Archive for October, 2006

In memory of Luke on his death 10-31-1984

Posted in: Slice of Life on October 31, 2006 at 6:14 am by Glenn.

In European folklore, the witching hour is the time when supernatural creatures such as witches, demons and ghosts are thought to be at their most powerful, and black magic at its most effective. This hour is typically midnight, and the term may now be used to refer to midnight, or any late hour, even without having the associated superstitious beliefs.

When I was around 16 years old, Dale, Luke and I decided to drive up to this house hidden in the Chevy Chase hills. It was said that this house was deserted and had been condemn for ten years. The myth was that an old man lived in the house and lured teenage girls from the local Catholic School called “Sacred Heart” and kept them captive – torturing them in a basement. It was as simple as that.

He was discovered after a young girl escaped and who flagged down a passing car in the middle of the night. She led the married couple to the house and the husband went in to investigate. He never came out of the house and the wife and the young girl reported the incident to the Glendale Police department.

The police department uncovered the torture chamber. The dead husband was found decapitated with all his fingers chopped off with a butcher knife. Other interesting things surfaced as they combed the house of clues – the most interesting was the practice of witchcraft and cannibalism.

The smell of decaying bodies was so strong that the investigation of the house was shut down after only eight hours and has never been continued. Due to legal loopholes, plans to destroy the house and to burn it down have been on hold for the past twenty-two years.

The investigation and a national man hunt for the killer has not stopped.

The man who tortured these girls has never been tried for the savage killings and torture that he inflicted on more than fifteen girls and a Good Samaritan man because he has never been found.

And so here we are, 16 years old. Dale, Luke and I were young, ambitious, daring and not afraid of anything. So we drove up the hills and found the house hidden in the canyon.

It was dark, there was no road to drive up to it and so we had to walk from the car to the house a mile away.

I remember it like it was yesterday. It was a dark, cold Wednesday night around midnight. Halloween 1984.

A chill runs up my spine when I remember hearing the door slam shut behind us. We turned around and figured it was the wind outside that slammed the door. The dust made me cough and my asthma acted up. Our flashlights pointed the way to the back of the house where the police tape still blocked off the entrance to the basement.

Luke swiped at the dust covered spider webs and pulled down the police tape. “Are you ready for some scary-scary?” he laughed.

The night I can remember. What happened next was a blur but I’ll do my best to recall the events.

The hairs on my arms rose and I made a comment about it when we got down to the basement floor. And just as soon as we step foot on the bottom of the stairwell, our flashlights went out. All at the same time. It was pitch black and Dale muttered, “OH SHIT!”

For the first time I heard fear in Luke’s voice. “Let’s go back up.”

I started to make my way back up the stairs, using my hands to find the way when I heard a scream.

“Dale!” I called out.

“Go-Go-Go-Go-Go-Go” He kept repeating. We crawled on all fours up the stairs and I heard the scream again… it was at the bottom of the stairs.

It was Luke. “No… please God NO!!!”

Then, as if someone’s throat is clutched, Luke’s yell for help turned into a suffocated gasp for air.

Dale went by me and I stopped when finally my eyes adjusted to the dark. I looked back down and tried desperately to find Luke when this spidery figure of a man charged up the stairs right at me.

His arms were long and thin and he climbed the stairs with athletic agility and he was coming after me. He was completely naked and looked like he hadn’t eaten in years. You could see every bone.

I fell back and he hovered right on top of me and sniffed me like a mad dog smelling his prey before taking a bite. The decaying smell of his breath, the touch of his skin on my face and Luke’s warm blood on his lips that dripped on my nose paralyzed me.

My only instinct was to turn my face away from this crazed animal. I tried desperately to get as far away as possible and by doing so I exposed my neck. He was about to sink his teeth into my throat but what he said first has given me nightmares every night of my life.

He said, “Savior - you are my savior and I will feast upon you for eternity.”

I tried to scream for Dale… but nothing.

I tried to move and fight… but nothing.

I think I began to cry a whimper of a cry as he slowly pressed his sharp teeth into my exposed throat when—

“Hiiiii Yaaaa!!!”

Dale’s foot slammed into the man’s head pushing him off of me.

Dale knew only one kick he learned in two classes of Karate with me. And that was all he needed to give me time.

“COME ON, GLENNIE! COME ON!”

It took all my might to turn around. Dale grabbed my arm and we sprinted up the staircase and busted through the door at the top.

We braced ourselves against the door and heard thunderous feet charge up the stairs.

BOOM!

The door splintered into pieces as Dale and I were thrown across the kitchen floor, the moonlight from outside came through the windows – the storm still pounding. Several leaks filled the kitchen floor with water.

The man was about six and a half feet tall. His fingernails looked like fish hooks. And his toe nails looked like claws. He charged Dale as Dale slipped, scrambling backwards on the kitchen floor.

I grabbed anything within reach. It was a pot.

Dale was holding the man off as the man tried viciously to bite Dale’s face.

I smacked the man on the side of the head and he crumpled. I pulled Dale up when the man grabbed Dale’s ankle and I tried with all my might to pull Dale away but the man’s grip didn’t loosen. It was a tug of war with Dale as the rope.

Finally I threw a kitchen chair on the man and Dale shook his leg off. We found our way outside and I remember stumbling in the rain and hitting the rocky ground hard. I looked behind me and we weren’t being followed. Dale helped me up and we sprinted back to the car.

It was the longest mile run I’ve ever run.

