Yay! I totally get to go to a taping of So You Think You Can Dance on July 14th! My friend's dad works on the show and got us on the list for a performance taping. I cannot wait!!!!!

Some of my faves from SYTYCD

I love this one.



crazy sauce but enjoyable



hmm, i guess i liked lauren



i love Hok no matter what he is dancing. This one is truly awesome.

I love my sister but...

sometimes I want to punch her in the face. After getting very little sleep the previous night, I was exhausted by the time I got home from my wife's house. But my stupid body sometimes goes into "fuck it" mode and decides that after being awake for so long, its just gonna say fuck it to sleep and convince me that its not really tired after all. So, even though I was exhausted, I still couldn't fall asleep until somewhere around 3 am. 

Coupled with my pitifully few hours of sleep on Saturday night, this made her barging into my room at 7:30 this morning really fucking annoying. And what could be so important that she didn't even attempt to knock or gently rouse me from my slumber? A fire? An earthquake? Michael Jackson's death was all a hoax? No. She heard the fucking garbage truck and I needed to take the cans down. 

W.

T.

F.

?

!

Who does that? Really? Last night while I was buying my wife a comfort shake and some In N' Out for us all, Heather made a comment about how nice and considerate I am. I responded that it is just a natural thing for me to think of others. Clearly, that gene did not make it into my sister, because if it was 7:30 in the fucking morning and I knew that my sister was exhausted from two nights of little sleep, I would have just taken them down myself. But no. Didn't even help me with the 8,000 pounds of trash I had to haul to the curb. The sad thing is, our trash doesn't even get picked up til 10, which if she's ever paid attention, she would know. So, now I am awake when all I want to do is sleep until Saturday. 

lessons: things i never learn

I'd put it into words, but then you'd know me for the truly pathetic creature that I am. 

I'm glad people had fun last night. 

writing exercise: complicate plot

Simplified Version

A woman raises her daughter by herself in New York. The woman's days consist of two jobs and taking her daughter to and from school and dance classes. The daughter, as a teenager, decides to pursue a dancing career. The daughter auditions for Julliard. On the same day she receives a letter from the school, her mother dies. 

Complicated Plot

In an unremarkable one bedroom apartment in Brooklyn, New York, lived an unremarkable woman, named Mary, who lived a statistically unremarkable life. She was a single mother, working multiple jobs, doing menial tasks in order to simply feed and clothe her young daughter, Hope. When she had discovered that she was pregnant, Mary's fear had been surpassed only by her wastrel boyfriend, who caught the first bus out of town. Mary, having practically raised her younger siblings after her mother's early death, didn't fear parenthood half as much as she feared the financial ramifications, especially given her lack of education. But the tedium of her receptionist job in the mornings and the exhaustion of her waitressing at night were more than compensated for by the joy she found in slowly running a brush through her daughter's fine hair as she chattered on about the various adventures she had at school. 

As the years passed, the Mary's jobs changed and Hope's need for privacy led to the necessity of a second bedroom. While Mary missed the comfort of the small body lying in the bed next to her, she understood that her baby girl was growing and this young woman needed room for growth. It took Mary nearly half a year to save up enough for the simple two bedroom place with a view of the small park, but she didn't mind the double shifts and odd jobs for neighbors. She didn't mind at all, because her daughter's smile when she saw the small ballet barre Mary had added to the room overwhelmed any memory of back aches and exhaustion. When Hope decided at twelve that she wanted to be a prima ballerina, Mary began saving what little she could from her multiple jobs so that her daughter could have her dream. And when, at seventeen, Hope auditioned for a spot at Julliard, Mary took a precious day off work and saw her daughter come alive on stage. As she watched the graceful turns and twirls, Mary knew that the several days she forewent eating and walked the 20 blocks to work in order to save a few dollars for leotards and ballet shoes were worth it. 

Hope arrived at the apartment first, as was usual on the days Mary worked at the drug store. As she barreled through the front door she couldn't contain the excitement running from her fingers, clutching the days mail, through her entire body. She briefly considered waiting for her mother, but the frenetic energy of teenage girls wouldn't allow it. As she ripped open the envelope she vaguely heard the telephone ring, but it was forgotten after she read the first line of the letter.

All Hope could hear, as she stood beside the remarkably beautiful mahogany coffin, was the insistent ringing of the telephone. She had let it ring and ring as nothing but joy infused her body. It wasn't until the machine kicked on that she could no longer ignore the intrusion of the world. A heart attack, they said. Apparently her grandmother had died the same way at a similar age. Something about high blood pressure. There had been no warning signs in the days prior, but the doctor suspected the anxiety of waiting for Julliard's letter may have played a role. Her mother's finances had been, thankfully, relatively good, and Hope found out about the savings account meant for her education. It wouldn't pay for the whole year at Julliard, but Hope appreciated the support her mother was willing to give her. That was why she lovingly ran her hand over the smooth and polished wood, hoping her mother appreciated the luxury as she finally got the rest she needed. 

