Praying For Rain

Los Angeles is cold, wet, and miserable. The rain is coming down, and it's not letting up.

Usually, I'd be unhappy about this turn of events. This is not the Los Angeles I know. For the past one and a half years, I have ridden my bike to yoga class wearing shorts. Every day. Until now.

But in this particular instance, I'm rooting for more rain.

Because something awesome is going to happen if Southern California gets enough rain. And the more rain we get, the more awesome it will be.

And I will travel to the place where the awesome something will be, and I will take pictures. And by doing so, I will be living a dream that even the likes of Tom Cruise cannot fulfill.

Get excited.

Best of This Blog: Celebrity Encounters

Eight Surprising Things About Movie Premieres

A Command Performance From Beck

I Think I'm Gonna Bomb A Town

Baby Kidnapper, Torturer, Yoga Classmate

Cheap and Easy Epiphanies For All

Things I've realized as a result of the Mystery of Pico Iyer:

1) This is taken straight from Iyer's The Lady and the Monk: you cannot find what you are looking for, if you are looking for it. But if you do not look for it, it will surely find you.

2) You can hire a psychic. You can have an awesome plan. You can follow your gut instincts. Life will gladly let slip a glimpse of your destiny - and then take you by surprise anyway.

3) Life is only as strange and wonderful and exciting as you are brave.

4) Things that appear to have no extrinsic meaning - a random book, the yoga class you wandered into because you were bored, the punk rock concert - often turn out to be the most meaningful of all. Because of this, you must treat your whims as seriously as your most heartfelt dreams. They are often the same thing.

The Mystery of Pico Iyer - SOLVED

Six months ago, I was walking down the street, past my neighbor's rose garden, when I heard a voice in my head say two words clearly and distinctly: PICO IYER.

I thought this was a very strange thought to have, because I had no idea what these words meant. I dismissed the thought, only to return home, receive a copy of National Geographic in the mail, open it up, and see on the contributor's page: the name Pico Iyer.

So I googled this author and discovered that he had written a travelogue called "The Lady and the Monk", which is set in Kyoto. By sheer "coincidence", I was headed to Kyoto in a week. Naturally, I read the book.

And I was convinced that this was FATE, that something magical was waiting for me in Kyoto, that a voice inside my head had told me to read this book FOR A REASON. And I ended up going to Kyoto and having a very good time. But nothing particularly magical or auspicious happened there. So I felt like I hadn't quite grasped what the voice was telling me.

Only about a couple days ago, I finally figured it out. And it's huge. And I think I need to go back and reread the book RIGHT NOW.

Unfortunately, it's going to be a while before I can reveal the purpose of the mysterious voice inside my head, its reason for making me read a travelogue by a writer I had never heard of. This is a reminder to everyone not to let me off the hook - the next time you see me, maybe a year from now, be sure to ask, "Hey, what was the deal with Pico Iyer?"

Best of This Blog: What To Do With Your Life

How NOT to Find Your True Calling - author Po Bronson shatters the myth of: "If I wait until I earn X amount of money, then I will do what I REALLY want."

When A Compromise is A Betrayal - in which infants are handed to strangers. And the hands are yours.

The Matchmaker - countless young men and women are going to die alone because a cowardly Emory alumna couldn't DO HER FUCKING JOB.

A Proposition Wager At The Grove

The Grove is an outdoor mall designed in the faux-period style of several Las Vegas casinos, resembling a combination of Italian piazza and the town square of Hill Valley from Back To the Future.

As I was passing by the obelisk that stands in the center of a cobblestoned road, I noticed a group of boys gathered around the large flowerbed.

One of them was holding court, announcing to the others: "I will jump this." Some heated discussion ensued among the boys, during which the boaster reiterated: "I will jump from here, over these flowers, to the other side."

At this point, I stopped in my tracks and turned. The flowerbed was immense, around fifteen feet wide. The boys gathered around the boaster; money exchanged hands. Then the boys set up a defensive perimeter araound the flowerbed, each of them checking to see when his section of road was clear of pedestrians.

The defensive perimeter was not something that had to be discussed. It was instantly executed, as if the boys performed dangerous feats around one another on an hourly basis.

The boaster retreated towards the direction of Barney's Coop. Paused. The other boys gave him nods. He took a deep breath. And then charged directly at the flowerbed with a powerful but jerky, asymmetrical gait.

He sprang up and sailed across it, wobbling upon his ankles as he landed.