In the car Dale gunned the engine and we saw the house in the distance. Luke was in there. Probably dead.

We didn’t know what to do when BANG!

The man jumped onto the hood of the car and rammed his fist into the window. Dale hit reverse and we sped away. I looked back at the house. The headlights of the car illuminated the man. Our eyes met for a half second then he turned away and disappeared into the dark.

We sped to the Glendale Police Department and explained the story.

They thought we were on drugs. That someone had pulled a prank on us. That this was Halloween and every Halloween someone says they go to the house in the Hills and are scared of something there. They told us to go home and by morning Luke would show up at school and we’d all have a good laugh.

You’ve got to be kidding me. We sat in Dale’s car for about an hour in front of my house. Telling each other ‘our story’. We laughed as the rain stopped. It was almost 5:00 in the morning. I was going to kill Luke at school.

But I never got the chance.

Luke never showed up that day. Or the next. Or the next.

The Police didn’t find anything in the house either.

Tomorrow the house will be burned down. Twenty-two years after Luke’s disappearance and death.

I’ve practiced witchcraft for the past twenty years. It is time to get revenge for the death of our friend. Tonight at midnight - my powers will be at its most powerful.

Tonight… at midnight… Dale and I are going to go back and find Luke.

“Pop”

Posted in: Slice of Life on October 24, 2006 at 6:17 am by Glenn.