Thomas Lennon and Ben Garant in Nerd Alert: Comic Con 2008 from Thomas Lennon

writing exercise: switching point of view

Read Original (last section)

NEW P.O.V.

All I could feel was the cool wood of the chair. Her chair. My tears had long since dried, but they left the skin on my cheeks feeling raw and tight, like a recent wound trying desperately to heal. My elbows dug deeper in to my thighs as I futilely pulled my hair, hoping that by some miracle it would help to still my thoughts.

Was I doing the right thing?

I love my wife. Am I really ready to move on and leave her here, in our house, alone?

“I’m sorry,” I said, admitting to my guilt for the first time. “My Mina, I’m so sorry. I don’t want to leave but—“

I couldn’t say the words. I’ve been with Zoey for almost a year, but this moment should be between Mina and I alone.

“Then don’t. Don’t go.”

Her words are so clear and desperate, and full of love it makes me ache. I stare across the room, my rational mind overwhelmed by the futile hope racing across every nerve and making my hair stand on end. But after only a moment, reality settled back onto my weary shoulders. The decision had been made for awhile now.

“I have to. Its what’s best. For both of us.”

“Dad?”

The sound of Quinn’s voice broke the painful silence.

“Dad, what are you doing up here?”

I stood as he approached. Mina, our boy is a man now. Can you see it?

“Dad.” Quinn hugged me, and for a moment I was reminded of time where I held him like this, just after his dog died.

“She knows.” Both the pain and strength in his voice soothe me. “She’s been gone for two years, and wherever she is, she knows we love her. We always will, Dad.”

He continued on in his soothing, quiet tones, but I didn’t hear what he said. I remained silent as imaged from that night flashed through my mind. We’d been caught in the rain and her love of nature and life was infectious. I couldn’t have refused her that dance in the rain, even if I’d wanted to. I remembered her laughing at my concern over her high temperature, telling me it was the first omen of menopause. Then her words turned to coughs and finally a tired request for the rocking chair now resting next to me.

Quinn broke me out of my reverie with a plea to return downstairs with him. I saw her sweet, sad smile in my mind as we walked to the door. Quinn and I stopped in the doorway for one last look.

“We love you.”

Quinn’s words fill the vacant space that was once our bedroom and as I walked away I saw the chair rock slightly in the sunlight and heard her voice echo in my mind.

“I love you too. Always.”

My sister asked me if I will cry. The answer is yes, yes I will. But for you, I'll try to save it for next weekend when you don't have to witness it. 

Bloody Awesome!

I've been watching True Blood (as evidenced by the video recently posted) and I absolutely love the opening credits. If you haven't seen them, take a look below, just ignore the HBO logo. 

writing exercise: amplify voice

To Magazine Man—

Look, I know you’re not trying to be rude (at least I assume this to be true), but this staring at me from behind a magazine every Monday and Wednesday afternoon is getting just plain creepy. The first few weeks I thought it was cute. I mean, what 34 year-old woman wouldn’t want the attentions of an attractive man in his early twenties? You are at least legal, right? I mean, you look young, but not too young. But that’s beside the point. The point is, I was flattered. I might have even spent an extra fifteen minutes before work blow-drying my hair so it would look like a blonde waterfall instead of the hot mess is usually is after spending the morning chasing around two 8 year-olds in Power Ranger pajamas. There’s also a good possibility that I made sure to wear my older barista shirts; the ones that have shrunk in the wash and emphasize my “better” attributes. But all of this is beside the point, because I’m not flattered anymore. I was, but now it’s been two months and you haven’t even said a word to me, despite all the stares and smiles that have been exchanged. In fact, you bizarrely go out of your way to avoid speaking to me at all. I’m not the most enthusiastic of employees here at Starbucks (which you’ve probably noticed), but if you would at least attempt to give your order to me, instead of waiting for those 2 minutes when I’m restocking, I promise I’ll give you the best damn service you’ve ever had at 8:36 in the morning.  Why don’t I make the first move? At this point in my life, I deserve a little hot pursuit. Plus, you forget that I’m at work. I can’t hit on the customers, for crying out loud. I’d get fired, and Lord knows I need the miniscule paycheck keeping me afloat. And the free monthly pound of coffee. But that’s beside the point and I’m running out of room on this napkin. The point is: stop being a creeper and ask me out already! I might even say yes.

