towson to find out that my 11:00AM class had been canceled.

I have to leave the house at 8:30 to make it up here with time to spare.

It's about an hour and forty minutes from Dares Beach to TU.

The parking garages are always full. Finding a spot is a futile endeavor.

I have to park in the overflow lot and walk 10-12 minutes to campus.

And it sucks.

I went to the Union and checked my e-mail.

I saw the e-mail from the professor noting that class had been canceled.

It arrived in my inbox at 7:29 this morning.

Do you know what time I checked my e-mail? 7:25 AM.

Know how I know that?

Cuz I looked at my clock.

And it was 7:25.

Then I turned off my computer.

When I saw the sign on the door, I just sorta chuckled...

...and muttered to myself, "Oh, fudge..."

I dunno. I think it's funny.

We Shoot Horses

Just stopping by to let everyone know that....

1) School starts Tuesday. I'm super-psyched about it. I've done a lot of soul searching in the last few months and I've come to understand that a lot of my depression, anxiety and frustration had to do with me giving up on my dream. Now that I'm back on track I seem, on a day to day basis, to be generally happier. In other words: I'm no longer angry at myself, so I don't project that anger onto others.

I'm taking two writing courses the semester, which is awesome in itself, but coupled with the fact that I've finally broken out of my writer's block (which, it turns out, really wasn't writer's block at all, but rather a mistake in how I thought about writing, but that's another blog for another day.) Long story short, these next few months are going to be very productive me me as a writer and will give me a great chance to really hammer out my ideas in preparation for filming.

And!

2) By the end of the year We Shoot Horses will be blasting your face with the most awesome awesomeness known to know man. 4RLZ. This site came from the ludicrus mind of Andrew M. Craven, so it's sure to be chock full of zombies, Vikings, Godzilla and Ghostbusters references.

I think I'm going to be responsible for blogging/ general writing/ posting pictures of my genitals.

Below is the logo for the blog Andy and I started as a joke.

Happy Birthday. Hope you have a terrific one.

Puddleduck's Learnin' Lesson #1: Oxymorons

Lesson #1: Oxymorons.

Read this.

A dive bar in the East Village? No no no no no. That's not how that works, silly goose!

Uhhh, yeah. You can't have a dive bar in the the East Village. By definition, you can't have dive bars in wealthy neighborhoods and it can't be owned by rich musicians. Hey, it very well could be a good bar...just not a dive bar.

PSH!!! Fall Out Boy? More like Fall Out JERK!!

LOLZ! LMAOZ!! See what I did there?

Yeah, that's a total burn.

the "big" announcement.

The big announcement, okay? Ready? It ain't exciting, trust me....

I'm going back to Towson to get a B.A. in Film Production. Lost story short: I'm chasing the dream I've had since I was in 6th grade.

Aaaaand sooooo.....

I realized that no matter what you major in, know-it-all jerks will ask you, "Well, what are you gonna do with that?" I let that question get to me a few years ago when I was going for a Film Theory degree. They'd ask with a snarl: "And what are you going to do with a Film Theory degree, Nick?"

"Uhhh...write about movies?"

"Are you gonna make a living on that?"

Condescending laughter, of course. Because dressing up in a three-piece suit and having season tickets to the shittiest team in the NFL makes you  successful.

CUT TO:

INT. HOUSE -- YEARS LATER

JERK: "And what are you going to do with a degree in History/Secondary Education?"

ME: "Uhm....teach history? More specifically, U.S. History? Uh...at the high school level?" 

Condescending laughter, of course. Because you continue to buy season tickets, only to watch the Redskins lose. 

It was mid-April when I realized I'd let others guide my decisions for too many years. I was in class when I came to the realization that, however much I love history, I love film more. Further, I was incorporating history into - you guessed it! - ideas for scripts!

----------

Unfortunately for my wallet, the past few months have had me writing the darkest, pieces I've ever written; I doubt much of the stuff I've been working on will sell with the crowd who made Paul Blart: Mall Cop such a blockbuster.

Fortunately for me, however, the stuff I've been working on have allowed me to fight off my demons. The more I wrote about people drinking themselves to death, the more I came to realize that I was drinking myself to death.

The more I wrote about people who had no faith, the more I found faith in myself. And God.

The more I wrote about death, the more I felt the will to live.