He cleared it with a foot to spare.

Even the moms pushing stollers cheered.

Girls, Hiking, Psychics

At lunch the other day, my friend GP asked me if I'd ever read the book Travels by Michael Crichton.

Of course I had. In fact, I first read the book almost ten years ago off of GP's recommendation. Funnily enough, GP hadn't actually read it at the time - he had just heard it was really good from someone else.

"Yeah, I was wondering, because the book has a lot of stuff you like," said GP. "Hiking, psychics..."

No shit. This blog is a shameless ripoff of Travels, down to the format and content. Crichton's book is unlike anything he's ever written. It's a series of unconnected chapters, loosely organized around a handful of recurring themes: girls, hiking, psychics, Hollywood, and medical care.

Sound familiar?

I loved this book when I first read it as a film school student, mainly because it made the life of a Hollywood filmmaker sound so freaking awesome. Crichton has a new girlfriend in every chapter, and these are cool girls, the kind of girls who will climb to the top of Mt. Kilimanjaro with you and even beat you to the top. He has a travel agent on retainer, one who is constantly arranging trips to exotic locales (with aforementioned cool girlfriends). He is directing Sean Connery in complicated action movies. He is wandering out to the middle of the desert and having spiritual epiphanies. He is offering suggestions for improving the health care system. He is skeptically consulting with various psychics, and repeatedly having his mind blown.

Think of the book as Eat, Pray, Love with a macho injection of human growth hormone and anabolic steroids. When I first read it, I fantasized about leading such a life.

Cut to ten years later. The funny thing is, I've done or experienced a sizable portion of the things Crichton wrote about.

And I'm looking forward to hitting up the rest.

Best Of This Blog: How This All Began

In this edition of this blog's greatest hits, we explore how the question of: how the hell did I get here?

The Moment I Decided It Was Time To Quit My Job - a scene from a bad Cameron Crowe movie.

The Plan - a brief summary of my goals and intentions for my time off.

The Budget - all the financial details of this adventure laid out in pornographic detail. With pie charts!

How I Saved The Money - the short answer is: rent control.

My Epic Lunch - my first day after quitting. Awesome.

A Small Confession - this is actually the SECOND time I've quit my job to write.

Hollywood Part I and Part II - how I ended up on the cusp of whatever-dom.

What I Did Over Winter Break

1) Walking the dogs in the woods near my parents' home. It's always a lot of fun to see the dogs freak out when I grab the leashes: "OMFG! We're going outside!"

2) Gambling at the Indian casino in Oklahoma. Previously, I wrote that the Windstar Casino was so low-rent that there was no free alcohol on hand - only a self-serve soft drink dispenser. Well, the Chocktaw casino has Windstar beat; they don't even have the soft drinks - they just have jugs of summer camp bug juice, with a stack of styrofoam cups next to it.

The interesting thing is that after a full day of gambling at an Indian casino, we still wanted more action, and ended up playing dominos with a $5 buy-in per round. I would have made out like a bandit, had my brother's ex-girlfriend not showed up and stole my pot from under me.

3) Hitting the outlet mall in Allen, TX and buying absolutely nothing.

4) Playing video games. For the past two years, I've been playing Final Fantasy Tactics every time I come home. I am now approximately two-thirds of the way through the strategy role-playing epic. Unfortunately, this year I put FFT on hiatus: Jonathan brought the Xbox 360 home from college, so I immediately hit up Blockbuster and came home with The Orange Box and Call of Duty 4. Good times.

5) Eating at Braum's multiple times. The burgers are decent. But it's really all about the crinkle cut fries, which remind me of the fries in my school cafeteria. Also, the shakes are made with real ice cream, and good ice cream, to boot.

6) Catching up with high school classmates. I finally was able to meet the two young offspring of my friend David and his wife. He was driving through Dallas on his way to Houston, and asked me to meet him at a Chick-fil-A. I thought this was an unusual venue, until I arrived and found that the restaurant had a glass-enclosed playground. "So this is why," I said. "Yup," said David, turning his children loose.

I was talking to David about yoga (of course), and his 5-year-old daughter immediately butted in and said, "I do yoga!" "Really," I said. "What's your favorite pose?" She spread her arms and legs out, and said, "Warrior 2!" "Mine, too!" I said.

