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.

Everything I Know About Fashion, Part 3

Previously: Part 1, Part 2

9) Buying sale merchandise is fine. Some women attach a stigma to buying things on sale. These women are stupid and frivolous - do not date them. The fashion industry is a pretty big scam, all things considered - even the most expensive pair of jeans cost what - twenty dollars to make? And ladies, did you know that when you wear Juicy Couture, you're actually wearing Liz Claiborne - the official brand of middle-aged librarians? What I'm saying is, the fashion industry has all sorts of ways of convincing you to pay much more than the clothes are worth - stigmatizing sales is yet another one of their tricks.

10) On the other hand, If you know exactly what you want - and can find it - then go ahead and spend the money to get it. Enjoy your life.

11) Think twice about getting something because it's functional and cheap. That money could be spent towards something lethal and durable. Do it enough times, and you get a closet full of functional and cheap, with no room or money left for lethal and durable.

12) The Matrix. When considering a garment, think about how many other garments in your wardrobe this item can be worn with. Also consider if the garment can be layered with other garments in the winter. The idea is to maximize the possible number of permutations in your wardrobe. If something is expensive and can only be worn with only a few other items you own, pass.

13) Wear the damn clothes. Don't buy stylish expensive clothes and put them in the closet for a special occasion. This is called hoarding, and Jesus can't stand hoarders. From now on, only wear your best threads, even to grocery store. Life is too short to wear your scrub clothes.

14) Clothing is inherently ephemeral. Almost nothing stays in fashion for more than two years - and even if it does, a) it'll either wear out, or b) you'll get tired of it. Think of your closet as a project that must be occasionally renewed, and not a museum.

To be continued in (hell yes, I can do this all day) Part 4.

Yukari, Junpei, Mitsuru, and Me

Persona 3 is a game that attempts to model one academic year in the life of a typical Japanese high school student, albeit one who just happens to stumble across a hidden hour between midnight and 12:01 am, during which a hitherto unseen tower rises from his school campus, and disagreeable demons emerge. The game, like high school, is a challenge of time management. Do you study for mid-terms, go on a date with your sweetheart, or save the world from demonic evil?

This is a game which will require, at my current pace, about eighty hours to complete. I'm halfway done.

Do I really have this kind of time? I can justify the allocation by pointing out that Persona 3 serves as research for two upcoming projects: Pillow Crisis 2(!) and another project which serves as my attempt to become The Greatest Final Fantasy Fan Fiction Writer Of All Time.

But ultimately, I admit that you cannot devote eighty hours of your life to something unless you really, really enjoy it. Here are just a few of the reasons why I enrolled at Gekkoukan High:

1) Getting lost on the first days of school because the campus is so big and unfamiliar.

2) Knocking out demons with a baseball bat, and ordering my classmates to go in for an all-out melee. Never gets old.

3) Everybody - the ditz, the jock - is hiding a secret. And they all have serious issues.

4) The hierarchy of demons is based on the tarot deck, with demons being grouped by allegiance to cards (Hermit, Magician, Death) from the Major Arcana. Being a huge fan of the Rider Waite tarot deck and a certain lady who uses it, I adore this detail.

5) Running into my acquaintances at random places (the subway station, the shrine) in town when school lets out.

6) Listening to the girls in my combat unit complain about the lack of fashion sense in the body armor I give to them.

7) Being given the option to fall asleep in class as a means of regaining stamina to fight demons later in the evening.

8) Pop quizzes on the difference between the Paleolithic and Neolithic ages. And actually having to pay attention during lectures when the teacher says, "This will be on the exam."

9) The simplicity and beauty of the allegory of kids with repressed (inner) demons that represent their traumas and their strengths. They have stuff inside, and they just have to get it out.

10) The charmingly Japanese notion that strong academic performance correlates strongly with one's desirability to high school girls, and in turn, one's ability to fight demons.

11) Going on spring break and attempting to mack on (only to get shot down by) college chicks.

12) Casual acquaintances (the neighborhood dog, the friendly grade school kid) reveal their greater significance in your life with time. Just like real life!

13) Going to see the school nurse when I'm not feeling well.

14) The oppressive structure and amount of ennui in my life - I had almost forgotten how simultaneously busy - and how boring - a high schooler's life is.

How To Accomplish The Impossible

Very simple.