The more I wrote about love, the more I realized how I let insecurity and trust issues destroy the true love I had finally found (I still love you).

The more I wrote about self-destruction, the more I understood how self-destructive I had become.

----------

It's late. Good night.

I have about ten movies I need to review and a half-dozen other blog ideas to share, so it's not like I've just been screwing around -- okay, so maybe Eamonn keeps me from getting work done....but screw you guys! That kid is adorable...

....How could you blame me for not getting work done??? The kid's so friggin cute! And he's wearin' a friggin' Batman shirt fer cryin' out loud!! HOW CAN YOU EXPECT ME TO GET WORK DONE!?!?!!??!

(I still love you.)

a bunch of trailers (without the crack addict on the steps)

I know, right? It's a cheap shot at crack addicts. I know not everyone who lives in a trailer is a crack addict, but all crack addicts live in trailers. It's science, folks. 

I'm a little late of my semi-not-really-frequent NerdDowns (as I call them) where I just post a bunch of trailers for flicks I'm really psyched to see. So here goes...

Best Worst Movie. 

A documentary about the cult following behind Troll 2. The last time I tried to watch this flick I became physically ill within the first five minutes. It's sort of like the premise of John Carpenter's Cigarette Burns, except instead of turning me into a homicidal maniac it just made me not want to eat my sandwich. Same thing, really.

Sherlock Holmes. 

This one's for all you jerks who kept writing off Guy Ritchie...you're not allowed to see this. By the way, I laughed so hard I snorted at about the 2:20 mark.

Mega Shark Versus Giant Octopus.

Why does everyone hate the United States when it continues to turn out the finest works of cinema the world has seen since Contempt, The Bicycle Thieves, and Kagemusha?

Funny People.

Hey! Who thinks Adam Sandler's gonna turn in another Punch Drunk Love or Reign Over Me-like performance and get snubbed by the Academy once more! Ooh! Ooh! I do! I do!

And finally...

Where The Wild Things Are. (Again.) I already posted it, but who cares? This movie is gonna make me feel good...

I still don't know what her height has to do with it.

I still don't know what her height has to do with it...

Wakka wakka!

Oh, Kubrick...

Stanley Kubrick isn't a genius. You can't learn anything from Kubrick that you didn't already know. He didn't invent editing. Or sound. Watch Eisenstein. Or D.W. Griffith. Or any movie made prior to 1970...and you've got the knowledge Stanley Kubrick possessed. But you know what one Mr. Stanley Kubrick did invent? The Auteur Theory.

Oh, that's if you consider that theory to involve plagiarism and bullshit.

Listen: Spartacus sucked. Eyes Wide Shut sucked. A Clockwork Orange was a piece of shit. Barry Lyndon was boring.

"Additional dialogue: Jim Thompson"

Yeah, sure. Fuck you, Kubrick.

I cut this blog short because I believe I need to devote a more extensive blog to the mediocrity that is Stanley Kubrick..

Fart.

the newest nagy

I am now the proud godfather of a beautiful baby boy, one Eamonn Nagy. Born at 7:00 P.M., the newest Nagy in 19 inches long and 8 pounds and 3 ounces with a cute little nose.

This day was so incredible. To see two great friends welcome this child into their life was so amazing. I know they say no baby is ugly, but Eamonn is way more handsome than any of the other babies in the world. Father and mother are doing well also. They will both be incredible parents and Eamonn is a very lucky boy.

But for everyone else? This child is truly a gift from God and he's going to have such an amazing life. He didn't make a peep the entire evening; he just looked around, exploring his new world outside of the indoor swimming pool where he had spent the last nine months.

I spent most of the day with Jason, Lauren and Jason's mom. We had a good time, I suppose. There were lots of laughs, even though I can imagine how stressful a situation it was for mommy and daddy. I saw how relieved they were once they saw that they were now the proud parents of a beautiful boy. I know I said this last night, but Eamonn is better looking than any other baby in the world. Ever.

I took off work because of the snow, went down to CSM to buy my books, only to find out it was closed. That's when I went to the hospital. Jason's mom arrived shortly after and the fours of us were hanging around most of the day until about 5:00 when the birthing train really started moving. After Eamonn was born me, Jason's parents and Jason's sister spent what must have been two hours watching the nurses wash, dress and monitor Eamonn, all the while admiring the little guy from afar.

