My Consumer Debt Cherry

Today I received a check in the mail from my credit card company. It's a balance transfer check in the amount of one-and-a-half month's expenses. I have a zero percent interest rate on this loan until December of 2008. Plenty of time to pay it back, unless of course, I miss a payment, in which case the rate skyrockets to the prevailing APR of upwards of 17%.

This instance represents the first time I have ever assumed credit card debt, and I'm actually kind of thrilled to be popping my consumer debt cherry. It's almost a rite of passage among filmmakers to max out multiple credit cards to finance a film project. So I feel like I'm earning my stripes.

But I come from a particular socioeconomic background, and telling my friends that I am running up a credit card debt to finance a personal sabbatical is akin to telling them that I am aborting the fetus inside my uterus. It doesn't go over so well, needless to say. I get a lot of winces and pained looks. Everyone insists on paying for my meals when I'm visiting, which is very endearing, but an incredible overreaction. I have an unlimited monthly yoga membership AND a gym membership, for crying out loud. Does that sound like poverty by any definition of the word?

While I was in San Francisco, my friend Vij asked me, "What if you can't pay the card off in time?"

"No problem, Vij," I say. And then I serve it raw.

"I'll just liquidate my Roth IRA."

I really think he was about to cry. Poor Vij.

This is a guy who is carrying six figures of debt from medical school. And I'm only going into a measly four figures for hollywood player school!

Everything I Know About Fashion, Part 5

Previously: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

Everything I've written thus far regarding fashion can be boiled down to one question:

Am I more likely to get laid by hypothetical hot strangers while wearing this article of clothing?

Note that this single question eliminates a good ninety percent of the merchandise on offer at the Gap. Poor Gap.

It's an effective criterion, but also a blunt one, mind you. I'm pretty sure this is not the guiding standard of Dutch women, who could easily teach American women a thing or two about how to clothe themselves. Perhaps I will have the opportunity to ask a stylish Dutch woman in the near future, in which case I'll report back.

I add the "hypothetical" qualifier for married folks, because really, washing the dishes without being asked probably goes a lot further than a nice sweater. The supply and demand curves for sex have to be drawn a little differently for wedded people.

Unless, of course, they are in my yoga class. But that's another story.

My Yoga Instructor Leaves

This is how I always think of my instructor: shining and sparkling on Rodeo Drive. Parsvakonasana (side angle pose) is one of her specialties - and now, by extension - one of mine.


One time, my yoga instructor approached me prior to class, and whispered urgently:

"ROBERT! Oh my god! I accidentally put on my pants inside out! I have no pockets! What am I going to do?!"

And then she flapped the fabric of her inverted pockets at me, and I laughed out loud.

That's my instructor for you. She is always - utterly and uniquely - herself. She has a simultaneously funny and intense way of galvanizing an entire room with her presence, inspiring to people to reach, to push, to try.

Her business card says, "Yoga Instructor", but what it really should say is, "Furnace". When she is teaching, she is so enthusiastic and passionate, the entire studio - a room the size of a basketball court - fills with her boundless energy. She stands there and just RADIATES, generating heat for all to absorb. Her students, including myself, are warmed by her presence, and exit the studio ready for the cold.

My yoga instructor left two months ago for a somewhat unexpected hiatus in Arizona. During that time, I've been dutifully practicing, hoping to master crow pose by the time she returned. And just recently, I got the hang of it - meaning that I had mastered the entirety of my instructor's move set.

I had learned just about everything she had to teach me.

And that's precisely when I learned that she would not be return to the studio, hearing the word from the yoga studio employees.

During my last class with her, I suspected that something was up. She was emotional to the point of tears, and made a point of making me demonstrate a handstand for the class, which was an ongoing tradition between the two of us. At the end, she demanded a hug from me, and squeezed me so hard that the buckle of my bag dug deep into my chest, causing me no small amount of pain. All I could think of during the hug was:

"This woman is so strong, she could end my life right now, if she wanted to."

And then:

"That is so hot."

