It LIVES!

Alas, I am back. My little hiatus was brought on by a sense of stage fright. My overall purpose for this blog was to chronicle my experiences as a struggling writer trying to adjust to LA and what not. The only trouble was... I wasn't in LA yet! So rather than bore all three of you, and bore myself with stories of how lame the suburbs of Chicago are, or how my Mom believes my cat to be a homosexual, I chose to forgo blogging until I completed the move.

WHICH I HAVE! I'm sitting in a Starbucks on Ventura Ave because that's what fancy writers with MacBooks do in LA. We sit at Starbucks and get off on people watching us write. We're like narrative exhibitionists. This is true for those of us writers who are in our hearts, failed actors. We still get the attention (even if it's in our minds) but we can eat all the glazed donuts we want cause no one looks at the writers! Horray! The system works. True to the core writers are way to nervous and jittery to even contemplate leaving the safety of their computer chair let alone go to Starbucks. A perfect example of this is Alan Moore. Take a look at this guy. He wrote some of the most prolific and awe inspiring graphic novels of all time; Watchmen, V for Vendetta, The League of Extraordinary Gentleman. But he doesn't seem like the kind of guy you'd see waiting in line behind you at Crate and Barrel. Alan Moore is a few bloodstains away from being that asshole who works at a haunted house and creeps up behind you, waiting for you to turn around. But his giant crumb trap and deep set eyes, withered from years of staring at computer screens and blank paper, are like creepy badges of courage in my eyes. There's integrity in that anarchist's face; an integrity that I admire. And even though I'd call security on him if I saw him at an airport, I'd respect him still. This is the TRUE face of every writer. Whether you be an exhibitionist like myself, or a rodent like recluse watching people through your Venetian blinds, this is what we all look like on the inside. Aren't we pretty?

Official office goodbye

I'm sitting in what was dubbed the "7th floor bureau" for Frequency TV. It is a small, quiet office with scuffed and scratched walls, and is currently still packed with costumes from Debbie's Got Class. Contrary to how it may look now, this room was actually a sort of writer's office given to Libby and I at the beginning of the year. It was our little creative sanctuary where we wrote and rewrote the first two episodes of Debbie's Got Class. Sitting in here makes it strikingly clear that the semester is over and I will be going out into the real world very soon. Thankfully, I will still be on Columbia's payroll until the end of January (cha-ching!) but it is all very scary.

Looking back on all the long days and countless hours Libby and I spent writing and producing that monster of a project, I feel idle. Like, I literally don't know what to do with myself now. Doing all my final papers and projects early easily pacified that idle feeling, but now that's all done too. For basically the next two weeks, I have nothing to do but sit around and relax. I feel like the dog who finally caught his tail. Afterwards the said dog looked at his tail, sat down, lit up a cigarette and asked the age old question "what the hell do I do with myself now?" I guess in dog terms, the most logical answer would be to seek out the nearest crotch to sniff, or fire hydrant to pee on (quitting smoking would also be on that dog's list, I hope). People like me and the aforementioned dog need constant stresses in order to feel accomplished. It keeps us sharp, and generally interested in life.

For me, seeking out the nearest fire hydrant to pee on translates into a new writing project, and the crotch sniffing would be analogous to finding an internship in LA. Hmm. I wasn't expecting that analogy to be layered with self-deprecation and vulgarity. I should work on becoming sensitive to gross or inappropriate things. I'll add that to the list of things I need to work on; right below finding true love but above not eating after 8pm.

Writing must commence soon, for me. I'm kicking around the idea of a Parks and Recreation spec script because I love Leslie Knope. When comparing her to Michael Scott from The Office, I gotta go with the Knope. She's off the wall like Michael and similar in her social ineptitude, but that's because she's smart and takes her job way to seriously. Also writing as Ron Swanson would give me an opportunity to showcase the deadpan-ness Libby has rubbed off onto me.

My biggest problem with writing spec scripts that aren't for a class is starting them. I'm afraid that because I don't have a work or school related deadline I'll lose interest and try something new half way through. What a waste of time, right? Being afraid, that is. And with that sentence fragment, I have decided. I will take advantage of this time off from school and work, and the newfound mobility of my graduation present (a Macbook named Grand Moff Tarkin), to write or at least outline a spec for Parks and Recreation. Expect a few blogs here, a few blogs there. I'll try and keep all three of you updated, because I know ya'll are on the edges of your computer chairs just waiting to hear what I have to say next. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to concentrate on getting this nasty, unsweetened green tea down my throat. Just swallow, Kyle. Just swallow. DAMN! I forgot. Watching for vulgarity now...

Like a pheonix from the ashes!

I know all two of you are wondering what happened to my blog page. Don't worry, everyone. Take a deep breath and try to relax. I know how many you loved the one post I made to my previous blog, but as they say in that one song, "the times, they are a changin'" (I'm pretty sure that's from a song. If it's not, please correct me. I like being corrected.)

I am less than a week away from graduating Columbia College, and I'm setting my sights on moving to LA in the Spring. I figured it is about time to make a semi-professional blog about stuff I'm working on and my career/life in general. It probably won't be that interesting, but I figured that the internet will surely have a market for the musings of a goofy, young writer who watches the History Channel too much. Sometimes I write in formal sentences as well.

Finals are baring down on me, but for the first and last time in my college career I am prepared. In previous semesters you would find me typing every paper up until the literal last minute. One time the customers of a Wabash st Jimmy Johns got dinner and a show as they watched me walk while carrying a laptop with one hand, and typing the final paragraph of my Body Movement paper with the other. I'm quite dexterous when adrenaline is coursing through my veins. But all that is in the past. This semester I have taken the time to do most of my work before finals week. My production and editing two final project, a cheesy, fake commercial for a chubby-chasing chat line, is in the can. You can expect to see it on my Youtube account (which will be getting a professional make-over similar to this blog page) very soon.

Today I am finishing a research paper I am being paid to write. After that I plan on typing a second draft to my French Revolution final paper, and then a first draft for my Dick Van Dyke research paper. In case you're scratching your heads, I am taking separate classes on the French Revolution and The Dick Van Dyke Show. Laura Petrie was not guillotined, but if she was, I can clearly imagine Mary Tyler Moore's nervous "Oh Rob!" schtick while they cart her to the town square. Tomorrow I'm tackling my final project for my Literature and Gaming: Dickens class. I still don't know how a college can cram those three subjects together, and I've been in that class for 14 weeks now. I mostly nod my head and smile during that class. I really only interject whenever one of Dickens's archetypal ice queens do something sassy. My comments usually involve a neck swivel and a triple snap, because those bitches need props yo.