A blessing.

That's all for tonight.

the ghost of jack shephard's beard

(i didn't photoshop this, someone else did)

AHEM:

I would like to note that this time last year I went to see Cloverfield with Andy, Jason and Lauren. A trailer for the fourth season of LOST ran before the feature. I can safely say that, at that time, I could look forward to one major event: the season premiere of LOST. I hate to say it, but hard as I try I just couldn't find a reason to get excited about life other than upcoming movies - hell, i even wrote a blog about this later in the year!

I didn't know it at the time, but the future held something quite significant for me.

LOST is a lil sumthin' like that.

Just reconsider. You might find something significant.

-------------------------

I've decided I'm going to do some "live" blogging tonight while I watch the LOST Season Five premiere. I wasn't planning on watching it tonight...but we all know I can't say "no" to two things: Chipolte and LOST. So hello six steak burritos and LOST!

8:58 P.M.

Everybody fucking shut up. Shut up!  Fucking everyone SHUT UP!! SHUT UP!! FUCKING SHUT UP!!

LOST is on. Thankyoukthnxbye.

9:13 P.M. (a.k.a. Bonertime)

In case you didn't know...THIS SHOW IS FUCKING AWESOME!!

I have a crush on Daniel Farraday. But it's okay because Daniel Farraday's a fictional character...but I can't be perfectly sure when I say I also have a crush on the actor who portrays Daniel Farraday. 

Fuck. I. Am. Gay.

(For this show.)

9:32 P.M.

FLASHBACKS!?! I don't know! Time travel? I don't frrrrreeeeeaking know!!

LOST + blood flow/medication = boner; still strong.

Everybody Hates Hugo: "You know, maybe if you ate more comfort food you wouldn't have to go around shooting people." I still love you, Hugo.

Also: Death by knives in dishwasher. Awesome.

Okay; time to catch my breath and caaaaaaaatch - okay it's on again!

9:43 P.M.

"When....am I?"

"Well, John. That's all relative."

Oh my fuck. I think my cock is exploding. What are the symptoms for Exploding Cock? Seriously. I hear this show is awesome when you're high, so I think I wanna be really high when I watch the series finale. Any of you assholes know where I can score some smack?

9:54 P.M.

Is that you, brother?

Wait!!

How you you write "brother" with a Scottish accent? I tried brutha, brotha, brutter, bruther, beruttha. And then I started slapping some apostrophes in that sumbitch, ending up with br'utha, bruth'r, bruth'a and broth'r.

And then I just typed brother...

...because fuck Desmond Hume. He's Scottish. So he doesn't count.

10:01 P.M.

I know ABC likes to show back-to-back episodes of LOST to begin and end the season, but I'd implore those in charge to put a halt to this tradition, mostly because I can only stroke for so long before it starts to bruise.

10:16  P.M.

I've often been accused of being rash when I murder people who say of LOST:  "I don't watch that show. It's just not believable." I know, I know. Murder is, like, bad...and stuff. But when people follow up that statement with, "Have you ever seen Grey's Anatomy?" I feel justified in my slaughter of otherwise innocent civilians.

10:36 P.M.

"Why is there a dead Pakistani on my couch?"

That quote is not from Dick Cheney. Promise.

10:48 P.M. 

"I don't understand you. But I believe you."

I know everyone shits on this show for being "unrealistic," but two things:

1) It's fiction. No shit it's unrealistic and, 

2) If you want to understand how to bring realism to an insanely "unrealistic" show, look no further than Jorge Garcia's performance in that last scene of his.

11:02

Dude. No one has ever made me more proud to have lived in Maryland than Terry O'Quinn.  

F. Scott Fitzgerald is buried in Maryland. Dashiell Hammett is from Baltimore. Frederick Douglass and Harriett Tubman...ohhhh-kay, Terry O'Quinn is a distant third in the people that make me proud to be from Maryland people. Damn you, civil rights! Damn you!

In conclusion:

I mean...FUCK! What else is keeping you people from dry humping this show?!!

Plane crashes, explosions, double-crosses, genocide, God, smoke monsters, ghosts, Destiny, time travel,  conspiracy theories, evil corporations, the best Nirvana song ever, giant effing beards, guns, yakuza, Terry "Third Best Marylander Ever" O'Quinn, polar bears, and the end of mankind (possibly!!)

