4 hours of envy

I work at a bookstore, a big one.  It starts with a "B."  Anyway, yesterday while trying not to look at the clock, a man came up to me and asked about some SF restaurant book we didn't have.  He then asked me about "The 4 Hour Work Week," which is this hugely popular book that everybody wants.  It's on all the top sellers list etc.  Anyway, the book's popular and I've shown many a people where it is.  But then he says, "I'm the author."  Oh, well that's different.  So he wants to sign what we have which is around 25.  We round them up and he signs them.  His name is Timothy Ferris and he's actually a really cool guy, just moved to the city; to retire probably.  He mentioned it was his first book; some first book.  Anyway, after he left I became depressed/envious of this man.  Here he is, only 30 years old, and set for life.  Me, well I had to sticker the books with "Autographed Copy" on it and stick them back on the shelf.  This is my life.

out of shape

Ran for the first time in who knows how long.  Climbed two and a half hills before I saw stars. Anyway, I've started to run and I feel good.  I feel so good that I came home, watched "The Wire" and ate two pieces of fried chicken.

don't...

listen to Dustin O'Halloran when all alone in your apartment with a bottle of wine; it leads to vast melancholy.  But, it's also that melancholy that is oddly attractive; you don't know why but it makes you feel good, or, I guess content is the word I'm looking for.  Yes, content.  So listen on:

www.myspace.com/dustinohalloran

allergic to life...

Or at least it seems that way.  Apparently I offended my nose earlier in my life some way and it's now kicking my ass and taking names.  No amount of drugs (over the counter) can stop its rampant destruction over my life.  Yesterday it decided to zero in on my eyes.  All day they burned like hell in my sockets and if this turn of events was to become a movie the climax came last night.  I was watching The Sopranos and suddenly, without warning, six different needles of pain attacked my right eye.  I was ninety percent sure my eye was going to explode in my head. After about two minutes the pain subsided; I was not sad to see it go.  However, my tear duct decided to put on a water show because for the next five minutes it ran like a faucet. Nonetheless, I got through it and was able to finish watching The Sopranos; I'm proud of myself. 

bored/annoyed

Obviously, I'm sitting at my desk writing this blog, but I'm also trying to grind through some Schopenhauer philosophy and I'm bored.  There is nothing to do.  My girlfriend is at school, my friends have prior engagements, and it's sunny outside, which makes not doing something even worse.

Also, myself and Andrew Provost (co-creator of earlier said "pilot" and dear friend) were supposed to meet with the editor of the pilot today and begin the editorial process.  But, as always with this production company, something came up and the sessions were canceled. Bummer.  There goes my Wednesday.  Poof, like that.  I could have gone somewhere, done something worthwhile, but shit happens, right?  More often than not with this company it seems.  Another thing that annoys me about this company is their overall lack of enthusiasm towards the project.  No marketing suggestions have been made, except by yours truly.  And I'm not trying to play the "woe is me" game but a little excitement over the project by the people who are producing it would be much appreciated, and warranted.

But whatever, it's Wednesday, and it's sunny, and I'm sitting inside bored/annoyed.

lack of enthusiasm

The other day I was at the grocery store with my girlfriend.  As she debated the prices of Lunchables I wandered off and found myself in the "liquor area." There, I became entangled in a economic/mathematical investigation of beer prices and their respective ounce counts.  While wedged in between a cabinet with "expensive" liquors and a display of Budweiser (king of beers, yeah, right) I spotted an old friend/someone I haven't spoken to in almost a year.  Usually, and always without default, I immediately dive for the nearest cover in these situations.  But it was late in the day; I was tired, and maybe my judgement was poor; I said "hello."  Damn it!  No escaping the inevitable now.  A double take was taken and thus began the far too awkward conversation that everyone has had: People cut each other off; they stand, smiling, for long periods of awkward silence; they speak of weather patterns.  This is what many people do and I never know why.  No intelligible information is obtained and people often leave with embarrassing tastes in their mouths.  I never do this, ever, except for the other day, and I don't know why.  But never again, ever!  Or at least not tomorrow.

compromise, and then some...

It's a funny thing, compromise.  The dictionaries describe it as an agreement made by both sides in a dispute.  This, however, does not apply to "compromise" in the entertainment business.  I co-created a comedy series.  The 'pilot' (first episode) is currently being filmed in the bay area and compromise is spreading like the black plague.  There's great beauty in looking at a completed piece of work on paper; the beauty however, stops here.  What many people don't know is that the final product is rarely what the creators had in mind; that's why they call it "product," not art.

Certain scenes get cut, time is 'compromised' and the final 'product' suffers.  Often, this is blamed on the creators (yours truly) and not the half-hearted production that took the script, chopped it up and spit it out in a slimy filth.  But whatever, right?  It happens all the time; every day.

Still, I wish 'compromise' would be reevaluated for the good of the viewer; you, me and everybody who ever gave a damn about anything worthwhile.

However, a little music and some wine cool my nerves.  I watch an episode of "The Sopranos" and silently hope that one day HBO will come knocking on my door; they don't know what 'compromise' means because, well, they don't do it.

floors, especially hardwood

Lying on the floor of my apartment with a half empty bottle of champagne resting next to me I can't help but wonder how many other people are doing the same thing right now, and if so, what music are they listening to?  I myself have chosen the all too beautifully depressing Elliot Smith as this evening's soundtrack.  Now I know my choice of music will eventually lead me to an alcohol infused depression for the evening where I think about past regrets and constantly pose the question "what if?" but I'm a writer and I need to gather my material from some dark place.

Elliot Smith + Alcohol = Intense feelings of angst a.k.a. decent writing material.

Low Vs. Diamond!

My cousin's amazing band.  You must go to iTunes now and purchase the album!

The purpose of...

Ah, so this is blogging. I do find it strange that it has taken me this long to join the phenomena (though now it is probably considered a normality). But alas, I have. Where to begin? To me blogging is the inexpensive form of psychoanalysis; you can talk and talk and talk and no one will ever answer or for that matter, listen, but that's OK. Blogging is also a way to self indulge. To tell the world wide web what you think is worth their time and more importantly, what is not.

So what is blogging? Therapy, narcissism, time-waster, a minute dictatorship and everything in between. Sign me up.