The Matchmaker

My friend Matt is getting married in May, and informs me that he has deliberately seated me next to a young woman who recently graduated from Harvard Law and is entering a corporate firm by the name of Bonecrusher & Bonecrusher, despite having ABSOLUTELY NO INTEREST in law or its corporate variants.

"I thought you two might have a lot to talk about," says Matt.

We'll see. I don't have much interest in life-coaching, although I have been known to invent a good catchphrase to illustrate the necessity of following one's own path. ("That is a really good line," says Matt. "You'll totally fuck her up with that.")

Anyway, the conversation reminded me of another anecdote.

I once volunteered in a homeless shelter with a group of young Emory University alumni. These being Emory grads, their idea of helping the homeless was congregating in a corner as far away as possible from the destitute, and performing completely useless tasks that provided no direct benefit for the shelter residents.

I met a young woman whom, like many Emory graduates, worked in some anonymous corporate capacity: consulting, finance, corporate law. She told me she found her job unfulfilling, and secretly harbored wishes of a dream job.

The dream job was matchmaking. She said she held an uncanny talent for knowing whether two people would hit it off, and had successfully connected several of her acquaintances in relationships. She wondered whether she could parlay that talent into a full-time job.

I told her not only that she could, but she should. It's exceedingly rare to meet someone with such a specific dream job; the specificity of the dream implies its intensity.

She demurred, and repeated the mantra of every young graduate of what used to be liberal arts colleges (and now function as young consultant mills):

"It's not practical."

I often find myself telling the story of this young woman, mainly because a) her life trajectory is so archetypal among my fellow Emory alumni, and b) because of the discrete, quantifiable consequences of this young woman's trepidation.

The consequences for her professional life should be obvious. Decreased job performance, less fulfillment and satisfaction: the usual litany of job-related complaints.

But one also has to wonder: how many people are single and miserable because this girl couldn't step up and DO HER JOB? How many people have missed meeting the love of their lives, because she wasn't there to make it happen? How much less happiness is there in the world because this girl came up short? In her case, the collateral damage wrought by her failure to act becomes all too clear.

And on a completely irrelevant (but no less significant) note, I will also note that this was an attractive young woman, most likely single. And I can't speak to the quality of her love live at the time, but I can raise a hypothetical question. Whom would you rather date: the girl who is pursuing her dream, or the girl making somebody else's Powerpoint slides?

If she knew how much rested upon her decision, I am positive she would have decided differently.

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)

THIS IS POST NUMBER TWO HUNDRED

It was not that long ago when I wrote that you only needed to attempt something 200 times in order to acheive the impossible. Well, here I am - a semi-regular blogger, and if that isn't impossible, I don't know what is. It's amazing that I made it this far, considering that this blog is the unloved and forgotten endeavor of all my creative output.

In celebration of this momentous milestone, here is the only blog post from me you will ever need to read, the ONE TRUE UPDATE regarding my life:

After inventing a new productivity technique for writing screenplays with Huili, I was riding my bike down Larchmont. I startled the blackbirds, and then suddenly found myself reminiscing about Stefanie, and the time I urged her to take responsibility for her destiny. I was late for yoga class, but I could afford to be late because I don't work for a living, which is TOTALLY SWEET. I entered the studio, where hot, flexible girls complimented me on the brightly-colored t-shirt I bought on sale at a fancy boutique in Shanghai. I told them how little I paid, and how I had to save my money because of all the worthless stock options I walked away from at my old job, and they were very impressed. Then my yoga instructor showed up and taught us all this awesome new pose involving pillows, and then we had ramen with monkfish liver afterwards, with ice cream and banana pancakes for dessert. It was a great day. And what's more, Judy predicted all of this a year ago!

Jonathan: Dude, I suck.
Me: Yeah, totally.

Download: Some Random Song That Is Only Tangentially Related To This Post [MP3]

You know what the amazing thing is? This is not an inaccurate description of my life. If you had told me two years ago (has it been that long?) that I would write something even remotely resembling the above paragraph regarding my life, I would have looked at you askance.

But much has changed since I began this adventure. I have caused much excitement to happen in my life, and when I couldn't cause any, I have managed to find some in the ordinary and the simple.

And that is as good a description of my blogging process as any.

The most surprising thing about this blog is how powerful it has been in connecting me to all kinds of people: stalkers, well-wishers, strangers, litigators, classmates, acquaintances. I'm pleased that so many of you have spared a moment to enjoy this process with me.

And I'm pleased to inform you that there will be no shortage of material in the near future. The only question is how much of it I can safely include in this blog.