How many shows could you list the end of mankind and polar bears consecutively? 

Only one.

I just made a mess in my pants.

-------------------------

Amidst the jokes...

JUST RECONSIDER.

resolutions for the new year

More than in years past, I’ve felt the need to make and keep some resolutions in 2009. I’ve always been one to make them and keep them private. Perhaps that's why I never manage to keep them -- if people don’t know how I’m trying to improve my life then how can they keep me honest? So here we go with my resolutions of 2009.

Resolution #1:

Watch Rio Bravo, The Wild Bunch and Once Upon A Time in the West a combined 100 times.

Crap. That means I’ll have to forego this year’s trips to the Gilmore Girls Gabfest (March 13 - 15), Fraggle Rock Fiasco (June 23 - 26), and the Full House House Party (July 6-27).

Resolution #2:

Finish the first volume on my history of the American Old West, The Adventures of Giant ‘Stache and Lil Dick: Pat Garrett, Billy the Kid, and the Feud That Shaped A Nation.

In 1998, the Council of Worldwide Historians released their list of the greatest rivalries in history. At the top of the list: the insanely erotic fuckfest that was Baldwin IV and Saladin. Number two? Yup....giant beards and little dicks. So don’t you try and tell me no one’s gonna buy my book....MOM!

Resolution #3:

Make reference to the Pony Express at least once a day. 

Ladies and gentlemen, I’ll be damned if there is no greater reason to defer to our government where the delivery of mail via ponies is to be implemented, and I think it would be downright un-American to let the youth of America forget about the Pony Express. Let them smoke crack and have abortions and robe their grandmothers all they want, but don't you dare let them forget about the Pony Express.

Resolution #4:

Write more D.C./Marvel Universe Comic Book Rape Fantasy Fan Fiction. 

Why? Because nothing says erotic like The Joker sucking off a Puerto Rican tranny while Solomon Grundy and Killer Croc go two-dicks-in-one-hole on Jason Todd. Some excerpts from my current DC/MUCBRFFF:

"...as his rock hard cock entered Bruce Banner's tight asshole, Thor knew his window of opportunity was short. In due time Banner would turn into the Hulk, and with that the Norse God's hammer would be crushed between the bright green buttocks of a green monster with retard strength. He thrust hard and fast. He dug his nails into Banners ass cheeks, which were now turning a pale green. With a sweeping motion, Thor reached behind him, grasped the handle of Mjollnir, and brought the heavy stone on Banner's skull...."

"Matt Murdock -- known to the inhabitants of Hell's Kitchen as Daredevil -- was blind, but he damn well knew what Captain America pistol-whipping and anally assaulting an unsuspecting Johnny Storm would look like. And what he heard definitely seemed like Captain America had just anally assaulted the young man known as The Human Torch...."

"...The Boy Wonder's sphincter locked up like a crocodile's jaw the moment Solomon Grundy blasted his hulking, gray load into the sidekick's freckled ass..."

"He didn't know it at the time, but the moment Alfred's fatal stroke occurred was the exact moment The Man of Steel had ejaculated into the butler's mouth. Bruce Wayne would never know that his best friend had put an end to the old man's life in one thrust of Kryptonian penile force."

Resolution #5:

Grow a giant beard.

Because I fucking can, that's why.

----------

And that’s it! I know it doesn’t seem like much, but I’ve chosen to aim low this year so I won’t be disappointed in myself. Like last year with the whole become-the-first-black-President thing. Damn you, Barack Obama! Damn you!!

spam + porn = giggles

Like anyone who peruses the internet, I get loads of spam e-mail. God bless Gmail, because I've never had a piece of spam touch my inbox (ooh! that sounds dirty!).  I guess since I use Gmail spammers think they can confuse me by listing the "sender" as "me." No dice, spammers. I'm just barely smart enough to recognize I haven't sent myself messages about massive erections, hard members or neverending stories (huh?).

Another upside of not having to worry about spam e-mail? Oh, nothing except that all the porn spam is dumped in the same glorious spot, thus laying the groundwork for non-stop giggles!! No seriously, folks. I've always giggled like an idiot at the spam messages that get tossed into my Spam box, so today I thought I'd share some of the better Subject Lines with you. I've included impossibly witty comments to compliment the subject lines. Oh, I am just the bees knees, aren't I?