Bad. Ass.

writing exercise: thumbnail sketch

Phoebe Rockwell, daughter of famed astronaut turned entrepreneur Alan Rockwell and proprietor of a small antique shop on the harbor, discreetly wiped her palm on the thin denim covering her hip before she shook the hand of a gentleman whose entrance was just announced by the tinkle of the bell fixed to the door. This gentleman, a Mr. Simon Allsworth, explained, with a clear determination, his quest to find the perfect birthday gift for his mother; a mission, he admitted to annually tackling at the last minute. Phoebe, not one to judge the gift-giving practices of potential customers, mutely waved off his frenetic apologies for the haste and evaluated, instead, her strange attraction to this man talking a mile a minute about shops in Prague with a disturbingly familiar air of adventure.  

writing exercise: leitmotif

The Rocking Chair

Now I lay me down to sleep,

I pray the Lord my soul to keep;

Guard me Jesus through the night,

And wake me with the morning light.

I couldn't breathe. The early morning light nearly blinded me when I forced my eyes to open, but it was infinitely better than the images haunting my dreams. My neck was stiff as a board as I sat up and looked around the chilly room. I didn't remember falling asleep in my grandmother's rocking chair, but I must have. My legs felt numb as I set my bare feet on the cold wooden floor. The room was sparsely furnished, only a small writing desk, a love seat and the old wooden chair rocking slightly in the sunlight. I wondered if Lucian was planning another project that would never get finished. Where was our portrait? I wondered as I ran my hand lightly along the barren wall. I took one last look at the room as I stood in the doorway. It was odd that he'd place the rocking chair in here. I hadn't seen it since Quinn stopped wearing diapers. 

Now I lay me down to sleep,

I pray the Lord my soul to keep;

When in the morning light I wake,

Teach me the path of love to take.

I woke to the voices from above. The muffled sound traveled down the stairs and through the open door to the living room, where I had fallen asleep to the soothing sway of the chair. I couldn't hear the words being spoken, but the sound of footsteps indicated that they were the in the bedroom. My curiosity got the better of me, and despite all warnings about feline fatalities, I slowly crept up the stairs. The voices got louder as I approached and I was able to identify Lucian as one of the speakers. 

"I just don't think we should do this here."

"Luc-" Luc? Who was this woman, who had a nickname for my husband? I listened closely as leaned against the wall by the bedroom door. 

"Zoey, you have to understand my position, I-"

"I do understand, Luc, I do. But we've been doing this for almost a year, it's time."

I risked a peek around the doorway and stopped breathing. Whoever this woman was, she had her arms wrapped around his waist and Lucian wasn't exactly resisting the embrace. I felt like my heart was dying. 

"She's here, Zo. She's here in this house and this is our room. I can't destroy everything I had with her in this room, in this house."

I lost my ability to feel, my emotions suspended as I took in what was said. Had. He said had, not have. A year? 

I returned to my position against the wall, thoughts and memories racing through my mind as I tried to understand how I could've missed this whole other life he had been living. The sound of the two of them approaching spurred me into action and I quickly ducked into Quinn's room. The walls remained a comforting blue, but all evidence of his childhood had been removed. It was just as empty as the room below.

I watched the pair through the small space between the door and the wall. They were holding hands and Lucian paused at the top of the stairs to place a gentle kiss on her lips. My voice cracked as I whispered his name. He turned his head quickly at the sound and I stepped away from the door. 

"What is it Luc?"

"Did you hear that?"

"Hear what?"

"It sounded like...nothing. Never mind. Let's get you out of here before-"

I let out a long breath as their voices faded away. 

Now I lay me down to sleep,

I pray the Lord my soul to keep,

Guide me through the starry night,

Wake me when the sun shines bright

The darkness was smothering. As my eyes adjusted I realized what had awoken me. Crying. I planted my feet to cease the rhythmic movement of the chair and instinctively looked down. But my arms only cradled me. I turned away from the window and to the source of the crying. I could make out the white linens in the starlight and the silhouette beneath them. I realized he was asleep as I moved to stand next to my side of the bed. He was sprawled on his stomach, one arm beneath his head and the other clutching my pillow. There was a trail of tears down his cheeks and onto the pristine pillowcase. I couldn't resist the urge to gently move the lock of hair that fell over his brow. 

"My Mina."

He sighed my name and I froze. In sleep he looked innocent and I could see clearly what Quinn would become.

"Lucky." 

I gave him the nickname on our first date. There had been a moment when the conversation faded as we sat on a bus bench, watching people stream past. He turned to me with a small smile on his face and I asked him what he was feeling. He grabbed my hand and said, "Lucky."

From then on, that's all I called him. Well, except for those twenty hours of labor when I was cursing him and his role in Quinn's conception. And he called me My Mina. His love. 