The Rock Star of Astrology

Last weekend, I had a chance to attend a two-hour presentation by astrologer extraordinaire Susan Miller at the local Apple store.

I figured a few folks would show up to talk astrology with Ms. Miller.

What I did not expect was a store packed wall to wall with women jumping and yelling and pleading for Ms. Miller to do their charts, shouting out extremely technical questions regarding astrological minutiae (nodes, planets transiting houses, that sort of thing). Women of every age, ethnictiy and socioeconomic background, no less.

I know chicks love yoga. What I didn't know, apparently, was that chicks L-O-V-E astrology.

What was fascinating about this exercise was that none of these women had any hesitation in standing up in a room full of strangers, giving their actual date of birth, and then asking the most personal of questions regarding their love lives and careers.

(I was also continually awed by my repeated tendency to underestimate the age of a given woman by five, sometimes ten years. Then again, most of them were actresses. A belief in astrology is a prerequisite for the acting profession.)

One lady actually started crying during her reading, and Ms. Miller had to take a time out in order to give her a hug. And because the one lady was crying, you KNOW the other ladies had to start crying too.

It was all very Oprah.

As for myself, Ms. Miller informs me that someone with my birth data (Leo sun, Sagittarius ascendant) should anticipate once-in-a-lifetime events in both personal and professional spheres to commence posthaste. This, of course, is news I have received before. Internal consistency among the league of supernatural middle-aged ladies is definitely a good thing.

I came away from the presentation not entirely convinced by Ms. Miller. She is a very enthusiastic and engaging personality, but I found her prognostications a bit vague for my taste. I am perhaps a bit spoiled by a tarot reader who will gladly open the closet of my current infatuation and pull the skeletons out one by one. (Just ask Stefanie - she's heard the tape - AND IT MADE HER CRY.)

The thing that most unsettled me about Ms. Miller's presentation, however, was not the astrologer herself but her fans. The central question of astrology, at least for these aficionados, is: "When will this event happen to me?" Which is entirely different than the central question of any conversation I have with Judy the tarot reader. That question being, "How can I best cause this event to happen?"

Two fundamentally different questions, implying two fundamentally different views of the universe.

I know which one I like.

Halloween Is A Four Day Weekend

I'm the boss. So what I say goes. I'm off to San Francisco.

Speaking of Halloween, I rececntly had a phone conversation with Miranda, Huili's daughter. She is six now, was born in Los Angeles, but raised in Europe, and now has a slight British accent that makes you feel like you're in an Oliver Twist movie: "Why yes, Miranda, of course you may have more porridge!"

Miranda: I don't want to go to Los Angeles. I only want to go if I can fly on the back of a bird. Birds are my favorite animals.

Me: O rly.

Miranda: Yes. One time I went to the zoo, and we saw dead owl chicks and my dad said they weren't going to feed them to the owls, but they did! So we had to leave.

Me: Hey, Miranda. Do you like... CROWS?

Miranda: ...yes.

Me: Excellent. Let me tell you about my favorite Shinto god...

Miranda will make a perfect convert to my new favorite religion. Yatagarasu demands it.

Yatagarasu Is My New God

A few months ago I converted to the Shinto religion. Dude, it's WAY better than Christianity.

I was writing at my office away from the office: the green at the LA County Museum of Art.

I was working on a difficult scene - the entrance of the villain - and getting frustrated. The sun was setting. It was getting cold. I was ready to give up.

And then something unusual happened.

Crows began to descend upon LACMA. And not just a few - an enormous, angry flock, darkening the sky. They lazily and endlessly swirled around a grove of trees, cawing incessantly. A rondo of discord.

It was scary. So I left.

But I also took it as a sign not to give up. Because my villain - the one I was writing about when the birds arrived - is a crow.

His name is Yatagarasu. Who is he?

1) Three-legged crow.

2) Japanese Shinto deity.

3) Messenger to the sun goddess Amaterasu.

4) Mascot of the National Japanese Football team, proudly adorning the jersey I wear to yoga.

5) The dastardly villain in my screenplay Lobsters vs. Butterflies.

7) A demon who fights on your behalf in my new favorite video game Persona 3. (And yes, he is on my roster. He's got a lethal ice attack.)

As you can see, this bird is a constant companion in my life.



As if that weren't enough, I've been spending the past few weeks attempting to master the Bakasana yoga pose - also known as CROW POSE. You can see my instructor demonstrating Bakasana above (Yes, that's really her, and not some anonymous hot yoga model. She loves her leg warmers.) Every time she asks for requests during class, I'm the first to call out, "Crow!" My classmates HATE ME (when they aren't totally loving me, that is). But the upshot is that I can hold this pose for almost ten seconds.