Massive python rams between her legs‎

I'm gonna tell you right now: that's gonna require a "daddy stitch." I was on an African safari once and a massive python rammed between my -- well...you know...uh, right?

Your 9 inch tool will drive her nuts‎

Kind sir, I will be giving you the benefit of the doubt and I will assume you are speaking of a sale at Home Depot...

And also: There's a pun involving a rusty bolt and bloody socket wrenches somewhere in there but...damn it, I just can't seem to find it!

She stopped using the vibrator after this‎

It's not what you think; The Vibrator is a product sold by Billy Mays.

So hard and long even when flaccid‎

Now that just doesn't make a lick of sense....

My snake in her pink shaven..‎

In her WHAT?! Her pink shaven WHAT?! Damn it! Tell me! PLEASE! I need to know what's pink and shaven!!!

She wants 9 inches for sure‎

I dunno, sir...I asked once and she said three was "good enough."

Grow to an incredible length‎

Ooh!! Ooh!! You mean like one of those mini-dinosaur sponges that when you spray water on them they grow, like, real huge n stuff? Boy, oh boy, do I ever want one of those!

FW: Read about ceos with mba‎ -

Oh dear fuck I just creamed my pants....

Comedy gold, folks! That's comedy gold! 

HUZZAH!!!

Ricky Gervais at the Golden Globes

I promised myself I'd do a blog today but...whatever. I can't top Ricky Gervais at the Golden Globes. I didn't watch the broadcast because I was watching School of Rock. This man never fails to crack me up. If you haven't seen The Office or Extras (or even Ghost Town) check them out. I think you'll enjoy them.

film noir! film noir!

In an effort to keep me pumped about working on Hearts, I've been watching a shitload of noir flicks. And so, in an effort to  1) further keep me pumped about working on Hearts and 2) to hopefully get some of you knuckleheads to watch some cool movies I will be writing about some of my favorites. 

Noir - whether you define it as a genre unto itself or simply a cycle of film that ran between the 1930s and ended in the late 50s - is a strange beast.  No Way Out, Call Northside 777,  Ace in the Hole and The Asphalt Jungle are all considered to be film noir.  You may not have seen these films, but to glace at the loglines of all four you would be hard-pressed to see how they're all part of a whole.  What connects them all is the element of despair.

Despair in its many forms.

I'll admit it: my favorite noir films center around the criminal element -- not just gangsters, you see, but the losers, hustlers, lowlifes and has-beens. My favorites include Scarlet Street, Night and the City, Pickup On South Street and The Asphalt Jungle. Each of these films have protagonists who are do deep in despair that they can't stand it. They get involved in a life of crime and...well, you can guess what happens in a world where Dread rules (no, not Judge Dredd, ya a-holes!) and Death is the best way to go.

Then you have flicks like The Woman in the Window, Double Indemnity and Gun Crazy, where law-abiding folks find themselves on the side of the lowlifes. Fantastic.

Then you have neo-noir flicks like Way of the Gun and Bring Me the Head of Alfredo Garcia: two reasons to argue that noir is a genre. These two flicks are so chock full of bad-assery it makes my dick want to punch a brick wall.

So I'll be writing about a few noir flicks.

Yay me.

it's not fun to think about

Well that's not fun to think about!

Not at all.

this doesn't count

I'm known for rambling, so I thought this would be fun...

....aaaaaandmaybealittleawkwardGO!!

There is nothing. Not for ten minutes.

Once, when I was a kid, I had a Bunny. I didn't name him at the time, but his name became Bunny Colevas. He was a kid bunny. He never crapped on the floor and he had the courtesy to never die on me. Lots of people have touched my heart during my as-of-yet-short life, but none of them have had the common courtesy not to die on me. Nana, Jordan, Papoo, Granny, Aunt Hazel, Grandma Doan? All spectacular specimens of humanity. But did any of them NOT DIE?

Nope. A-holes.

Bunny never died. And I'd thank him, 'cept he can't talk. Cuz he's a stuffed animal. So stop crying, ya faggot! He's just a stuffed animal. When I was 13 I was on a good baseball team.

After that, my life was pretty much shit. I met this girl named Amie back in August, and my life has been spectacular I'm not going to go ahead and say Amie was completely responsible for my fantastic life, as I'm (reasonably) sure my mom and dad have something to do with that. However, Amie does kiss me on the lips - dad never did that, and I am grateful.