  • FADE IN:
  • EXT. APARTMENT BUILDING – DAY
  • American suburbia. It’s the middle of summer and it’s hot. Sprinkle systems pop up around the neighborhood, CHILDREN play in the water, an ice cream truck passes: its familiar jingle blares from the speakers.
  • We hear a male’s voice, JAMES.
  • JAMES (OS)
  • Duct tape.
  • INSIDE THE APARTMENT – CONTINUOUS
  • James, a clean cut Asian kid in his 20s, fumbles through a duffle bag. Slams it down onto the sofa. He grabs his head in frustration - or is it agony?
  • INT. BATHROOM – MOMENTS LATER
  • James splashes water on his face. He looks at himself in the bathroom mirror. Haggard and stressed, he opens the cabinet and fumbles through prescription pill containers.
  • He opens one, pops a couple of pills and downs them with tap water.
  • INT. BEDROOM
  • James takes a polo shirt out of his closet and puts it over his undershirt.
  • INT. LIVINGROOM
  • James grabs a key ring with a single key on it. He slips on his shoes and opens the door.
  • He picks up a newspaper that is on the front welcome mat, scans the front page, laughs and whispers under his breath-
  • JAMES
  • Stupid.
  • then tosses the paper onto the table.
  • INT. HALLWAY
  • He closes the door behind him and turns to lock the top bolt.
  • NORMAN (OS)
  • Wasssuppp!
  • James cringes – startled. He finishes locking his door and looks behind his shoulder to see NORMAN (late 20s), in a wife beater tee and basketball shorts.
  • James turns around and nods.
  • NORMAN
  • Damn it’s hot.
  • James stands there, unsure what to say, it’s an awkward moment.
  • JAMES
  • Yeah.
  • Norman locks his door and turns around.
  • He watches James stuff his ONE KEY into his pocket.
  • NORMAN
  • One key?
  • Norman holds up his key chain with a fistful of keys on it.
  • NORMAN
  • I hate carrying this thing.
  • JAMES
  • Yeah. It’s all I have. All I need.
  • NORMAN
  • Lucky you.
  • JAMES
  • Okay, well-
  • He gestures down the hall and starts to walk.
  • NORMAN
  • Where you headed?
  • Norman walks with him.
  • JAMES
  • The store.
  • NORMAN
  • Me too. Well, just to the AM/PM for an Outter Pop or something. Something to get me to cool off, man. Hear that?!
  • Norman sticks out his fist for a ‘bump’. James, awkwardly offers his fist and they ‘bump’.
  • EXT. APARTMENT BUILDING – MOMENTS LATER
  • They walk out next to each other into the heat of the day.
  • NORMAN
  • Whatcha getting? Groceries for dinner? You’re always cookin’ something good in there. I can smell it a mile away. Asian Boy cookin’ a feast tooo-night know what I mean?
  • JAMES
  • Yeah.
  • They stand in the heat hiding their eyes from the sun.
  • NORMAN
  • So what’s on the menu? Stir fry ala king? Fried rice? I love fried rice, man.
  • JAMES
  • Yeah, I mean no. Duct tape.
  • NORMAN
  • Duct tape for dinner?
  • JAMES
  • I’m just getting duct tape.
  • NORMAN
  • All the way at Vons? They have it at AM/PM, stroll with me.
  • James shrugs – sure. And they stroll along.
  • DOWN THE STREET – A FEW MINUTES LATER
  • Norman is in the middle of a diatribe.
  • NORMAN
  • They’ve already served their time, why punish them anymore? They’ve been ‘corrected’, or you hope they have. And if it’s a life sentence, who are they really going to hurt anyway? Isn’t the family of the victim also unethical when they want someone to die in the name of capital punishment?
  • Norman takes a drag from a cig.
  • JAMES
  • Are you in law or something?
  • NORMAN
  • School. Just an ethics class. Makes you think, you know?
  • JAMES
  • I don’t like thinking so. It hurts my head.
  • NORMAN
  • You’re just like my sister. I pose the same question about the death penalty and she doesn’t want to think she just has an opinion she jumps to.
  • James takes off his shirt.
  • NORMAN
  • Why are you wearing two shirts anyway?
  • JAMES
  • I didn’t think it was going to be that.
  • NORMAN
  • Where have you been? It’s been hot since last week. I mean, c’mon. Who goes out and wears two shirts in 100 degree weather?
  • James, tired of hearing it-
  • JAMES
  • You were saying?
  • NORMAN
  • Saying what?
  • JAMES
  • Your sister.
  • NORMAN
  • Oh yeah. The death penalty. She’s like, yeah. Kill em. That’s what they deserve. I mean, what do you think?
  • James shrugs.
  • JAMES
  • Not sure really.
  • NORMAN
  • Oh yeah, you don’t like to think.
  • JAMES
  • Yeah.
  • NORMAN
  • But if you thought hard enough, you wouldn’t be wearing two shirts would you?
  • EXT. AM/PM – LATER
  • Norman holds the door open for James and they go their separate ways.
  • AT THE COUNTER
  • NORMAN
  • Want one?
  • James regards the Popsicle.
  • JAMES
  • Sure.
  • Norman pulls out a couple of bucks for the Popsicle.
  • NORMAN
  • Oh and this.
  • Norman grabs a newspaper from the stand.
  • James watches him closely - a little irritated for being there with him.
  • ON THE STREET
  • They suck on their Popsicles, trying to beat the melting process.
  • NORMAN
  • So yeah. I mean, law is cool. Thought about it, but you know. Maybe I want to get into like Sports. I like Sports Radio. Maybe I’ll get into media or something. You’re like an accountant or something right?
  • JAMES
  • Something like that.
  • NORMAN
  • Thought so.
  • JAMES
  • Really? How?
  • NORMAN
  • You just look like an accountant.
  • They head up the stairwell to their apartment.
  • HALLWAY
  • NORMAN
  • Well, stay cool. You’re gonna have to let me try some of that fried rice sometime.
  • Before James unlocks his door.
  • JAMES
  • Sometimes you don’t know why people do what they do. They just do. Does it make it right? Does it make it wrong?. Some people can argue yes or no. Different strokes. The bottom line is if that person thinks its right or wrong. Who are we to judge?
  • NORMAN
  • Okay… ?
  • JAMES
  • I’m just saying.
  • NORMAN
  • You been thinkin’! I know. I just wanted to make you think, you know? It’s healthy! Brain food as they say.
  • JAMES
  • Yeah.
  • NORMAN
  • Late-
  • James holds out a fist again.
  • NORMAN
  • Thanks for the ear bend.
  • James unlocks his door.
  • NORMAN
  • What’s the duct tape for anyway?
  • James pauses before entering. He looks over his shoulder and looks Norman in the eye.
  • JAMES
  • The bumper of my car.
  • Norman opens his apartment door.
  • Norman closes the door behind him. He locks the bolt. Stares out the peep hole and watches Norman disappear.
  • JAMES
  • I’m not a fuckin’ accountant you fuckin’ ignorant prick!
  • James punches the door hard. Pissed.
  • He grabs a small gun tucked inside his pant pocket and tosses it on the table next to the newspaper.
  • He passes the doorway of a bedroom and in the -
  • THE BEDROOM
  • A WOMAN sits in a chair but it’s tough to tell.
  • James crosses again and takes the duct tape out of the AM/PM bag.
  • This time we see the woman clearer.
  • She’s naked. Except for ropes that bind her to the chair. Her eyes are filled with fear as she sees James cross the doorway once again.
  • A gag is stuffed in her mouth. She is bound so tight she can’t even twitch.
  • James appears at–
  • THE DOORWAY
  • He pulls a strip of duct tape out of its roll and rips it off.
  • He approaches the woman and before he pulls off her gag pauses.
  • JAMES
  • Promise not to scream?
  • She looks at him, fear in her eyes.
  • JAMES
  • Promise?
  • She barely can nod but does.
  • He pulls the gag out of her mouth.
  • INT. NORMAN’S APARTMENT – SAME TIME
  • Norman, deep-throating the Popsicle, nearly gags, takes the newspaper out and lays it open on the kitchen counter. On the front page he reads a featured article aloud.
  • NORMAN
  • Third murdered suspect was raped first, then suffocated with duct tape? What a fuckin’ coincedence.
  • JAMES’ APARTMENT
  • WOMAN
  • Please, don’t hurt me. Please. I’ll do anything you want me to do just don’t hurt me.
  • James is ready to duct tape her mouth so she can’t talk.
  • NORMAN’S APARTMENT
  • He reacts. Looks toward the door.

  • JAMES’ APARTMENT
  • James secures the duct tape on the woman’s mouth and above her nose – to suffocate her.
  • She sobs uncontrollably – desperate to breath.
  • NORMAN’S APARTMENT
  • He looks down at the headline. It reads, “DUCT TAPE MURDERER STRIKES AGAIN”.
  • He looks up at his door.
  • FLASHBACK–
  • James stuffs his apartment key in his pocket.
  • JAMES
  • It’s all I have.
  • CUT TO:
  • NORMAN
  • What’s the duct tape for anyway?
  • JAMES
  • The bumper of my car.
  • BACK TO:
  • NORMAN’S APARTMENT
  • NORMAN
  • He doesn’t have a car.
  • Norman’s Popsicle splits in half, melted, and drops on the table.
  • JAMES’ APARTMENT
  • He finishes duct taping the woman’s legs and arms. He moves to her ear.
  • JAMES
  • I told you NOT to scream. And what did you do?
  • A knock on the door catches his attention.
  • FRONT DOOR
  • James holds his gun at his side and looks out the peep hole. It’s Norman.

