plug and play

So I'm pretty much caught up with my script writing. Yesterday I wrote 4,000 words and I'm up to 18,000 for the month. In case you haven't been paying attention, this month marks the inaugural Script Frenzy dealio. It's Chris' latest endeavor, in which people write 20,000 word screenplays (which comes out to about 120 pages, aka a 2 hour movie) in 30 days. (Why can't he pick a month with 31 days? Jeez.)

In a lot of ways, it's been way easier than NaNoWriMo, because it's a hell of a lot less words -- duh -- and all the formatting (names of people speaking, scene descriptors) chews up words like crazy. So even though I fell behind pretty early, I wasn't too worried. All you needed was 600 words a day. I could do that in my sleep.

Funny thing though. It turned out that no matter how often I put my laptop under my pillow that never happened. And it's a lot harder to go off on tangents than with the novels, although like Kristina mentioned one good sex scene eats up a ton of words.

My script is about this bike nerd who works as a mechanic in a shop. He can't actually ride bikes, though, because every time he gets on one crazy bad things happen. Anyway, he's also having trouble with the ladies, so he signs up for this experimental injection that unleashes your pheromones, making most ladies find you irresistible. At least it's supposed to. Be assured, however, that hilarity ensues.

But it's also a romance, so he meets this woman who makes wild flower soap. The problem is that the serum only lasts for a month, so he's worried that she won't like him when it wears off. Oh yeah, and there's bad side effects. Let's see, there's also a big dog, a Cyclotron race, an evil ex-girlfriend, and lots of carrot juice involved. I actually think there's some funny ideas in it, but boy does the dialogue suck.

The Script Frenzy wrap party is on Sunday, July 1 at Root Division at 7 p.m. Everyone's invited -- free food! -- and Chris has collected a bunch of actors (including the very talented Greenfield, Mass, native Jon Wolanske) to act out scenes from peoples' scripts. I plan on giving them a slapstick sex scene, which should be heelarious.

forever is a long time

So, last Sunday Kathleen and Eric got married. I get nervous for other people at their weddings. I don't vomit or anything, but I do feel those butterflies in the gut.

But this one went swimmingly. Beautiful weather, great view, not too many Hell's Angel's crashing it, Alice's Restaurant right across the street. The only minor disturbance occurred right after this picture was taken, when a baby behind me dispensed one of the loudest, wettest blow outs ever.


Kristina and Tim gave amazing toasts that had many people getting all teary faced. Kristina told this great story about how Tim had told Kathleen about Eric before he'd moved out here, and so whenever one of her dates would go awry, she'd say, "At least I'll be able to date Eric Doherty." It became an inside joke, which became an inside job, er, marriage. This has led to me "joke" about how I'll be able to date the lottery soon. Mmm, lottery.

Anyhoo, there were lots of folks returning to town for the nuptials. Like Rolf and Michele, Victoria, and Shana. It was almost like old times, except that no one was wearing playa dust or a sweatshirt that said "Number One Grandpa."




After the reception, many folks headed over to the Portola Campgrounds to hang out with the married couple on the spot where they met. The night ended with 20 people circled around a fire, receiving a lesson in "street funk" by Kathleen and Kristina. I really wish someone had captured the drunken gyrating on their camera. Maybe somebody can break out The Salt Lick move at Bardot a Go Go (coming up on July 14).

Now, the return of Grumpy Guy!

white is the new black

Bobby threw his big gay dance party last week. The theme was "white" and the staff got fully into the concept.


Waldo won the prize for best ensemble.



I call this one Lil' Lord Fontleroy meets OG Shiny Shirt.


Brett channels his inner raver and metalhead, all at once.


Have you ever noticed that a person's eyes are not the same size or shape? Kind of creepy.


And when the guys started stripping down, Waldo jumped right in. Look at those pecs!

oops i did it again

Criminy. That's all you can say. Criminy. Sometimes I'm embarrassed to be a human.

On Monday night, I went with Russ and Megan to the Jameson Free Drink party, which has become an annual event. Last year, it was at the Hemlock and featured free whiskey, Mickey "Do the Jane Fonda" Avalon, and Mini Kiss (midgets rock). This year, they held it at 1015 Folsom and hired MC Jelly Donut, that guy who plays music with robots, some beatboxer, and Mini Britney (midget does Ms. Spears). Turns out it's the same little person who was Paul Stanley last year. There's a picture here on Megan's blog.

I don't have a problem with little people. The Station Agent was a great movie. So was Time Bandits. But Lil Brit made me really uncomfortable. Yes, she had a decent voice and could really belt it out. And I could see how this is probably the only way she's going to break into show business. (She could probably have picked a better role model.)

But damn. I couldn't watch. All those dudes from Concord laughing at her. And her stripping down to a spangly body suit. Ick. I felt grossed out and bad for her, and then I felt guilty for feeling grossed out and bad for her. Oh the circle of shame and disgust and shame and disgust and…you get the idea.

I have no problem with the mentally ill. I find them interesting, actually. But the retarded and deformed give me the willies. What's that about?

In related news, I watched "Coming Home" for the first time. Man, Jane Fonda gives one of the longest replications of an orgasm ever. And the rest of the film is really intense too. I bet it was amazing when it came out in 1978, considering how the country was still freaked out about Vietnam. I need to ask some old people about that. I watched all the extras on the DVD, and Bruce Dern started getting all teary and choked up when describing watching it for the first time in a theater. Bruce Dern! Who knew he was such an old softie? He kept referring to himself as "Dernsy" or "Derns." What a kook.