You attempt the thing you want to accomplish 243 times. By the time you get to attempt number 200, the end of the tunnel should be in sight.

I say this because I've gotten to the point where there are only a few yoga poses I can't do. I told my instructor the other day:

"I don't think there's anything you can throw at me I can't handle."

"Oh really."

"Yeah. You heard me. YOU HEARD ME."

"Uh, well... that's good!"

You know I've gotten good at something when the smack talk begins. I'm probably the only yoga student on earth that likes to talk shit to his instructor.

Anyway, I remember there were so many times that I thought to myself, "I will never be able to do this pose." I was convinced that it was impossible - that I had reached the limits of my body's strength and flexibility. But every single time, I was wrong.

If you saw me in my first class, you'd never believe what I can do now. I'm so flexible, that if I had a uterus, I'd be ready to start making babies. No drugs necessary. That's how open my hips are. I can throw up a handstand like it ain't no big thang now.

Which led me to the question today: how many classes did it take for me to achieve this level of mastery? I asked the person at the front counter, and he dutifully added up my tally in his head, and said:

"243 classes since April 2006."

"Sweet!"

"Excellent work, Rob."

You know, 243 times isn't even that much. If you attempted to do something impossible every day, it's not even a year.

My point is: most feats thought to be impossible wouldn't even take a year to accomplish.

I think entire lives could change with that small idea.

Everything I Know About Fashion, Part 2

Previously: Part 1

5) Be colorful. It works for peacocks, and I'm pretty sure we humans obey the same evolutionary biology. So many guys are afraid of wearing colors, and wearing them gives you such an edge. Every time I wear lavender or lime or pink, it's inevitable - a female will make a point of stepping forward to compliment me. I was talking about this with Ting, Stefanie's BFF, and she said, "But wait a minute - won't girls think you're gay?" And then she immediately followed up with, "Oh wait - if they stop to think about whether you're gay or not, they're in your back pocket." Smart girl.

6) No article of clothing should ever be pointedly uncomfortable to wear. There are too many clothes out there that look and feel good to waste your time with discomfort.

7) Do your homework. Make a regular habit of entering stores and trying on clothes, especially in expensive places. It's the fastest way to develop good taste - to know what is stylish and looks good on you. Then you can either buy things that aren't as expensive but look the same (girls do this all the time - it's called Forever 21 with their knockoff Diane Von Furstenberg dresses), or wait for things to go on sale (again, girls).

8) Corollary to the previous rule: try on clothes at places you would never normally shop at (because you don't think you're the target demographic). You'll be surprised, and it will inject new blood into your closet. I have things in my closet from all kinds of places, from thrift stores to Barney's Coop. Combine the two, and you'll get a pretty unique outfit.

To be continued in Part 3.

The Best Sunset In The History of LA

Occurred yesterday. It had been raining on and off all day. Driving south on the 101, the sky was filled with an immense rainbow, arcing through the sky, big thick bands of color. The freeway appeared to be headed directly towards the end of rainbow. And if that weren't enough, there was more than one. Everywhere you turned, another massive rainbow curving above the city.

I've lived here quite a while, and I've never seen anything like it.

Everything I Know About Fashion, Part 1

Most men tend to underestimate exactly how tight their clothes need to be in order to get laid.

This is something I've learned as multiple individuals have asked over the past year or so that I go shopping for clothes with them. I don't know why people ask, as my personal fashion philosophy is to do and spend the absolute bare minimum to be stylish.

But for future reference, here is everything I've learned about men's fashion:

1) Don't depend on the opinion of a woman. The cliche is: shop with a woman. PLEASE. The opinion of a woman is valuable, but not THAT valuable. Remember, women are the dummies who are killing themselves trying to fit into skinny tapered jeans that don't flatter anybody, the ones wearing ugly leggings in the winter and hiding their stems from me (who thought this was a good idea?), the ones wearing baby doll dresses that make them look like dowdy infants. That being said, most women have more of a clue than you. Ultimately -- You have to do this by yourself.

2) Practice brand agnosticism. You may discover a particular brand that you love, and decide, in an effort to make shopping easier, to buy from that brand (or store) exclusively. This is a mistake because 1) every brand falls off eventually, and 2) diversity will always be more stylish than monotony. The only loyalty you want to practice is to your own body; things either look good on you or they don't.

