off Broadway

Day two of Operation "Fake it till you make it" and things are looking up. I talked to my writing partner in D.C. As suspected, he has done fuck all with our play. "I'm more of a 'big picture' type of guy" he says. More like a "up shit creek without a one act play" kinda guy if you ask me. I'll stick out the play in the interest of finishing what I've started, but he shouldn't expect anything spectactular. He said he wanted it to be an "off Broadway" type of play. It'll be "off Broadway", all right. Far, far off Broadway...Fifteen more days until the one-act festival results are announced! I'm so stoked. I'll take Pittsburgh (hell, I'd take Omaha), but New York would be better. In the meantime, I'm trying to get on with this PR company in California doing press releases and speech re-writes. I just found out about it today, so we'll see if it pans out.

negro notes

It's always disturbing when confronted with a living stereotype. I cringe everytime I see a black person driving a Neon that sits on 22's with a fake-ass, wack-ass piece and chain around his dusty neck. I cannot stand to see a black woman in the grocery store in her house shoes, ashy knees with her tracks slipped and weave glue on display. But, no matter what, they are still people and I will treat them with the utmost respect until they prove to me that they are unworthy. I don't understand why black people can't do the same. We always want to cuss somebody out, "keep it real". Sometimes black people suck.

I went to a black college back in the day and it was hell. With the exception of my writing teacher (big ups to Mr. Bern, a white hipster from the old school who openly admitted to smoking weed on the regular), I hated those people with a fervid passion. To this day, if I had a couple million dollars, I would buy that junk trap and burn it to the ground. Perhaps I shouldn't harbor such animosity toward "my people", but I learned a long time ago that, even thought we're the same color, it still doesn't mean a doggone thing. I mean, so what? I'm the same color as a Werther's chocolate chew.

On another note-- I have a telecon scheduled for tomorrow with my writing partner about our one act play. It's the one about Barbra Streisand and the alter moyd that mourns her death every year (takes place in the future, obviously). I'm excited because I get to flex my Yiddish language muscles and collaborate- two things I don't get to often do. I also have a property showing scheduled for tomorrow. I'm not too worried, as these people are at a stage in their lives and savings where the subprime mortgage mess won't effect us.

So anyway, I tried out my new digs on Front Street today as "the best screenwriter you've never heard of". Wonder of wonders, I got a call from my writing partner about the play and fired off a couple of queries. Let's see what tomorrow brings!

I have a good feeling about the plays I submitted to the one-act festivals in Pittsburgh and New York. The deadlines are 9/15 and 9/30, respectively. If these plays are selected for performance, I will stand on the corner of front street and show my naked ass to the haters.

frontin like my daddy

What up, church?! These punk-ass agents are still sleeping on "the best screenwriter you've never heard of" (self-proclaimed, of course. But somebody's gotta proclaim something, damn it!) and my job is steadily getting on my nerves. I would quit but the housing market is so bad, I couldn't survive as a full-time agent. Anyway, I bought this book called "Full Frontal PR". It's about how to market yourself effectively so people will sit up and take notice. I need to generate buzz about myself as a screenwriter. Speaking of buzz, it's about time for a trip to Brazil, nah mean?

So my dad is getting married in Antigua in a couple of years. Yes, the dad we all know and love. Ya'll, I could write VOLUMES about how idiotic this idea is. VOLUMES! Look, this man is so self-absorbed, he doesn't scratch his balls without sending out a press release. He's just saying he's getting hitched in Antigua so everybody can say they can't afford it and he can sigh, "Oh, well. To accomodate my poor relations, I suppose I'll get married in Texas". He's so full of it. Frontin like he's getting married in the Carribean. He has no intention of getting married in Antigua! Unless it's Antigua, Mississippi... And where was all this island wedding talk when I was getting married?! He should have been shelling out ends for that instead of strutting around the church in his ill-fitting tux. Imagine stretching a condom over an eggplant. That's how tight that fucking vest was.

Maybe I should take something from my dad's playbook. Front like I'm a famous and sought-after screenwriter and see what happens. I'll do it tomorrow.