Who was I kidding?

Ok, so, last night, fueled by a couple of beers and total boredom, I decided that it would be loverly for the 17 people who read this blog to have the ability to "feed" it if they so desired. After all, who would want to miss my infrequent mental meanderings? Right? Riiiiiight.

So, I sign up for and get a "Feedburner" account. So far, so good. That's the only thing that went smoothly... if you don't want to witness the wreck, I suggest you simply surf away now. Still here? Ok, hang on, it was a bumpy, bumpy night. You see, you have to insert the code into your template yourself. Whoo boy, okay, time for me to call a pro. But, who's gonna drop in at 1AM on Saturday night? If they're not the other kind of "pro" that is. Not my friends, most, if not all, of them couldn't hear me above the music playing at the gay bar or party they were at. So, I figure I have to do it myself.

To quote Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman... "Big mistake. Big."

I read tutorials, I copy, I paste, I save changes before I "preview", I screw it up. Big. Oh, yeah, BIG.

Instead of that lovely vaguely flowered header you see now, I had a wall of virtually impenentrable text, along with a dizzying assortment of HTML symbols that only get a very puzzled "Huh?" from me. I tried for a couple of hours to "fix" it. Finally, I got fed-up, sent a plea for help off into the ether and staggered off to bed.

Sadly, it didn't look any better in the cold, clear light of day. I even got an email reply with a possible "fix", which I thank him for but, alas, the header? Still gibberish. So, after a few minutes consideration, now that the beer had been processed out of my body, I decide to skip the feed and go back to the same template I had before I started monkeying around. Thankfully, I was able to cut and paste all the previous customizations I had (rather wobbily, but still successfully) put into place before my pathetic night of attempting to code.

Thank God I didn't try running with scissors. I might have put an eye out.

Got a Blackberry? Love it? Tell me why...

I don't own a Blackberry and don't want one. The ONE person I know who loves them is the ex and I ain't talking to her... so I've come to you... my friends. Tell me, please, what is it the thing does and why is it that so many people are enchanted with them?

I'm gonna call it a "Crackberry" in my new Rom/Com script (which all my friends have been doing for a while now, Shawna too, evidently) but I wanna know why someone would be addicted to the thing.... obviously, I don't get it.... maybe cause I don't have one and I ain't buying one! Or maybe it's cause I don't have an addictive personality... yeah that's it! ;)

Ignored! AGAIN!

Ok, people, this shit makes me mad. I was checking out the trailer for the latest Basic Instinct movie at www.hollywood.com when I noticed something... And it didn't make me happy! If you click on the "movie info" link, it will give you a long list of credits. For everyone. EXCEPT THE SCREENWRITER!

WHAT THE FUCK!

I've emailed them and asked them WHY??!! Obviously, since it's Saturday, I don't expect a response right away. It'll be interesting to see if they change their wicked, wicked ways. Why don't we give them a hand and let them know that we (their "consumers") are NOT happy about the way they are handling their business?

Here's a couple links for you...


JBander@ny.hollywood.com (sales)

editor@boca.hollywood.com (editor)

Women on writing...

Go. Read. Learn. Both. Now!

Film Diva

A former studio executive who's decided to share her wealth of knowledge about LA and the movie industry. Not a lot of posts at the moment but damn, there's gold in them there posts!

Jane Espenson

Writer and Co-Executive Producer of Buffy.

Loads of info, concrete examples of what things like "act breaks" are. Jauntily written and she even tells you what she had for lunch!

WHY ARE YOU STILL HERE!?!

As one door closes...

As you know, I've been consumed lately by packing up my condo and preparing for the BIG move to LA. It's been an interesting couple of weeks, something akin to what I envision an archeological dig might be. I've found stuff I forgot I had. I even found my next door neighbor (and old friend) Lori's birthday present that I MEANT to give her last year. She assures me that I gave her a gift but I'll be damned if I know what it is... the gift I meant to give her was staring up at me from the bottom of the coat closet. Don't ask me HOW it got in there, I think the dog did it.

Did I mention, I HATE to move? Must have been caused by all the moves I went through as a military man's child. Another consequence of my childhood is that I don't get attached to houses. After all, they were just made to be moved out of. Nothing to get attached too, simply a pile of wood, bricks and gypsum cleverly arranged to give humans shelter.

As I was wandering around my nearly empty condo, picking up the last pieces of my life there, I was taken by surprise to find myself suddenly wrapped in a gauze like haze of memories. It seemed as if the fairy dust dancing in the late afternoon sun carried the faint echo of my friend's laughter. Wandering from room to room, it grew... the clink of glasses raised in toast came from the dining room... outside, the laughter from grilling out with friends and in the living room, it seemed to burst with the energy of that Holiday party, the one with about 100 people all laughing and enjoying themselves. Until at last I found myself in the bedroom, where I swear, my heart could hear the faint sigh and whispered "I love you." of the woman I had hoped to spend my life with.

As I stood there for a moment before I turned the key, driving the dead bolt home for the last time, I prayed that while this door is closed, many more will open for me in the land of sunshine and movies.