Writing about writing - and a sidetrack on bratty dads

Posted in: Slice of Life on October 23, 2006 at 6:15 am by Glenn.

Working on the same story for four days straight really burns me out. I lose perspective. Taking a day off, getting some sleep, and refocusing on something else tends to help.

On Thursday I was thrust into a position where I crammed to write at Barnes & Noble for a while in order to prepare for a development meeting for that night. Things needed to be done by Friday morning and it just wasn’t going to happen. I was burned out by midnight and kept going a little more. We extended the deadline for Monday.

We continued on Friday night – lack of sleep from the night before but the reward - a majority of the writing and story done. Dale, Nhat and I finished around 11:00 PM and yes, I got into bed at a decent hour – but that doesn’t mean I slept. “Battlestar Galactica”, “Friday Night Lights” and “Heroes” waited for me on TiVO. I was asleep around 2:00 AM. And at 5:30 AM… Bella wakes up.

Saturday morning I gathered the kids, Jake and I got allergy shots, we stood in line at Porto’s Bakery for almost 45 minutes, we brought the food home, ate AND THEN… I got some sleep. I nice two hour nap, baby. I followed this with a 4 mile run in the 4:00 PM heat where I almost got killed by someone backing out their car in a driveway. I yelled, he apologized, and I went my way. Then we went to dinner at a Judge’s house. Isn’t that more interesting than saying, we went to dinner at our friend’s parents house? Our friend Cindy is visiting from up North and there was a dinner at her mom’s house: wine, cheese, a damn good BBQ and desert. Yum. I love going there. Good people, good food, good conversation. Its all good.

I fell asleep at 10:30 that night.

Then comes 5:30 AM wakeup call on Sunday morning by Bella. Again. I drag myself out of bed, make some coffee, and write. I get a couple of hours in the morning before heading to Liza’s house for breakfast/brunch. Then on to Jake’s game where I witnessed one of the most disgusting acts a parent can do at a baseball field.

I was so put off by this display of ‘attitude’ that I had a bad taste in my mouth the rest of the day.

There is a young dad on our team. His son is by far one of the best players on the team. There have been a few times where he has gotten on his son for poor play during practice and his son pouts, and walks off and doesn’t want to have anything to do with it. Well, on Sunday the first ball was hit to him. He fumbled with it and lobbed it over to first base: a lackadaisical play. We, as coaches, get on their cases: wake up, make a strong throw, lets stay alert out there! Well, this dad also gets on his son’s case about throwing the ball hard and our head coach tells him “let’s not get on his case right now”. I get it. It was the first inning, no big deal. Lets not rag on them for every little thing they do.

Well, this dad storms out of the dugout spouting off some, ‘fine – have ‘them’ play the way you think they should play’ and this dad goes into the stands, yells at his son and says, “Listen to me! You listen to me!” indicating – ‘don’t listen to the coaches’.

What the fuck?

He then storms off the stands and heads for the outfield where he sits, pouting like, well, like his son - a seven year old child.

Uh… now let me ask… where does his son get it? I’ve seen it from both of them now. Is this dad learning this behavior from his own child? Or is his child learning it from him? Hmmm, what do you think?

Un-fricken believable!

I feel so blessed because I have a son that when I give him an on the field correction like, “Jacob, what are you doing? Throw the ball to first base!” or “Jacob, pick up the ball and throw it right!” command, he takes it and does what I say. And if you hear me saying it its not all nice and stuff… It’s ‘coach-like’! It’s a mix of sarcasm, seriousness and frustration. Its, ‘coach-like!’. That’s what coaches do. I yell at every kid that way. Not just Jake. And I am self conscious about what I do and say, and I have yet to hear a parent complain about it. I think they generally like me. I hope.

Back to Jake…

When I ‘coack-like’ yell at him there’s no crying, no complaining, he knows what he did ‘wrong’ and readjust based on what I yell and scream. The only problem with him is that he has an excuse for every little thing he does. “I did papa, my foot just slipped.” “I almost caught it but I couldn’t reach it.” “I know, papa but the ball is wet.” ‘But this’, ‘but that’. The bottom line, he has an excuse because he knows he did wrong and next time, hopefully, he’ll get to it the way he’s supposed to.

Am I too hard?

Probably.

But I expect him (and the rest of the team) to do things out on the baseball field the way I know they can (on an individual bases that is). And at the end of the day I’ll say, “Good job”. And Jake is the first one to say, “I didn’t do too good today, papa.” And I can only say, “You did fine. At least you tried.”

But back to young dad above.

Here’s the bad part. The worst part.

The young dad is the 1st base coach. We, the team, and each kid that gets a hit relies on him to get them to first base and or have them head for second. Key word here is ‘rely’. We as a team ‘rely’ on him. We RELY ON HIM!

And where is childlike dad? Well, he’s not in the infield that’s for sure.

He’s off pouting about something the coach told him. Something the HEAD coach told him. The head coach that coaches his son’s team. The coach that teaches these kids how to play baseball because he’s been doing it for twenty odd years, damnit!

Let me break it down for you. Young child like dad basically turned his back on his son, the coaches and every single little kid out there playing the game. He TURNED HIS BACK ON EVERY SINGLE MEMBER OF THE TEAM. He turned his back on the parents, the time and effort each family puts into this game and most of all… he disrespected baseball in every way.