I was once asked to describe the place of my dream vacation and to write two pages about what that place would be like....I wrote about a place that had ties to the civil war - ties to the revolutionary war. I think I was writing about Boston, but I would be lying if I said I KNEW I was writing about Boston. I knew one thing: I was writing about a place where I could hope I could be digging a swimming pool and find a skeleton in a red coat. Then I would dance around the yard telling, "The Redcoats are coming! the Redcoats are coming!" That still hasn't happened, but I'm not giving up hope.

One time my mom asked me to pick up a sock my brother had soiled with his adolescent juices. I'm only bring ing this up because it happened at the same time I had to write about that "dream vacation" That was the year I created THE NIGHTMARE. If you've read that story, it's changed a lot in the lest few years. I had a crush on a girl in that Writing Fiction class. When was the last time you had the right to BEAR ARMS?

I swear if I had the right to have bear arms for arms I would probably shit my pants. And honestly, it would be bear shit because if I could have Bear arms I would also have a Bear ass. And Probably a Bear cock. Are Bear Cocks furry? And are "bear cocks" capitalized?

Speaking of capitalism, how 'bout that economy, hm? Boy, I wish I was a rich white guy right about now. I'm 2 for three, but the important part is the part about being rich. There was a kid I knew in high school who was rich. I forget his name but Im pretty sure it was Dickie Dick. People called him Richie Rich. I thought that was pretty cruel. So I called him Leprechaun Cock.

My mom called me her "little leprechaun" once. Of all the times kids make fun of me because I was short...or because I walked or ran funny...or because I was hairy. Or because I had a mustache in sixth grade.....my mother! Sweet heavenly shitballs!! Of all the blows to self-esteem - that was the worst.

I was 26.

The first time I went to a strip club was never. For real. And here's what I have to say to guys who say "dood u never been 2  a strip club!?!?! ur gay"....here's what I have to say: first of all, any male who has ever questioned another male's sexuality past the age  of 18, has probably has a set of testes on his forehead. And second, who's the real man: The guy who drops 250 bucks trying to get laid...or the guy who drops zippy on not getting laid? Do the math genius. I spent less and haven't had a pair of nuts on my forehead.

I was talking to someone in particular in the last paragraph. He doesn't know how to read.

When I didn't know how to read I probably played with my dick a lot. I know how to read know, and yet I still play with my dick a lot. I hope a feminist doesn't find that bit of text in the interweb and use it was the basis for a missive aimed at getting The Real World canceled. That would be sad.

When I last came to the realization that The Real World wasn't real, I was about 15. I mean, you don't have to be a genius to figure out the the Real World doesn't hand you a job and a loft in

----------

BUZZER!! Ten minutes is up!

And, Fin (that's snotty French for "I'm fucking done!")

Wow! It's been a few years since I've done the ol' stream-of-consciousness exercise. I gotta say, it's fun. I'd like to do that more often. I probably won't do it in the blog, as it doesn't quite lend itself to FUN reading but...I'm thinking I might try a 30 minute SoC exercise in the near future....

This doesn't count as a real blog.

i'm not interesting enough for people...

so HELLO, BLOG!

And to think, there were times I thought about not talking to you. Apologies, Blog. Apologies.

So I'm crunching -- uh, whatever-ing -- the numbers, trying to figure out how things could play out if I were to be accepted to the University of Maryland. This is a long way off -- I still have to apply, of cours -- but I'm running down the list of courses I took at Towson and I come across GEOG101-Physical Geography. Believe it or not, this tidbit brings me to a pertinent observation. You are expecting a soliloquy, I'm sure. I can't blame you. I'm known for my neverending nonsense, but for once I shall spare you! I promise: this will be brief.

Im gonna go for an American Studies major (which includes a minor in Literature).

I will always remember needing to study for my Physical Geography exam in the Fall of 2000 and, rather than hunkering down and studying, I chose to watch a marathon of the 60s Batman TV series instead. I passed the test (and the class) but I know I could have done much better...'cept for the nuisance best defined in THWOMPs, POWs and WHAMs*.

Means nothin' to ya, huh? I figured. I'll admit I never ran with the cool crowd. I'll also admit I sometimes  haven't quite understood why I loved the things I loved. It's only been in the last few months that I've had the chance to think about how all of my passions were related.