His tears had stopped, but I realized now that my own cheeks were wet with my silent weeping. I turned away from the bed and saw the rocker illuminated by stars. How did it get up here? I walked over and ran my hand down the well-worn wood. Standing with one hand on its back I turned back to my sleeping husband. 

Now I lay me down to sleep,

I pray the Lord my soul to keep;

If I should die before I wake,

I pray the lord my soul to take.

He sat in the chair, his elbows digging into his thigh, head in hands. There were no more tears now with the sunlight streaming into the room. It was the only piece of furniture left in the room we had lived in together for nearly twenty years. I leaned against the wall facing him, my arms wrapped around me in a futile attempt to hold in the pain. There were no tears, but I could feel his pain as acutely as my own. 

"Lucky-" I started, but there were no words left to say. It was all so unfair. 

"I'm sorry." His voice was rough from his earlier sobs. "My Mina, I'm so sorry. I don't want to leave, but-"

"Then don't," I whispered, "Don't go."

He looked up and stared straight at me, hope and pain in his eyes. But then he closed his eyes and sighed. 

"I have to. Its what's best. For both of us."

"No, Lucky-"

"Dad?"

We both turned as Quinn walked into the room. I took a step forward and reached out to my baby boy. No, not a baby. My son. Nearly full-grown now. 

"Dad, what are you doing up here?" Quinn asked as he moved toward his father, not noticing my presence. Lucky stood up as he approached. 

"I'm just-" he cleared his throat, "I'm just saying my goodbyes, Quinn. I just needed her--needed her to know I still love her."

"Dad." Quinn hugged his father and it took my breath away. I took a step forward, but his words stopped me. 

"She knows," he whispered, "She's been gone two years, and wherever she is, she knows we love her. We always will."

He continued on in hushed tones, but I didn't hear what he said. I was distracted as the memories flooded in. I remembered getting caught in the rain, the fever and my laughing protests that I was just "under the weather" and needed a short nap. I remembered now Lucky's worried voice as he pressed the back of his hand to my forehead and my tired request for my nana's rocker to help me sleep. Sleep always came easier in the rocking chair. 

I broke out of my reverie as the two began to make their way to the door. The chair silently rested in a patch of sunlight by the window. When they reached the doorway they turned back.

"We love you."

As the words filled the empty room, I sat down in the chair setting it to slowly move with me. I looked at the empty doorway and smiled at the memory of my boys. 

"I love you, too. Always."

I leaned back against the rocker and let sleep claim me. 

Now I lay me down to sleep,

I pray the Lord my soul to keep;

I ask not for myself alone,

but for thy children--every one.

Blah blah blah...my pockets are empty.

I wish I never got sucked into the credit card mania, but I really wanted this one coat from Macy's way back when and the best way to afford it was to get a Macy's card. Thus began my downward spiral into debt. Sadly, I am now too fat to fit into said awesome coat. I suppose I should make that my goal: to fit into the coat that got me into debt. Then it will have kinda been worth it. As it is, I have suprisingly little to show for the thousands of dollars I now owe to various corporations. 

What brought this on? Well, since I get paid Friday and most of my bills are due prior to my next paycheck, I wanted to see exactly how much I would have to live on in the meantime. So I logged onto my various accounts and promptly was on the verge of tears. Even without consulting my calculator, it is painfully obvious that what I have in my account at this moment is what I am going to have to survive on for another two weeks. 

Apparently in this economic downturn, my credit card agencies have decided to bleed me dry. I expected maybe I'd paying a little more this month, however what I did not expect was for my minimum payment to be increased so drastically. Macy's was the worst offender. My normal payment due: $35. This month's payment due: $101. $101!!!!! WTF?  Chase was even more drastic. My normal payment due: $25. This month's payment due: $145. There are no words for how pissed I am. Keep in mind, I have made any purchases on these two cards in at least 3 months. Chase, those money hungry bastards, has increased my APR to 29.99%. And stupid Macy's increased it to 23.99%. Do they think I can just poop out 100 dollar bills or something. 

So now I am forced to call my stupid credit card companies and tell them that unless they want to receive a fucking virus with my next payment, they might want to calm the fuck down and not force me to sell my goddamn kidney to get out of debt. This is ridiculous and NOT something I wanted to deal with on my birthday. I already have the pressure of completely a story for submission tomorrow that I won't be embarrassed to have read by 20 people I hardly know. 

I need a drink. 

Yesterday they released the teaser trailer for New Moon. Well, its not much to work with as far as judging quality, but they definitely need to up the SFX budget. I was not impressed with the wolf. We shall see the end result in the fall. 



However, this fanmade trailer from last year is better, in my opinion.