Baseball deserves respect. It demands respect. When you walk away from it because a coach tells you something, you just bought yourself a one way ticket out of baseball respect in my book. And its not as simple as just walking away. I have to reiterate this…

HE TURNED HIS BACK ON EVERY MEMBER OF THE TEAM FROM THE CHILD OUT ON THE FIELD TO THE MOMS AND DADS WHO TAKE TIME OUT OF THEIR DAY TO GET THEIR KID TO PRACTICE AND TO THE BASEBALL FIELD EVERY SINGLE WEEK.

Yes, that’s how I absolutely see it.

I teach Jacob every time he doesn’t feel like playing that it his responsibility as a member of a team that relies on you that you should show up and play. It’s HIS responsibility as a member of the team.

Don’t we as parents have MORE responsibility than that when it comes down to our kids playing on a team?

HELL YEAH…

And when you TURN YOUR BACK on them, you turn your back on everyone. Where’s your responsibility to the team?

Fuck it.

I ain’t EVER going to do that to my kid – walk out on him and his team because I was told to ‘keep it down’.

Now I can hear it - “I didn’t walk out on my kid, I walked out on the coach.”

If that’s an excuse, then yeah, you walked out on your kid and all the other kids on the team.

Let me ask, Where the FUCK where you when you’re kid hit the ball… or when my kid hit the ball… or when Susan’s kid hit the ball? Were you there to tell them to run it out and round 1st? You were supposed to? Where were you?

I tell Jake to suck it up all the time. Well, my young immature dad, suck it up yourself.

Hell, I was even scolded from the scorers box for doing something I didn’t know I did. It was embarrassing and I would have rather not shown my face, but I sucked it up and went back to the third base box every inning. Fortunately, the dad who scolded me apologized in the end and that was that. Now that’s where you gain respect from an individual. I find no respect in someone who, and here’s my point… walks out on a whole baseball team – not just his kid, but the whole team because the head coach told him not to get on his kid’s case ‘right now’. Yeah I heard it. The coach has already told me to keep from shouting too many commands and let the kids play. Made me feel inadequate, but heck… that’s what he said, he’s the coach and you DO WHAT YOU ARE TOLD TO DO without crying about it like a friggen’ little baby.

Hey… isn’t that what the kids are supposed to do too? DO WHAT YOU ARE TOLD TO DO WITHOUT CRYING ABOUT IT LIKE A FRIGGEN LITTLE BABY?

Well, maybe some parents and dads need to learn a little about being a ‘coach-able’.

Hopefully this seven year old will continue to be ‘coach-able’. Because unfortunately, his dad sure isn’t.

‘nuff said about that.

Now back to writing.

Sunday: Whew… it was a long day already. I skipped out on my play date – an 11 mile run with Steve – and focused on writing. I went to Barnes and Nobles after Jake’s game and wrote for an hour, then ate dinner at Liza’s and brought my laptop with me. Squeezing in moments of writing here and there helped me finish what I needed to finish faster.

Dale and Nhat showed up around 8PM and we went over every word, every beat, every scene, every character nuance and finalized a 9 page beat sheet, a character breakdown and a 13 page writing sample. It will be turned in at 2:00 PM today.

I got into bed at 12:30 AM and watched “Grey’s Anatomy” and “Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip”. There wasn’t much sleep once again but I’m okay. I am looking forward to a going away party tonight for Donna as she starts her new job this week.

Looks like I can’t sleep again.

I should re-title this blog, The Sleepy Sleepy Writer.

And that, as they say is… that.

Jake said Anal…

Posted in: Slice of Life on October 21, 2006 at 7:51 am by Glenn.

So Jake was looking at Gordon the Goldfish, who by the way turned 1 year old on the 16th, and asked me, “Do you know why Gordon is so fast?”

“Nope”

“Because his dorsal fin makes him glide really fast.” he said matter of factly.

I was like, “What about that fin in the back? The back fin - what do you call it?”

“You mean his tail? It’s… it’s called ANAL fin.”

ANAL FIN!!! AHhh hahahaha.

I swear I laughed out loud. I mean, come on… you would too. He said ANAL! There’s something about a six year old kid that says ANAL that sounds so damn funny.

Tell you kid to go up to daddy and say, “You know what the fish’s tail is called? ANAL FIN!” and don’t tell me he won’t chuckle.

Okay… maybe.

I guess you had to be there.

Happy Birthday, Gordon!

Yawn…

Posted in: Slice of Life on October 20, 2006 at 6:10 am by Glenn.

I’m so friggen’ tired. I tossed, turned, rolled over, tried to watch TV, tried to sleep with the TV on, tried to sleep with the TV off – nothing worked. I got into bed at past midnight – around 12:30ish. I watched the latest episode of “Heroes”, got called by Jake at 2:00 AM about wanting to sleep in my room. Told him ‘no’. Then woke up at 4:00 AM in the middle of the script I’m writing. Yeah, I was in a scene trying to figure out why “Sin” and “Moses” get separated. I was working the 2nd half of the 2nd act out in my sleep. What the? So I decided to get into the shower at 5:00 and its cut short due to Bella calling for me… I’m like, “I’M IN THE SHOWER!” Thank goodness she didn’t wake up Jake. She just sat on the bathroom floor and watched me brush my teeth and get ready for work. This is an hour earlier than normal by the way. I get her some warm milk, get her changed for school, plop her in front of the TV and get on my computer to write.

Yawn.

