Happy Columbus Day

There will be even more details in my private journal that I can't tell anyone, of course, unless you get your hands on Nero, though I am thinking of putting password protection on that file.

Darin and I had dinner with his producer friend, Jonathan, and two producer buddies of his. Mostly they talked about the project they want Darin to work on (no excitement -- it's computers, not film), but the producers also talked about film some. They told some very funny stories about filming Chain Reaction and some documentaries done along the Amazon.

One of the producers, Ian, who described himself as a former writer, started ragging on writers something fierce. He hates paying them $100,000 to $150,000 a week when all they turn in is crap. This from a guy who pays actors several millions to star in his productions. I felt like hitting him -- though it's interesting to hear the other side of the story: we always hear about how producers are screwing us over. They think we're screwing them over.

Jonathan told me he'll be glad, when I've finished my thesis script, to introduce me to agents who want to work with new writers, which does take a special skill -- you've got to introduce the new writer into the Industry, which is the equivalent of debutante season. I know that he is sincere in this offer, and I also know that he has made this offer as a way of indebting Darin to him.

Nonetheless, if relations between Darin and Jonathan are still good in April, I plan on taking him up on his offer.

The five of us drank our ways through 3 bottles of Moet-Chandon. Though I didn't drink terribly much -- 3 glasses? -- and drank plenty of the plentiful Evian (I prefer domestic water, myself, but anything in a pinch) I had a hell of a hangover Saturday. I am not the drinker I was in college, nor do I want to be.

I drank lots of water, first thing upon rising.

Fernando came over and the three of us had brunch at John O'Groats on the Westside. It was good, but I wish I'd had the pancakes instead of the French toast, which I only ate about a third of.

After that, we went to the Century City Mall and caught The Matchmaker, with Janeane Garofalo and more Irishmen than you can shake a stick at, and we enjoyed it. We discussed it for quite a bit in the Food Court afterwards, both what we liked and what we didn't.

Spoiler alert: if you don't want to read these spoilers, go to the next paragraph after the paragraph separator.

How I would improve The Matchmaker:

• The filmmakers needed way higher production values.
• The Senator's singlehood should have been established earlier.
• Don't focus on things like Janeane Garofalo's being happy and carefree -- those are not her strong suits.
• Cut the final freeze frame by about 20 seconds!
• Get better music for the Aran Islands scene!
• Don't have Milo O'Shea die, for crying out loud -- this is a romantic comedy and it's totally pointless. The obvious thing to do is to have him get his comeuppance in some way that has him ending up with the other matchmaker.

I haven't the slightest what I did yesterday. Well, I know what I did last night, as I was sacked out on the couch -- I started writing. But how I spent the hours from 10am to 6pm, I haven't the slightest. I know I ended up watching the Orioles-Indians game, the first complete baseball game I've watched in 4 years. And it was a corker.

Here's what I want: I want the Indians and Braves to go to the World Series. That way it can be the All Politically Incorrect Series. (Now just watch -- I bet they met in the Series last year or something and I'm going to sound like a dork. But I don't follow it any more, 'kay?)

It's amazing how you can be wrapped up in something for years and then just not care any longer.

Woke up late again. I don't know why I've started sleeping late in the morning.

I wrote a couple of pages in the morning -- well, for as long as the morning lasted past my finally getting up -- and then at 1pm Darin and I headed out for lunch with Mike. We went to the Crocodile Cafe in Downtown Burbank, where I proceeded to eat quite a lot (no dinner tonight).

Then we went to the Last Grenadier, where we sought out goblin wolfrider figurines for Mike. (Didn't find any.) The Last Grenadier is a shop devoted to role-playing games, with thousands of figurines and even more rule books for every type of D&D, role-playing, and war-playing games. If there's a mythic, science-fiction, or military figure you want to play, the Last Grenadier is for you. (It's on San Fernando, the main drag, about 4 blocks away from the mall towards Glendale -- it's recently moved.)

Afterwards we stopped at the House of Secrets comics shop to pick up our comics subscription. Then we dropped Mike off at the Boys and went home. I wrote a couple more pages before heading off to the gym.

Yes, I went to the gym. (Give some smelling salts for the woman in the back.)

It was hot in the gym. Their air conditioning system is not the best. I sweated like a pig. (How's that for an image?) The woman next to me finished with 30 minutes on her treadmill...and then started with a new 30 minutes. I couldn't understand how she wasn't standing in a small lake.

I didn't run particularly well, but I have been out of practice, I suppose. Rob Petrie is going to dust me at the Bay-to-Breakers, and I'm not at all happy about that.

Lies, Damn Lies, and Statistics

14 pages of scenes for my thesis script. While at the gym today it dawned on me how I could tighten even these 14 pages up, but I'm happy to have written even these. (We'll see how happy I am after Len gets his paws on them.)

3 miles today on the treadmill by sheer force of will. I'm exhausted.