Some people spend their time thinking about the war…

…but I tend to spend my time thinking about things more like, oh you know, going to the bathroom.

There is nothing worse than reaching for the toilet paper only to find there isn’t any there!

But after sitting on a toilet approximately 53,000 times to do my business, this is a situation I never find myself in anymore. I’ll confidently state that I had mastered the ‘checking before you sit’ thing by the age of 15. Nowadays, before I’ve as much as unbuttoned my pants, I’ve made sure the stall is well stocked with any and all supplies I might need during my session. And I’m not just talking about public restrooms. I’m pretty good about doing this in my own bathroom, and even in friends’ bathrooms. I’m not being gross, I’m just not a fan of the Drip/Dry Method. Save that shit for camping, you know?

Toilet paper is important! And because I always put too much pressure on myself (even in areas where I really shouldn’t care so much), a lot of thought goes into the brand that I buy. So naturally, I always notice the brand offered in the homes or businesses of others.

What I mean is, by the time I walk out of your bathroom, my opinion of you has changed.


I might have more respect for you:



or consider you white trash:




or be certain you’ll forever be frat boy:




or know you are a thief:

Picture 67



or find you absolutely adorable:

charmin 4 pach 100


or understand that no matter how hard you try, you just can’t get your shit together:



The point is, I encourage you to put a little care into your choice of  toilet paper. Because (to me at least) it says something about you. Not to mention – this is not a bottle of water you’re about to chug. It’s not a dozen eggs. This is something you’re going to wipe your delicates with. So let’s not take this shit lightly, okay?

Thanks, guys.



After seeing (500) Days of Summer, I walked out of the theatre unable to get the (now famous) “expections/reality” scene out of my head. As most of  the world has, I’ve had my heart broken, so when I realized I was about to be subjected to such an all-too-familiar scene , I wasn’t sure I wanted it. But alas, I embraced and surrendered and deemed myself tall enough to take the 3-minute ride. And because there is clearly something wrong with me, I went back the following weekend to to ride it again. Alone. Still tears, though not quite as many.

Remember when he gives Summer the architecture book as a gift, and there’s a close up shot of her unwrapping it? I love that shot because it is the only one that’s identical between the two scenes as they run side-by-side. At that point, there’s still a glimpse of realistic potential that his expectations will match his reality (because you have to know that as the night progressed on, he probably realized things were not going as planned, and his expectations changed accordingly), but as a viewer, you’re fairly certain you will not be blessed with a naive rendition of romance, but instead forced to witness a disgustingly raw story about the love we all know all too well. You know, the one that just doesn’t work out no matter how badly you want it to.

In that close up, when she unwraps the book, her thumbnail is paintless, oddly long, and growing unevenly. Amidst all the emotion I was allowing to take over me (Fine, I give up, do with me as you will!), I found a moment to think, “She needs a manicure. Why would her character not have a manicure, what would it hurt?” As I was flipping through my closet this morning deciding what to wear, I noticed my own thumbnail. Today it looks exactly like hers in that shot. And now that I’ve spent my day writing scripts at work, I’ve had a lot of time to stare at my hands, and therefore my thumbnail, and once again that scene is all that is on my mind. I simply cannot escape it.

I guess I am in need of a manicure.

An Important Question.

How can the marketers of Velveeta Shells ‘n Cheese sleep at night? They act as if it’s the “super fancy” mac ‘n cheese, yet it still comes in a box. They even arrogantly talk trash about the lesser, “powder” mac ‘n cheeses. But if you went to a restaurant and they served you shells ‘n cheese – you’d be like, “ehh, it’s whatevs. I probably should have picked a different side.”

What makes them think they’re the tits? Because they went ahead and added a little water to the powder and shook it up a bit before putting it in the cardboard box? C’mon. We’re smarter than that, right?!

I’m not saying that shit isn’t fucking tasty as hell. I’m just saying, it’s not that big of a deal. So chill.

Picture 68

There will be a scene… (cliche walk in the rain)

…when it all hits her. She leans on a chair, clenching its backing in her hands to relieve the sharp pain in her chest. She’s experiencing the suffocation of loneliness. Tiny rain drops dance along the tiny skylight above her. She doesn’t notice.

Outside, the rain turns from droplets to a heavy pour. We see a little girl holding her daddy’s hand, as they run towards an awning for shelter.  The little girl almost trips, but he holds tight and slings her up onto the sidewalk. Safety.

She doesn’t grab her purse. Or even her keys, for that matter. With an empty expression, she puts one foot in front of the other and walks towards the door.

(The Fray’s cover of Kanye’s “Heartless’ begins playing – this is where the ladies in the theatre will get a little lump in their throat and remember something they’ve been through, thus making  this scene relatable.)

In less than a moment,  her stringy hair is soaked, messy and pressed against her forehead and cheeks. Her beautifully full lashes collect each raindrop as it lands, holding for a moment before sending it off on a ride down her cheeks.  She moves in slow motion while we see the dozens of pedestrians around her, running at a hurried pace. Briefcases are hugged. Strollers are protected. Newspapers held over heads. Cab lights off. Cafe tables abandoned.

An areal shot allows us to see the last of the people avoiding the wet, the only stillness in the shot being our girl. She stands in one place on the sidewalk until she is the only one left. 

A close up of her sandals. Her feet appear lifeless. 

Her toes begin to wiggle, and she starts again.

She walks. Alone, down a street normally buzzing with crowds. Around the corner. Through the park. A homeless man on a bench, his life belongings soaked at his side, looks up and watches her move in sadness. Despite his dirty appearance and obvious need for a shave, his corneas are stark white. He looks back down at his hands where he plans to stay until the sun reappears.

A first story apartment window, we see a man and woman standing in their kitchen. She’s washing the dishes, he’s drying. He playfully touches her ass and she sweeps his arm away with a smile. Our girl sees this from the opposite side of the street. Although her face remains expressionless, she crosses and stops in front of their window, observing. They never see her, which is a good thing because she is staring. If they had, it would have scared them. She is in no way trying to hide. Does she want them to see her? Maybe.

(“Heartless” plays louder. It’s the bridge of the song. The lumps in the ladies’ throats are swollen and by now a few tears made it out alive.)

She turns to cross back to the other side of the street. We hear the horn of a car, she turns just in time to see a cab swerving to miss her. They make eye contact. He yells and waves his arms in the air but his windows are up so we do not hear him. She continues on.

Around the corner. She stops abruptly and looks right, we’re back at her front door. We don’t know if she walked ten blocks or ten miles. And because of the rain, we don’t even know if she cried. We only know that she’s home.

We just witnessed the loneliest moment of her life.

A close up of her front door. The song ends. Fade to black.


At the end of the movie, we pan out to Kanye’s original version of “Heartless”, which continues through the credits. She’s alone but not lonely. She’s happy. She’s just being. Because she’s a woman. And women always bounce back.

On the DVD, this scene will be titled, “Around the Corner”.

This has been a scene from a movie I will never write.

Organization is Key

I want to do so much that I’m forced to constantly reorganize myself if I’m ever going to complete anything. Just look at how many word docs I have going at once. I wouldn’t be surprised if when I took this screenshot, the task at hand wasn’t really that big of a deal. 

I’ve started this blog so that I continue to write, even when it’s for nothing. Not a fresh idea, I know. But I’m tired of word docs.

For what it’s worth, the intended purpose here is not a journal. Hold me to that, okay?