A substitute instructor of mine said, "Bakasana can be also translated as crane pose, as well as crow pose. I prefer crane. Crows are elegant - but they're also kind of naughty."

Lady, you have no idea.

Happy Halloween.

Three Pieces of Asian Wisdom

Right before I quit my job, I attended a lecture by a Buddhist monk on the subject of meditation. I was curious because all of my training in meditation is taken from Hindu traditions, and I wanted to know how the Buddhists roll. Buddhist meditation, as it turns out, is complete weaksauce. Buddhists totally suck at meditation. However, I still remember that lecture to this very day, because of a story the monk told about a Buddhist master finding his guru.

The master was supposed to meditate in a cave until the guru appeared, but kept giving up and leaving, only to encounter typically Buddhist moments of inspiration which would draw him back. On one particular occasion, he journeyed from the cave until he encountered an old man rubbing an anvil with a feather. He stopped and asked the old man what he was doing.

"See how the feather leaves a trace on the anvil as I draw the feather against it," said the old man. "If I continue as I have, I will BREAK THIS ANVIL IN HALF."

I love that story. I was reminded of it in the process of researching Lobsters vs. Butterflies, which contains a couple pieces of Japanese wisdom. The first is a Japanese proverb:

Nana korobi, ya oki. Fall down seven times, stand up eight.

Pretty good, eh? I'm still trying to figure out where exactly to insert that nugget of sage advice. The second comprises one of my favorite monologues in the movie, and it's taken from the Hagakure, the book of samurai wisdom that was an inspiration for things like the attack on Pearl Harbor and the rape of Nanking.

"Young men should discipline themselves rigorously in intention and courage. This will be accomplished if only courage is fixed in one's heart. If his hands are cut off, he will strike with his hands. If his hands are cut off, he will press the enemy down with his shoulders. If his shoulders are cut away, he will bite through ten or fifteen enemy necks with his teeth. Courage is such a thing."

Of course, these aren't just proverbs and folk tales I'm putting in the script I'm writing.

They are allegories for my career.

Everything I Know About Fashion: Denim Edition

The buttons on my jeans say: "Denim is dead." I know what they mean. Are we all just really going to wear jeans for the rest of our lives? Pretty much. And so the rivets on the same pair say, "Long live denim."

Here's what I know about denim.

1) Ignore the labels and focus on color and texture. You'll be less likely to make a mistake.

2) The darker the blue the more useful. The lighter, the more casual. However, if the color is so dark it can not be easily discerned as a shade of blue, you've probably gone too dark.

3) The more ornamentation on the jean, the quicker it will go out of style. I personally think that color, texture, and cut are much more important than fancy stitching or distressing.

4) The slim straight leg cut is the one that will last for the foreseeable future. The bootleg cut is diminishing in popularity, and that's too bad, because it flattered everyone - which is precisely why fashionistas have started wearing skinny jeans that normal people can't fit into. My preference: a slim bootleg, with flaring so subtle you barely notice it. See: Crate Denim.

5) Try on multiple pairs of the exact same size. And then try on multiple pairs of the neighboring sizes. Quality control among jeans manufacturers is notoriously lax, even among high-end labels. You're more likely to get the perfect fit by trying on as many pairs as possible.

6) It should be an effort, but not an impossible one, to button the top button. The jeans should feel tight and snug around your hips and waist. Jeans only get looser as they break in - they don't get tighter. So you want a very snug fit.

7) Turn around and check out the rear view. It's actually just as important for guys to do this as it is for girls. Your curves should be discernible. It should not look like a circus tent back there.

8) Have a seat. After all, this is how you'll spend most of your time in these jeans. How do they look? Are they comfortable? Are the legs riding up? Is the seat too low?

9) The break. This is how the fabric hits your ankles. Some people, like me, prefer a clean break, preserving the lines of the jeans. Others like the fabric to scrunch up around the ankles. Whatever you choose, make sure the back of the leg touches the floor when you try them on in your bare feet.

10) Most jeans don't shrink, so don't count on achieving a perfect fit through the laundry. If they do shrink, it'll be length-wise; jeans will never shrink around your waist.

11) Some garments only get better-looking with age and wear. Raw selvage denim is one of them. I'm talking about dark jeans that come with a warning label which cautions you to stay away from light fabrics and upholstery. As you wear these jeans, the indigo slowly rubs off, and they develop unique wear patterns. The downside? You can't wash them. Ever. Please consult Google for ways of mitigating this. The warning label on a pair of Crate Denim jeans says: "Do not wash. But if you wear stinky jeans, your girlfriend may not make out with you. Your call."