What does this day have to offer? Stress at work probably. I got an email last night, sent at 5:30PM, by my boss. I was in a development meeting with Dale and Nhat and I mistakenly decided to check ‘work’ email. It was an, “I found an error in the totals” email. Damn. And since I didn’t have my jump drive (because I lost it damn it) I couldn’t check the totals and had to carry the weight of the “error in the totals” on my shoulders all night long! So yeah… that’s what I have to look forward to.

How am I going to make it through the day today? And I have to do it all over again tonight!

YAWN.

Jake is awake.

Oh… it’s my cousin Desmond’s birthday today. Hope he got some sleep. He’s old. 46. ;)

Remember when ‘gay’ meant the other thing?

Posted in: Slice of Life, Squint Stuff on October 17, 2006 at 6:05 am by Glenn.

Blah.

Blah blah blah, blah blah blah blah…

I feel it… its one of those blah-blah days. My alarm rang at 5:00 AM. I thought I had just fallen asleep as I tossed and turned and turned and tossed. Damn coffee at 10PM does that to you. I knew I should just drink water or something. But I downed a cup of coffee as Dale, Nhat and I went from scratch and finalized characters for our script. Story is changing slightly, more twists and turns that we have to figure out how to work in, and dreams of success snuck into our development meeting as we talked about the future.

We rehashed that one fateful pitch meeting. We rehashed how our mouths dropped and the world seemed to go into slow motion as we heard dollar amounts with more than one zero in it. It all went so slow yet so fast it was incredibly fantastic.

We had about twenty minutes before heading into the office that one fine day, and we practiced our pitch around the corner about a block and a half away. We went over it several times, taking turns, getting our ‘say’ into it. We took deep breaths. We assured each other that everything would be all right. I for one wanted to get it over with. I wanted to go in now! I couldn’t wait and kept saying, ‘lets go.’

Before we headed up the street Nhat said that no matter what, good or bad, rejection or praise, we would NOT say anything until we got back to this spot. We agreed, and with apprehension, fear, excitement and anxiety, we walked to Mr. Producer’s office.

It was exactly like the books say it is. Assistant answering phones, transferring calls, working diligently on the computer while we sat and waited. We heard the producer on the phone throwing names like Zooey Deschanel and something about ‘gap’ funds of 700… We heard him take many phone calls and someone in a suit walk in and out of his office for a casual conversation about doing lunch or dinner or something.

We sat.

And waited.

And then we were welcomed into a cozy room where right after we introduced ourselves and were about to start our pitch he took a phone call. It had something to do with kids and soccer games, a dance class and mother in-laws.

We waited patiently.

And then it was on… We did everything we practiced and we fought through the difficulties of the situation. It wasn’t perfect and he even said, “We have something like that already.” Which is the kiss of death.

But we plodded on. Pictures were laid out, I clutched my manila folder with 10 pages of the script in my hand ready to hand it over. Was he thinking, “What does this guy have in there?” I don’t know.

Then another phone call and this time he left the office leaving us with ‘something to think about’ and making us sit there - to wallow in desperation – what do we do next?

10 minutes later he comes back, sits back down and controls the conversation. Suggesting scenes, suggesting story ideas, suggesting characters and requesting due diligence on our part.

What did all that mean? We were in there longer than expected. Its only supposed to last 2-5 minutes. 10 minutes max. We needed to get out. We were running dry. Our parking meter was almost expired. How do we find out if we were a team of destiny or just a team that will get a pat on the back, a hand shake and a thank you for coming?

“So, where do we go from here?” one of us asked. I think it was me. Did I say that? Where did I have to balls to stop the meeting and ask the most hardest question ever? Dale had prepped me, we ask, “So do we have a deal?” or “Do you want to read the script?” Neither of those two questions seemed to work in this situation although somewhere after I asked that question, I offered him 10 pages of the script and I pulled it out of my folder.

And that’s when we were hit with it. Something about risk. Something about he’s good at what he does – and he is good. Something about 15 people, back stabbing and 3 out of 15 are great success stories. Something about ‘a break’. Something about paying us for what we do now, a 1st option and a 2nd option. Something about giving our social security numbers and drafting a writers agreement or something. Something about don’t let me down and we nodded like little kids promising their parents about getting good grades. Something about not being afraid to call anytime to discuss the story or ask questions.

Next thing you know we were outside, walking across the street. Can we cut through there? I’m hungry. Let’s eat. Thai? Fast food? I know a place. Yeah perfect.

What was this conversation? What was going on in our heads? What did we just hear?

It was like the scene in “Annie Hall” when Alvy and Annie are talking on her balcony and they are saying things but what they really mean, the subtext, is in subtitles.

Here’s our “Annie Hall” scene.

EXT. OFFICE – A HOLLYWOOD, CALIFORNIA MID AFTERNOON

DALE (almost 40 but can be carded at any time), NHAT (the young stud who has been mistaken for Jet Li at times), and GLENN (a dazed and confused closet cynic) walk out of Producer’s office.

They cross the street without paying attention to traffic or possible tragedy. Dazed expressions, scratches of their heads and small talk to avoid silence escape their mouths.

                      NHAT
                Can we cut through there?

SUBTITLES: “Holy Shit!”

                      DALE
                No. We have to go around.

SUBTITLES: “Five hundred what? How many what? Double what?”

                      GLENN
                I’m hungry. Let eat lunch.

SUBTITLES: “Did I hear what I think I heard? Or did I not hear what I think I heard?”