Anyway, it's a great look at the late '60s, how people changed from supersquare to hip(pies) over night, while others didn't change at all. Kind of like my parents did.

Positions and the filling of said positions

Random stuff:

Funny thing I overheard on BART from a guy talking into cell phone: "The position that needs filling is boyfriend, so if that's a position you don't feel suited for, I guess you shouldn't be applying."

There were a lot of things I regretted about going to New Zealand. One of the main ones was not buying the Shocking Pinks' Infinity Land cd while I was there. I haven't seen it available anywhere else. Until now. God bless the internets. The disc is the best thing Flying Nun has put out in years -- it's very NZ, noisy and moody and rocking, but now they've got some DFA stuff out so they're embracing the electronic too.

I also love the new Lodger album. British band, disc out on Slumberland Records, which hadn't released anything in ages. (Yay, Mike!) They're like a kindler, gentler Wedding Present. Oh so many hooks. Makes you want to curl up into a papa san chair and drink tea with whiskey in it and maybe think about some girl you had a crush on in freshman year of college and never dared talk to.

Also, this: The Balkan dance party at the Rickshaw featured sex and stage diving and a guy taking drags on a cig between vomit launches.

And this: Physical attraction can't overrule emotional incompatibility.

dance dance revolution

I went to see the Spank Rock DJs recently with Brent and Marlo, and something became painfully obvious.

I don't know how to talk to strange women at dance clubs. (Not that I know how to talk to strange women at bars or bar mitzvahs or zoo bathrooms.)

I was having a really good time, because they were super-fun DJs, but I couldn't have as good a time as I would've liked to have, because I couldn't talk to the women I wanted to talk to. And so it ended up being a little bit of a bummer in the end, a bit of wistfulness added to my raging hullabaloo.

So I started asking my female friends how to go pick up or at least talk to ladies at danceterias. Here's what they came up with:

1. Make sure there's no boyfriend around. Or wedding ring.

2. Make a lot of eye contact. Wait for them to return it. If they don't, move on. If they do…

3. Start dancing near them. See if they move away or turn away. If they don't…

4. Move in and dance closer. Do not touch, save for maybe a light hand on arm. If they still don't run away screaming …

5. Start talking to them. It'll probably be loud, so just ask them simple things. Like the quadratic equation. This is also a good time to find out if their boyfriend is in the bathroom or at home and very large. After a while, you can offer to get them a drink.

6. Sadly, I am not a smoker so I can't ask them outside to separate them from the herd. But I can steer them to the bar or drift away from the dance floor when I bring them their drink.

7. Ask them to have sex with you in the alley.

I haven't been out dancing since, so I haven't had time to try out their suggestions. But I was going to a party at Ideo tonight, and I figured I could apply the same techniques there.

Ideo is some kind of design firm or something, and they have cool parties where people drink and eat and look out over the bay while artists say inspiring things. Stallion was performing, which was inspiring in an '80s metal-loving magician way.

Well, I looked around the room and deck. It was mostly lesbians and architects. And Devil-ettes, out of uniform, and members of my softball team and their odd German co-workers. But I did find one woman I found very attractive. And I tried to make eye contact. Over and over. She seemed to be looking behind me at one point. That was the best I could do.

Then, some guy from 826 Valencia tried to get the crowd to make a story. It was kinda Dave Eggers-esque and kinda funny. So I waited around, looking to see if there was someone else to make eye contact with. I went outside. I came inside. I stood by the beer. Nothing.

Some lady started rambling about how the virtual world was better than the real world (duh!), and I began to fall asleep. I figured my prospects were bleak, so I'd best leave. Bryan the ex-softballer was standing next to me and I reached over to shake hands and say goodbye. And out of the corner of my eye I saw a woman, an attractive woman, looking right at me. And smiling. Not the "oh, you've got guacamole on your chin" smile; rather, the "hey, I've noticed you're cute and I'd actually like you to talk to me" smile. The smile I'd waited all night to see.

But it was like I was already engaged in an irreversible motion. I could not stop that hand from grabbing Bryan's and from the words "See ya" coming out of my mouth.

Maybe I should've jumped right into the bay afterwards. At least that would've been a memorable exit.

Communism and wedding cake

Oh my god, everyone I know is getting married. Or divorced.

Well, not everyone. Just these folks:

Kathleen and Eric: This weekend, they're having their bachelor(ette) parties at farflung locals like Dillon Beach (the site of a recent murder, which makes me think it's like West Side Story up there, only with real sharks) and Guerneville (hellooo, ladies). Then they're tying the knot (or cherry stem) in two weeks in the Santa Cruz hills.

Shana & Niko: A bunch of us are getting hotel rooms to party over the July 4 holiday down south somewhere.

Wendy and Matt: In September.

Russ' ex, Heather, just announced her betrothment.

Joanna's ex's ex told me she's getting married in a week (on the steps of City Hall).

And Brent's ex, Jill, just had her dad get remarried -- to a woman he'd only known for four months.

And I'm sure that's not all, because weddings and the Domino Theory go together like Laurel and Hardy. Here's how it works: Couples go to weddings and then either break up or decide to get married themselves. Not all couples, of course. But most weddings inspire some kind of conversation about "where things are going." At least I don't have to worry about having that conversation any more. Did I say any more? I meant right now. Ha ha. Yeah.

So who's next? I've got my guess, but I'm not saying who it is.