12) Know what the new hotness is? Rigid grey denim. Not soft grey denim, mind you. If you can find a pair, you'll know what I'm talking about. Rock 'em. You won't regret it.

13) You simply don't know until you try them on. Words for buying jeans. Words for life.

To be continued in Part 5.

Peeling Off Retail Stickers

I used to suck at peeling off retail stickers - price tags and the like - from things I purchase. I would tear the sticker, or worse, leave a sticky residue. This inept tendency eventually discouraged me from peeling off stickers at all - I would resign myself to the sight of the effluvia of commerce.

But I've since discovered the secret: a stoic equanimity to endure the protracted task of pulling millimeter by millimeter, combined with a forbearing willingness to reverse or change course if necessary.

Apparently, I've become a much more patient person.

Fomenting the Revolution

I was at a social gathering a couple nights ago, trading workplace horror stories with some other folks, and generating quite a bit of laughter, especially from the young ladies.

(You have to wake up pretty early in the AM to beat me at the workplace horror story game, as I used to work for the video game industry. Whose resume is iller than mine is?)

Anyway, as a young woman laughed and lamented her inability to escape her own workplace, I gave her the whole spiel about handing an infant to a stranger, and how her employer was not watching over her best interests.

Her smile immediately vanished, and her expression turned intense.

"You're right," she said.

And I could immediately see the beginnings of a new plan forming in her mind. Now that's what I'm talking about.

Afterwards, another young woman said to me, "You should write a blog."

You don't say.

When A Compromise Is A Betrayal

There is absolutely no shame in showing up to sit at a desk every day, doing what other people tell you to do. It pays the rent. It gives you health insurance. It allows you to plan for a safe and knowable future.

The shame lies in pretending that this course of action is your highest dream, your greatest goal, when in fact, it is a way of deferring precisely these things. It is a terrible betrayal of the self.

Of course, people don't call it a betrayal - they call it a compromise. As if someday, in the ineffable future, the act of betraying your own dreams might actually provide provide the money and time to manifest them.

Your employer is not responsible for your best interests. You are. If you are coasting along in the job, assuming that your boss or company will take care of you in the long run, you are being irresponsible.

You are handing an infant to a stranger.

Beck, The Beach, Stefanie, and My Knee

A long time ago, when I was working for the good old video game company, I used to take long walks on the beach after work. I was miserable - Stefanie had just kicked me out of her life after the kidnapping, and I was working on well-intentioned but mediocre video game under a well-intentioned but mediocre manager. I even got hit by a car while crossing the street coming into work.

On a weekend.

It was a lonely and unfulfilling time, to say the least.

There were only two things I really enjoyed during that era. Beck's album Sea Change on constant repeat (as sampled here, and now you know why I chose that song) and the Santa Monica beach, where my office was located. I remember walking (or limping, as the case may be) up and down the beach, watching a hundred different sunsets, asking when, if ever, my life would truly begin. Each of those walks was a prayer to a dead god - not only did I not have an answer, I wasn't sure one existed.

I often wondered during that time, if and how and when I would be rescued. I had no idea that I would do it myself.

Nowadays, I ask the question, when will my life truly begin? And the answer is always the same: IT BEGINS NOW. And when I answer that question, you can see the angry nine-tailed demon fox that lives inside me, burning behind my eyes.

As for the knee, the doctors said it would never be quite the same - that I would always experience a bit of wobbliness. And they were right, for a time - the knee remained a bit wobbly for over four years - and then I took my first yoga class.

The knee is stronger, more flexible than it ever was. It can do lunges. It can support and balance the weight of my entire body on its own. It can run three miles at a seven minute pace. It serves as a pointed reminder of that time - of the job, the beach, Beck, and Stefanie.

And how I made it through.

And also how - and this is the important part - I cannot and will not go back to any of that.

Why Film School Tuition Is Totally Worth It

One of my classmates recently wrote a movie starring Kate Hudson and Owen Wilson. He's writing another starring Morgan Freeman and William H. Macy.

Another created the hit television show "Criminal Minds" for CBS.

Another is a staff writer on "30 Rock". She just won an Emmy.

And then there's me.

Wait 'til you see what I'm gonna do.

It's taken seven years to get to this point. But still.

We only had thirty students in our class.

That means film school gives you at least a ten percent chance of making it big. It may not sound like much, but in Hollywood, a ten percent chance means you are robbing the house.