I brought a giant box of Jelly Belly as gift, and at the end of our visit, David told his daughter, "If you go to the bathroom and clean up, I'll give you three jelly beans." "More," she said. "Okay, four." "Five!" "Okay, five." I turned to David and said, "Dude, is your daughter signing clients? 'Cause I think I found MY NEW AGENT."

7) Conducting sting operations. I bought a gift certificate from the Levi's store to give someone as a gift, and promptly dropped it on the floor of a busy mall, whereupon it was immediately snatched up. So I went back to the store, and asked if they could void it. After a week of back-and-forth, they did it, but told me it would take another week to get a refund. During that time, I was informed by a helpful employee, someone showed up with my gift certificate and tried to spend it. "DID YOU HANDCUFF THEM?!" I asked. The employee laughed. She told me that the person had received the item as a gift, and was severely non-plussed at being informed that it was voided. Plenty of embarrassment to go around for both the "gift giver" and the recipient. So folks, the lesson here is: when you find an unredeemed gift certficate on the ground - SPEND IT IMMEDIATELY.

8) Christmas mass. Even though I have a letter from the pope informing me of my excommunication (or so I tell my mom), I generally try to hit up mass when I'm home for the holidays. My childhood church is now a festering pit of pushy white bread soccer moms, so we attended a new church that was much nicer.

Best Of This Blog

You know how sitcoms from the eighties used to have flashback episodes, where the characters would sit around and fondly reminisce about glories past, with their memories curiously resembling footage from prior episodes? Yeah.

First up: the most popular photograph on this blog, by any criteria of your choosing. Nothing else even comes close.

New Year's Resolutions

1) Pay More Attention. To everything. All the time. I consider this to be the golden panacea of new year's resolutions, because it will manifest a number of important desires in my life: everything from keeping small and important pieces of paper in my hand to smoothing the rougher edges from my relationships with other people. Not to spoil the ending of the "Crash Course in Women" series, but it is not so much about women as it is about the value of careful observation.

2) Learn To Draw. There used to be a time in my life when I was constantly learning new things. This was not so much a factor of my inquisitive nature, but of the fact that I literally used to KNOW NOTHING AT ALL; there was a moment when using the toilet by myself constituted a huge advance in knowledge. But as I grew older, the number of truly new things I learned steadily decreased.

Ask yourself: what was the last truly new thing you learned to do? For me, it's yoga, and that turned out pretty well. But digging back further, it gets more difficult. Would I consider the Lua programming language to be something new? Hmm.

Proponents of neuroplasticity claim that there is a huge cognitive benefit to learning new things, and I believe them. I'm picking drawing because it's a skill that doesn't overlap with any I currently possess; not to mention that it's a skill that I often find myself wishing for in my work. (Being able to draw my own storyboards would be oh so very helpful.)

3) Take More Photos. I kind of regret not having more photographic documentation of my life. I'm not one of those people who can whip out gigantic photo albums of me and my friends holding the alcoholic beverages of our choice, and I kind of regret it, actually. Plus, I really need to really work on my photography techniques. Even when I encounter something I know will make a good photo, I don't necessarily have the technical ability to capture it. And that's frustrating.

4) Listen To More Music. As we get older, our preferences tend to ossify. It becomes all too easy to eat the same foods, to listen to the same music. I try to make a deliberate effort to resist this tendency. It's difficult, but necessary. Music, in particular, is heavily tied to my writing process. An appropriately powerful piece can carry me through an entire scene - it's the nitrous oxide of screenwriting. But the effect is inversely proportional to the number of times I've heard a piece of music - which is to say, songs get old. So if I don't expand my musical tastes, an important well of inspiration will go bone dry.

5) Read More Books. I read more books in the past year than I've read in a long time, and it still doesn't feel like I read enough. I happen to think that books represent something undervalued in our culture: slow-cooked, well-cultivated knowledge. Which leads me to my next resolution.

6) Cut Down On The Internet. The repository of heavily processed, high-calorie, nutrient deficient knowledge. There was a time when spending time on the Internet represented a competitive advantage; you could acquire rarer information more quickly than those around you. But since the internet has become ubiquitous, that advantage has steadily eroded; that nifty new idea you learned? That Flash animation technique? That obscure remix? One hundred million other people have seen the same exact thing. So if you happen to be an artist looking for creative inspiration (i.e. ideas to steal), the internet is not necessarily the best place to be. In fact, the internet now represents a competitive disadvantage, mainly because it devours so much free time.

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)