3) Proper fit is more important than everything else. A retailer for frat boys and high schoolers makes dress shirts that are pretty cheap and not particularly remarkable. But they are the only dress shirts that are slim enough to fit snugly around my torso and shoulders - and because of this fact, end up looking much more stylish than shirts that cost three times as much. Of course, in a perfect world, I'd spend five times as much to get the cut, color, and pattern right, but the world is not quite that perfect yet. Fit is especially king when it comes to denim - more on this in a bit.

4) Never buy anything that is branded. Unless the logo is extremely small and inconspicuous. Not only because you don't want to be someone else's billboard, but because you want to keep people guessing where you shop. If they have to guess, congratulations: your taste is somewhat unique.

To be continued in Part 2.

This Workout Will Kill You So You Can Live Again

So you want to be a writer. Do you think you can handle the physical demands of the job?

My routine:

Yoga - five days a week
Weights - three days a week
Running - once a week

Do the math. That's more than one workout per day. That's right -- Friday Night Lights, y'all -- I'm a high school football player doing two-a-days.

Why do I do this to myself?

1) Increased Energy. You know that awful feeling you have when you're leaving your office job at the end of the day - that combination of physical and mental fatigue brought on by the copier toner and monitor glare? It's a most mysterious malady, especially considering that the life of an office worker isn't particularly strenuous. It's my suspicion that this feeling is that of your soul expiring. I haven't experienced it in ALMOST TWO YEARS.

2) Method writing. One of the characters in Lobsters vs. Butterflies has endured a particularly grueling physical training regimen her entire life, and spends most of the movie coping with extreme amounts of pain. In order to understand what she's going through, I am attempting to emulate her routine. When people ask me, "Why yoga?" I tell them, "Because there aren't any ninjutsu studios on Larchmont."

3) Preparation for child-rearing. This is somewhat tongue-in-cheek. Everyone I know who has kids has pretty serious neck and back problems from lugging their offspring around. I ain't going out like that. (Speaking of children, someone recently offered me a free sonogram of all things, and I said, "Yeah! Let me get someone pregnant, and I'll take you up on that.")

4) Free iPods, shoes, and food. My running group not only lends me the services of a babysitter/pacesetter who keeps an eye on my safety, but also loans me state-of-the-art running shoes and iPods. Not to mention the nutritionally balanced meal afterwards. And the best part: it's all FREE.

Japanese People Are Evil

And I can't stop writing about them.

Progress on my new script, Lobsters vs. Butterflies, has been slowed lately by the entrance of Japanese characters into the scene. (They are Japanese lobsters, you see. Evil Japanese lobsters.)

Progress slows because my familiarity with the Japanese language and culture is limited by what I can glean from video games, and anime (Kage Bunshin No Jutsu!) - hardly a large font of knowledge to draw upon.

So I depend on a great deal of reseach: primary sources and artwork and photography to piece together how things should look and sound and feel. Visiting Japan this past summer was a tremendous help, of course - it's one thing to read about the nightingale floor at Nijo castle, but quite another to hear it in person.

But no amount of research can provide you with the aura of words. There is a dense network of allusion and connotation and history packed in a name of any language, and it all goes right over your head if you're a native speaker. For all I know, my villain's name sounds like Eugene to Japanese audiences - naming Japanese characters is quite the arduous process, and any astute viewer will note that my Japanese names are packed with none-too-subtle nods to video games and anime. (I have a character named after a Sega arcade platform, for crying out loud.)

Despite this difficulty, or perhaps because of it, I have seen fit to include Japanese characters in my next three projects. In fact, each of the three stories prominently feature Japanese villains: Japanese lobsters in Lobsters vs. Butterflies, Japanese real estate magnates and pop culture icons in Pillow Crisis, and (ominously) the Japanese military in Waxahachie Air.

Clearly, I have a preoccupation with Japanese villainy. Perhaps it's a trace memory of my grandparents' experience during the Japanese occupation of Taiwan - my grandparents all speak and read Japanese fluently as a result, and they didn't exactly pick up the language as a hobby. And yet, none of my grandparents seem to bear any grudge against the Japanese at all. My mother and grandmother are vacationing in Hokkaido as I write this; my grandma's all like, "Hey Japan, you guys locked me up in a camp back in the day, but it's cool, I love your beaches."

Oh, and my great-grandmother was a geisha.