But I was happy that she was moving on, because I knew she would do just fine in whatever life she chose for herself. And I was right; within a month of leaving the studio to go on hiatus, she a) fell in love, b) found a new job, and c) decided to move across the country.

Many words have been written on this blog about seizing one's destiny, but she is one of those who has never needed to read any of them. Indeed, I think she and I are kindred spirits - which is precisely why I found myself taking her class to begin with.

Now I am rotating among several different instructors, many of whom recognize me as my instructor's most devoted pupil and assume that I am in mourning. If I am mourning, I'm not the only one - every classmate of mine whom I've informed of the news has reacted as if someone in their immediate family died. My practice is definitely not the same. If if hadn't been for my instructor, I would never have made it to three hundred yoga classes. Not even close.

So what's next?

My instructor is a member of a particular ninja clan called Anusara Yoga (as opposed to rival clans Hatha and Iyengar and Bikram), and there is another ninja at my studio who was trained by the same master. In fact, the two instructors are good friends, and the other has been patiently keeping an eye on me, waiting for me to step into her dojo. You see, this new instructor is twice as difficult and advanced as my instructor. She subbed a level one class I took once, and it was easily the most difficult level one I've ever taken. The new one returns from HER hiatus in January, ready to introduce me to my new pain threshold.

I'd also like to make a metaphysical point about the departure of my instructor. I believe that when a significant presence in your life departs, it is to make room for a new presence. This has been true time and time again, especially with every figure who has ever taught me a valuable life lesson. Granted, I have a new instructor arriving, but I don't think she's going to play the same role in my life - only one can be the first, after all.

So the question is: who will this new presence be, and what will be their purpose?

The Shame of Reading US Weekly

One of my newest projects, only beginning to gestate, is a movie about Britney Spears. I know very little about Ms. Spears, except a passing familiarity with some of her music. But I have an intriguing idea for an movie with a character based on her public persona.

So I've recently begun reading US Weekly in the supermarket checkout lines, because the periodical has the best Britney Spears coverage, hands down. In the past three weeks, they've run a story on Ms. Spears' geneaology, the "secret fantasy room" in her mansion, and the creepy bodyguard/hanger-on that has been seen escorting her around town here in Los Angeles. All great stuff for the research file.

But it's really kind of embarrassing reading the magazine in public. Carrying a yoga mat around took a bit of getting used to. But carrying a yoga mat and reading US Weekly at the newsstand on Larchmont? Kind of emasculating, quite frankly.

I'd consider subscribing, but US Weekly is really expensive; the publisher clearly prefers the reader to buy on impulse.

Note The Sidebar

New feature added to the sidebar: a list of upcoming topics to be addressed, under the heading "Coming Attractions". I usually work from a queue of topics, so I figured I'd make my process a bit more public. I tend to binge blog, and the sidebar should serve as fair warning.

Keep in mind, though, that the list merely consists of topics under serious consideration. Some posts, such as "A Membership Drive For Lurkers", may never see the light of day, if the post doesn't come together in an insightful manner during the drafting process. "A Crash Course in Women" is not exactly the surest bet either, depending upon what the current state of my life is.

Lists of Things I Sold (And Didn't)

Three Most Valuable Items (Non-Video Games) I Sold

1) Raymond Weil Tango Watch ~ $250
2) Lego Robotics Kit (x2) ~ $200 each
3) Canon Powershot SD200 Camera ~ $100


Five Most Valuable Video Games I Sold

1) Castlevania: Symphony of the Night (Playstation, sealed) ~ $100
2) Lunar 2: Eternal Blue (Playstation, sealed) ~ $100
3) Lunar 1: Silver Star Story Complete (Playstation) ~ $80
4) Metal Gear Solid (Playstation, sealed) ~ $50
5) Suikoden 1 (Playstation) ~ $50


Five Most Valuable Things I Still Own

1) 2001 Honda Accord ~ $11000, can't sell
2) 2004 Apple iBook ~ $500, can't sell
3) Little Nemo's Adventures in Slumberland (1st ed.) ~ $200, won't sell
4) Brother 2070N Laser Printer ~ $100, can't sell
5) Radiant Silvergun (Sega Saturn) ~ $100, won't sell

My Life For Sale

In the book All My Life for Sale, artist John Freyer sells every single last thing he owns on eBay, netting about $5000 in the bargain. I must be wealthier than him, because I've only sold off only a quarter of my belongings, and have made about $3000.