They round the corner. Smiling like a bunch of stoned idiots.

                      NHAT
                There’s a KooKooRoos close by, or
                something like Thai or Chinesse.?

SUBTITLES: “Holy Shit!”

                      DALE
                That sounds good. Lets eat.

SUBTITLES: “A second deal? A part two? What’s an option again? What’s 2 times 1500 divided by 3 times what?”

                      GLENN
                Thai is perfect.

SUBTITLES: “Did I hear what I didn’t hear? Or did I not hear what I heard?”

They reach the spot in which they stood more than an hour ago.

                      NHAT
                Is this where we were?

SUBTITLES: “Is this where we were?”

                      DALE
                Yup.

SUBTITLES: “Yup”

They stop and like they just won a game of Pictionary smash into a group hug, yell for joy and jump up and down.

                      DALE
                YEAH!!!

SUBTITLES: “FUCK YEAH!”

                      NHAT
                OH MY GOD!!!

SUBTITLES: “HOLY SHIT!!!”

                      GLENN
                WHOOO!!!

SUBTITLES: “I did hear what I heard I heard!!”

The three FOOLS jump up and down, arms around each other’s shoulders, walking like The Monkies going leg over leg down, ironically enough, Santa Monica Blvd. (’boys town’) - where this time, ‘gay’ is taken in the forgotten definition of: “having or showing a merry, lively mood”.

And on to the Thai Restaurant to rehash the past hours miraculous event.

So yeah… blah blah blah…

It ain’t so bad to have one blah day when you have one of those awesome days to make up for it!

It’s Friday the 13th.

Posted in: Slice of Life on October 13, 2006 at 5:03 am by Glenn.

How appropriate that Dale, Nhat and I are working on a horror script.

I’m not really spooked by the whole Friday the 13th lore, but I have to admit it crosses my mind. Knowing its Friday the 13th triggers an ‘oh shit’ feeling and as that feeling comes along it goes away.

The other night I was spooked though. Dale was dropping me off at home after a long development meeting on said horror script and he told me a story that freaked me out. He was asleep in his car ‘guarding’ our equipment truck during the filming of “TAG” when a pickup truck drove up behind with their lights off. He was frozen, leaning back in his chair, and he just watched them through the rear view mirror. He doesn’t know why they left, maybe they saw him, but they just looked at each other, then backed down the driveway and went away. This was in the middle of the night – maybe 3AM.

So I’m a little spooked by the whole thing – he really made the story freaky – I was like, can you watch me till I get to my door? - NO, I didn’t say that but I thought it! So I moved to my front door faster than normal so that he’d still be on the street while I got in my house safely. Whew.

Then I get in bed and see this shadow move across my bedroom window. I have NEVER noticed that shadow – ever! I figured it was the tree right by the window. And sure enough, it was.

There’s a light that illuminates from the neighbor’s back yard. It then casts shadows on my window. EVERY NIGHT. But for some reason, on this night, the wind was calmly blowing the tree branches and it literally would look like someone quickly moving past my bedroom window.

And yeah, I was satisfied after I looked outside BUT… as I lay there in bed it happened again. And I HAD TO CHECK ONE MORE TIME!

That’s how freaked out I was. Just to make sure. Just to make sure that I didn’t miss something. My fear was that I’d look again and sure enough, there’d be someone there - his face pressed against the window, watching me and saying, “I’M GOING TO KILL YOU GLENN!!!!”

I made sure the curtains were covering the window completely so nobody could see in.

I watched the window for a while and it happened every so often and I just got chills so I turned on the TV and fell asleep with the TV on.

Freaky.

Anyway, what’s your favorite horror movie? I don’t really have one that stands out but I do consider “Requiem for a Dream” a horror film and yeah, that could be my favorite. But on the lines of ‘true’ horror, “The Ring” is my favorite I guess. Talk about sending chills up my spine. I can’t even watch it again. The first time was the best.

So Dale, Nhat and I have developed a horror/thriller story. I’ve written 10 pages of the script and we have a solid story that I could probably finish the script in a week. Dale has researched pitching, loglines and synopsis and is obsessed by it - thank god someone in our team is! I forgot everything I’ve learned about pitching. I even took a class on pitching. I hate pitching! Dale reminded me of everything I forgot so listening to Dale was like a refresher course. I hate loglines and synopsis’. They just don’t tell the story, give enough character and more importantly, ‘my voice’ that can be found on the page. At least I can’t seem to make write them so they do. Its something I have to work on more. BUT… I love to write – scripts and freeform – and that’s what I do best. Now I have to write a treatment. Nhat has been working hard on story and character – and together the three of us make an awesome team.

Here’s our final logline: “Roamers is a horror/thriller about five friends bound by a tragic past who reunite on a remote tropical island. Things turn deadly as their past comes back to haunt them. They band together to fight for their lives and escape a vicious and merciless killer.”

Yeah so?

We used it in our pitch for a big time producer. Followed by a line, “In the vain of I Know What You Did Last Summer with touches of the surfing movie Blue Crush and the Television Show Lost”. Then with visual aides we showed the weapon and some awesome boogie boarding pictures.

The producer, who, by the way, seems like a really great guy was receptive, full of great stories and ideas and a positive attitude. It was a pitch meeting just like any book says its like. We wait, we meet, the producer gets several calls, he leaves us for a few minutes, we continue and there’s that awkward moment of what happens next. We expected a, “Keep on writing” or “It’s not what we’re looking for right now” or something like that.