Popular culture! Popular American Culture! Film, television, journalism, literature, comics, music, politics, celebrity, history -- name the subject and I'll try and tie them together into the tapestry that is American life. I know, right -- who gives a fuck?!

NO ONE! YAY FOR ME!!

i write long blogs because i have a short dick.

My first post of the new year was supposed to be about resolutions, but think of this as a prelude. 

I don't exactly know why I sometimes seem hellbent on destroying the best parts of my life, but I sure as fuck know I better start becoming hellbent on getting my shit together or else one day I'm going to wake up and The Nightmare is gonna keep on truckin' no matter how hard I beg It to stop.

I spent the better part of yesterday thinking about the last year, and part of that time was spent reading the postings of this blog prior to August/September. Here now, I will point out some of the many times I was wrong:

February 19: Sometimes, when I'm driving alone, I think about swerving off the road and plowing my car into a row of trees. I would go for just one tree, but I think if you're going to kill yourself you might as well do a decent job of it.....This is stupid.

Yeah. Pretty stupid. I never said I was smart; that line proves I'm a complete dumbass.

February 19: Here's a tip: If he says "I'm a nice guy" then he's not a nice guy. Nice guys? They don't have to say it. 

That's not true. Even nice guys have to remind people that they're nice guys when they've fucked up beyond belief.

April 19: And if life has taught me anything it's that the sky's the limit as long as you're a complete douchebag.

Not true. I can actually prove the opposite is true; if you're a complete douchebag you stand a pretty good chance of ruining your life.

May 6: Besides, life ain't got nothing planned for me past 35 except baldness, obesity, grumpiness, the end of The Simpsons, taxes, bad knees, loneliness and, if I'm lucky, a swimming pool.

I was right about the baldness. I was wrong, in varying degrees, about everything else. 

July 25: I keep getting fucked, correct? It's a constant, correct? Over and over -- fucked, correct? Various means, correct? Various motivations, correct? And I'm supposed to accept getting fucked, correct? Over and over again, correct? Until I die, correct?

Then August 16th rolled around and things changed for the better. I've taken the happy days since then for granted. Right now I'm looking at a birthday card I got this past year. It's a Spongebob card for a seven-year-old, but the person who gave it to me  wrote a "2" in front of the "7" to make it say "27." I don't keep this card on my desk for nostalgic purposes; I keep it there to remind me of how lucky I am - to remind me of how miserable I was for most of my 26th year - and how someone came along and just bitchslapped the everlovin' fuck outta that misery. 

----------

In the past week I've been foraging through old projects - notes, drafts, short stories, etc. - and I had an epiphany (or as Smee would call it, an apostrophe). I haven't finished one draft of a screenplay since 2005. I haven't finished one draft of a short story since 2005. Needless to say I haven't actually been able to set a project aside and say, "Done" for over three years. This was the year I started drinking heavily. Coincidence? Not a chance. So long story short: I'm not having a drink until

1) I've finished a draft and revised Hearts and

2) I have a nice treatment of Kiss The Girl hammered out and

3) After that I decide which one I want to focus on for Scriptapalooza

4) Read at least 25 scripts for Trigger Street in preparation for posting the script on the site so I can prepare for rewrites.

After that I'm allowing myself one kinda-sorta-celebratory glass of Guinness. Just one. I'm gonna pop in the DVD I made of all my old home movies, pour that drink, enjoy it and watch memories fly by.  And then I'll get back to work.

I know it seems like I'm blasting some self-righteous horn (I'm thinking a big, fat rusty tuba playing the "you lose" notes from The Price Is Right) but I need to be able to go back and read this. I'm not making excuses, but alcohol was a little co-conspirator in the single biggest fuck-up of my life up to this point. That, and there's clearly a connection between my getting shitfaced all the time and not writing. Granted, I did a lot less drinking in the last half of 2008, but...whatever. I'm stone cold sober until I get writing done. If I have to supplement my diet with candy or soda then fuck it I'll do what I have to do - but I'm getting shit done.

Sorry for the cursing. Please don't tell my mom.

----------

June 24: Peter Pan needs to see some multi-colored creme treats or he's gonna lose his shit.

Think happy thoughts, Peter. 

Think happy thoughts.