To give you an idea of the magnitude of this purge, I can nearly fit all of my belongings in my car, excluding my furniture. (This is a claim which garnered a "Get the hell out of here!" exclamation from my stylist.) My closets are filled only with things I touch or use or wear on a regular basis. I now own only two kinds of things: stuff I love and stuff I need.

There is something addictive about this kind of simplicity. Once you've experienced it, you want your entire life to be so elegantly sparse. You scrutinize your belongings with a merciless eye, looking for just one more thing you can get rid of, just one more inch of beautiful space you can create in your life. Getting rid of stuff becomes a near-religious ritual of cleansing, like colonics for your apartment. It just feels oh-so-very good.

And it's a pursuit that allows you to connect, in very small ways, with people one would never encounter otherwise. I've sold video games to a poet in rural Mississippi, a soldier in Iraq, a kid in the Ukraine. Every time I've addressed a parcel for delivery, I've marveled that someone in such a distant locale and I had this one thing in common: we are fond of the same obscure Japanese video game.

A mother from Stone Mountain, Georgia, who purchased a Game Boy Player for her children, wrote this about me in her feedback: "He is truly honest." I was kind of touched by that.

Every person who purchased something from me has directly contributed to the success of this small adventure. And to my surprise, what appeared to be very simple transactions of goods and money are actually something more: a small reminder of the ways in which we are all connected to other people.

My Biggest Worries Ranked By Importance

Here are my biggest concerns at the present moment:

1) Finishing my screenplay, Lobsters vs. Butterflies
2) Stuff I shouldn't be blogging about.
3) Strategizing against my would-be overlords at the movie studio.
4) Will Naruto be able to rescue Sasuke from the clutches of Orochimaru?
5) Putting the finishing touches on my workout mixtape.
6) Should I return that jacket? Will I ever find a jacket that fits?
7) Making a good Croque Monsieur.
8) Figuring out my yoga schedule.

...

21) Update my blog?

...

37) The fact that I am slowly but surely spending every last dollar I have.

First of all, I'm a college freshman again. Second of all, about that number thirty-seven.

At my current rate of spending, assuming I earn no income (which granted, may not be a good assumption), I will be completely broke as of May 1.

And that's very good news.

I was originally supposed to run out of money in November - that is, sometime last week. But I have two screenplays that are rather close to being ready for the next phase of Operation: Hollywood Takeover, tentatively scheduled for early 2008.

So a number of parties (including, but not limited to, my parents) have stepped forward to provide some measure of assistance. And I've undertaken some truly drastic measures to buy myself just a little more time.

All of this should provide for no small amount of vicarious pleasure for readers of this blog, some of whom are the sort who live very certain and stable lives, and make regular contributions to their retirement accounts. These folks tend to project their financial anxieties upon me, as I represent the living incarnation of their worst fiscal nightmare.

What can I tell you? If you want to make dreams come true, this is the cost of doing business.

I am much more concerned about #1 than #37. But I know that writing about #37 is going to make for some very exciting blogging, whereas #1 doesn't.

I do not wish to worry any of my readers, especially my parents, by making it sound like I am having a miserable time going broke. In fact, the opposite is true: I'm having the TIME OF MY LIFE going broke.

And I also don't want to ruin the ending here. But if you think this little adventure is going to conclude like anything other than an Ocean's Eleven movie, complete with a horn section erupting into crescendo, sunglasses being adjusted for proper fit, and a lot of high fives, you're probably reading the wrong blog.

What I am saying is: don't worry.

However, we are definitely moving into the scary part. And I, as a writer, am duty-bound to milk the tension and drama of this act for all it's worth.

Download: All Sewn Up - David Holmes (from the Ocean's Thirteen Original Soundtrack)