Well, a writers agreement is being drafted as we shook on a deal.

It was more of Nhat’s charm and ‘our team’ that was sold and the story was “interesting”.

He told us about taking risks on people. He told us about people letting him down but sometimes its a success story. He told us not to let him down and we all spoke up - WE WON’T!

So yeah, we basically agreed on a deal.

Nice.

We celebrated with Thai food in Hollywood, a few pictures by the waitress to remember the moment, and then we all probably settled down from our high and got on with our lives. I did - with an attempt of sleep.

Next week - more hard work - a beat sheet and a 10 page Treatment.

Now, how do you write a beat sheet again? And yep, just like pitches, loglines and synopsis… I hate treatments!

Life as a writer. Hopefully though, I won’t be Hungry Hungry… just “Hungry”.

I lost my jump drive…

Posted in: Slice of Life on October 8, 2006 at 9:15 pm by Glenn.

You know, the portable little hard drive that you keep in your pocket, wallet or keychain? It holds tons of info, from as low as 32 mb to 256 mb, 1 gig, up to 2 gig I believe… Its the best invention ever as I stated a year or so ago in a post…

Well… IT’S GONE!

I’m in denial. As if it’ll just show up somewhere. I think I lost it somewhere at Jacob’s game yesterday so the kids and I went back to look where it could be. Its gone. Forever.

Unless someone finds it and is kind enough to bring it to me.

Nothing ‘real’ personal is on it.

Except for ALL THE SCRIPTS I’VE BEEN CURRENTLY WORKING ON!

What’s on it? Resumes, Financial Analysis, Links, Excel Macros, Pictures, Fantasy Sports information, blog entries, but most importantly, my TRAINING LOG AND MY SCRIPTS AND WORD DOCUMENTS!

I last backed up two months ago. WHAT AN IDIOT! I hate starting over. It sucks big time. There’s no guarantee to this crap. A couple of years ago my hard drive crashes and EVERYTHING is lost. Now… what I thought would be ‘secure’, something I keep with me at all times, is gone. Lost. Forever.

I want to just get drunk. Put myself out of my misery for a while. I’m going to go through the normal steps of a loss… denial, anger, acceptance…

Now what?!??!?

SOMEONE PLEASE FIND IT, BE NOSEY ENOUGH TO LOOK AT IT, BE SHERLOCK HOLMES AND SEND IT TO ME!!!

Thanks.

JumpDriveLess forever.

My new, er, endurance sport?

Posted in: Slice of Life on October 5, 2006 at 5:13 am by Glenn.

Here’s what I’m training for. Its tough. Probably one of the toughest things outside completing an Ironman or even an Ultramarathon. And probably tougher to train for or complete than the Endurance50 (50 Marathons in 50 Days in 50 States).

I’m memorizing “pi” to the, I don’t know, one-hundred-ten-thousandth decimal.

Why? Because I want to beat this guy…


Math fans marvel at pi feat
BY MARGARET REIST / Lincoln Journal Star
Oct 5, 2006

OK, so there’s this guy in Japan who recited pi to 100,000 decimal places by memory on Wednesday. Certainly it’s a lot of numbers that, as far as mathematicians can tell, follow no pattern, go on forever and would require a lot of brain power to remember.

Akira Haraguchi, a 60-year-old mental health counselor, spent 16 hours spitting out the 100,000 numbers (between recorded bathroom breaks), landing himself, he hopes, in a world record book.

Here in the Heartland, such a feat is impressive, if not the sort of thing that makes one wonder whether Mr. Haraguchi has too much time on his hands.

“Wow, that is a nerd,” said Southwest High School math teacher Tom Ahlschwede, a self-proclaimed math geek who two years ago lined up 1,000 students, each holding a digit of pi.

The line snaked around the school for a half-mile.

Nice illustration for a teacher trying to get students to understand the wonders of pi. And really, just a cool thing … in certain circles.

“As a math nerd, that was a crowning achievement,” he said.

Pi, if you’ve blocked out every high school class you ever took, is a the ratio of a circle’s circumference to its diameter.

Ahlschwede celebrates pi day — March 14, in honor of the famous number: 3.14 — to show kids pi is something special.

“They just assume it’s a button on their calculator and it’s much more than that.”

Like a great vehicle to end up in a book of world records, an accomplishment some see as an impressive memorization feat, but not such a mathematical wonder.

“It’s not mathematics,” said Allan Donsig, University of Nebraska-Lincoln associate professor of mathematics. “It’s like memorizing poetry doesn’t make you a poet.”

So what about the mathematical challenge of actually figuring out pi to 100,000 decimal places?

Well, that’s a different matter.

It would take a bunch of pencils and yellow legal pads and days or months, said Dave Fowler, UNL math education professor. But these days, there are other ways.

“I’d look it up on the Internet.”

And if pressed, he’d be able to recite pi to 20 places.

“When we were young, we thought it was cool to learn it to 50.”

Which, in some circles, makes Akira Haraguchi infinitely cool.

I’m at… 3.14159 er… 2? I forget the 2 after 9. Tomorrow I’ll do another one.

It took Akira Haraguchi sixteen hours to recite the 100,000 decimal places of PI. HELLO!

Lance Armstrong, Faris Al-Sultan, Peter Reid and Dean Karnazes… my endurance athlete heroes… guess what… move over - there’s a new Endurance Athlete that is kicking some serious butt and his name is… Akira Haraguchi!

You don’t think I’m serious?