When you consider her life, and then consider mine, a writer spinning a yarn about treacherous Japanese crustraceans, it makes you wonder about the story the universe itself is spinning.

How You Know You Have A Full Life

You can't find the time to update your blog.

But also:

You wake up on a Saturday morning to your phone ringing. You pick it up. And someone tells you they're going to pick you up in half an hour.

You have no idea what this person is talking about.

"Uh...what are we doing again?

"We're having dumpings in Arcadia."

"Oh. Awesome."

My weekends are so booked that I am beginning to forget my plans right after I make them. I am beginning to wonder what it would be like to have the weekend to myself inside my apartment. I've done everything from view an amazing exhibition by Ghana artist El Anatsui, to meeting a Japanese Samurai robot who urged me to "improve human/robot relations!", to having barbecue right off the grill at a tailgate party in a grocery mart's parking lot.

And yet I'm busier than ever with my work. Which would suggest that I would keep the weekend adventuring to a minimum, but I've actually made it a top priority to do something interesting every week. So even though I have less time to have fun these days, I'm actually making it a point to have MORE fun.

Funny how this works. I'm a writer knee-deep in a draft of a script about the eternal and bitter rivalry between lobsters and butterflies. I spend a great deal of time alone at a desk, concentrating very deeply upon the choreography of fight sequences between crustaceans and insects. It's difficult, isolating work, and without some form of respite, I will begin to dread it, then hate it, and then rebel against it.

Which is why it's important that I go out and do things that aren't writing. Like the robots and the Ghana art, and the barbecue. To provide balance and normalcy and fun.

Keep Away From Fire

That's what the warning label inside my new jeans says. As if to apprise me that when I wear this garment, there is a significant chance that I may burst into flames.

The jean designers have no idea.

I am on page thirty of my new script, adhering to a breakneck (for me) two-page-a-day pace.

Let me be perfectly clear - I have never, ever written this fast in my life. I feel like I am just barely holding on to a bucking steer, and if you knew what Lobsters vs. Butterflies was about, you'd find the metaphor quite apt. Rodeo cowboys consider eight seconds - the time required to hold onto a bull for a legitimate ride - to be an eternity. I am on schedule to finish this script in nine weeks, and it may as well be ten years.

Writing: Bribery and Ol' Dirty Bastard

Music industry legend has it that when the time came for perenially erstwhile (and sadly deceased) Wu-Tang member Ol' Dirty Bastard to record his second solo studio album, the record company execs had a problem.

They couldn't get ODB to show up in the studio to record. So they took the necessary step of bribing him, everyday, to show up and work. The bribes took the form of envelopes of cash, and some speculate, vials of drugs. The idea was that they would leave a little piece of cheese in the studio each day, and hopefully Dirt McGirt would show up and take the bait.

This actually worked, producing, in all senses of the word, a miracle. One known as the classic album "Nigga Please". Pharrell Williams, one of the producers on the album, once described in an interview how ODB would record a single line of a rap, exit the studio to take a long break, and then return to record the next line. And so on. Compare this work ethic to that of Too $hort, who recorded many, many albums, and famously boasted "I won't leave the studio until the song's done."

Let's put it this way: my work ethic is much more akin to that of Big Baby Jesus than Mr. Short. I bribe myself constantly. I buy myself expensive foods. I buy myself the latest Final Fantasy game. I buy clothes from Barney's New York.

Whatever it takes to get me to the desk. As long as I'm cranking out two pages a day, I'm invincible. I can do as I please, and you can't stop me.

Because I've done my writing for the day.

The Crackhouse

A few nights ago, my apartment building was raided by the police.

Why? Because one of my neighbors was running a METH AND CRACK LAB out of his apartment.

The police cordoned off the building with police tape, and biohazard trucks showed up to remove the chemicals. The dealer had all his windows blacked out, just like in the movies! And apparently, the tipster was the crazy old lady who lives on the third floor, who suspected the dealer of stealing her newspaper and kept him under constant surveillance. (Because meth dealers can't afford to buy their own newspapers, I guess.)

I should have known. Dude spent all hours of the day in the garage, painting his car different colors, one coat after another (and you know that's how meth types roll), and there were all sorts of people showing up in the building at odd hours. (I just assumed he had a lot of indie friends.)

Anyway, no matter how much cred you think you have regarding illicit drugs, I win. FOREVER.

After all, I live IN A CRACKHOUSE.