Monday, October 29, 2007
So THAT'S Why He's Such a Buttwipe!
So when I was writing some scenes for my spec pilot, one of my characters insisted on acting all pissy towards my main character for no apparent reason, coming off like a real a-hole instead of the likeable goofball I'd pictured him as. So I wrote it the way he wanted it, while worrying a bit what the hell I was going to do with a character I hadn't exactly planned for.

And then, a few minutes ago, I discovered something about that character that not only explained the pissiness, but added far more depth to his character, improved the overall story line, AND provided me with the perfect ending for the final scene.

Weird how that works, isn't it? Good writers don't force it. They LET it happen. I think a talented writer is less a creator and more of a conduit, if that makes any sense. And then I was reminded of a post I wrote on a literature blog last year about this very subject. It deals with book characters, but really, it applies to all writing. I'll put it below here. What do you think? Writers: creators or conduits?


"On The Street Where You Live"

When I was a kid and finished reading a book I loved, I would write a fan letter. But not to the author. To the character I liked the most. I copied the publishing company’s address from the book, and sent the letter away, figuring they’d forward it to Ramona Quimby or whoever I wrote to that day.

Even as a youngster, I understood the concept of writing, as I wrote my own stories from a very young age. I knew about ‘making up’ people and places, but it never seemed right that my favorite characters weren’t ‘real.’ And sometimes I think, well, maybe they are real.

A few years ago, I read a beautiful little book called “Einstein’s Dreams.” It’s an unusual book in that it’s both scientific and literary; both a physics professor and a humanities professor would be equally adept at teaching it. Basically, Einstein falls asleep and we’re privy to his dreams, which contain 30 different short stories about alternate times and dimensions occurring around us. In one world, people live for eternity, in another, for one day. One dimension is frozen in time; even the raindrops hang in mid-air. It’s beautiful and strange and somehow, entirely possible.

What if the world we live in is simply one of these ‘layers?’ It’s conceited to think our way is the only way, isn’t it? While we go ahead with our daily business, right along beside us, though we can’t see it, could be a place where animals talk or time flows backwards.

There could be a world where all our beloved book characters are real.

Anyone who writes knows that it is a strange process, and you don’t so much ‘create’ things as let them flow into you. It’s impossible to force characters to behave; good writers often describe themselves as being more of a medium than a creator, a conduit for inspiration and ideas that use the writer’s body to capture these adventures on paper. So maybe truly gifted writers are not inventors, but are somehow especially in tune with these other worlds, and are able to feel and hear and see things the rest of us can’t.

A while back, I found a rough draft of a letter I wrote Ramona. Here is the first line in its misspelled glory: On the street where you live, are there swiming pools, and, do you have a best friend?

On the street where you live right now, there may be another street, one you can’t see, where an eight-year-old girl fights with her sister Beezus, or a Victorian orphan trudges through the snow.

If you were able to truly see and hear, who do you think you’d find on your street?


He says it's possible.
 
posted by Rhys at 10:56 PM | Permalink | 4 shooting the breeze
Well...I Started
7 pages of the script written so far. It's so very hard to start at the beginning when everything you have in your head happens in the middle and the end of the episode. I never start at the beginning of stories, do you? I always start with the middle, move toward the end, then work in the beginning stuff and little slivers missing throughout the whole. Though to be most accurate, I always start with character. Character is everything. Plot is merely a function of the all important CHARACTER. It's like that with every genre I've ever written. What's your method?

I like the status bars some of you have on your blogs showing your script progress. I'd like to get me some of them thar bars. I've seen a few sources of code for them. Which do you use?

This entry is boring as all hell. I blame all the distractions going on around me right now. All the LOUD distractions. But hey, I STARTED. No matter how many times you do it, it never gets any easier does it, this starting thing?
 
posted by Rhys at 8:32 PM | Permalink | 2 shooting the breeze
Disney/ABC Fellowship Roll Call
Okay, all you 2008 hopefuls...raise your hands! I'd like to know how many of us out there applied for the Holy Grail of fellowships. Just leave a comment saying something as simple as 'here' or don't, if you want to be all stand-offish that way. Anyhow, I realized I damn well better get my rear in gear and get a second script done JUST IN CASE. Many things have transpired that have kept me from tackling the writing things I need to get done, but it doesn't matter. Nothing matters except Just Doing It, which as writers we all know.

So I'm making this week's goal to write a spec pilot script to have on hand, since it is somewhat of a common practice (I hear) for the possible semi-finalists to be contacted in early November to send in a second script for consideration, usually within 2 days. So I guess we better get writing those scripts, or blow the dust off one already polished if you're one of those goody goody types. :)

Quick survey:

1. Did you apply for the fellowship this year?

2. Do you have/are you getting another script ready Just In Case?

3. Is it a spec script of an existing show or a spec pilot?

4. Why did you choose...whatever you chose?

5. Do you already live in L.A. or would you be moving from somewhere else?

6. Why are you reading blogs when you should be writing? Good luck!
 
posted by Rhys at 10:45 AM | Permalink | 0 shooting the breeze
Friday, October 26, 2007
13 Worst Halloween Costumes
So this post has nothing to do with TV either. So sue me; I'm sick of TV right now. That's right; I said it. Girl's fixin' to get pissed. Anyhow, perhaps this will get you into a Halloweeny mood, since I will be posting about nothing but horror movies (mostly) here until Halloween. At least that's relevant to entertainment writing.

In a recent post when I threatened to post my 2006 list of worst Halloween costumes again because of the whole California Raisins thing, the lovely Jali requested I go ahead an do so. So I am. You know I love ya, Jali!

I must stress though, that in reading back through the costume entries in my 2006 entries, the best things about them were the hilarious comments you all left. So you really should go back into the archives and enjoy the commenty goodness. Just proves you all...complete me. Bwahaha! You make this blog better, anyhow.

But here's the list again, still relatively timely. Bad is bad. For your convenience, I'm compiling all the separate entries into one post for you. But again...the archives are better. So take a trip down memory lane and don't buy one of these this year. If you do, send a picture. I must post it.

Drumroll...The 13 Worst Halloween Costumes (Reprise)

In honor of the year's high holy day (Halloween, duh) and since I am the master of all things horror, I will be posting numerous countdowns to get us in the mood. The countdowns will um...count down...from #13 to #1. Check back daily! Here we go.

13 Worst Halloween Costumes:

I get many requests for great Halloween costume suggestions. Well, that’s no fun. Instead, over the next few days, I’ll be bringing you the 13 Worst Halloween Costumes of the year. You too, can suck this Halloween!

#13: Poop.



I’m poop, huh huh.


Eh, it’s been done. It’s stupid enough to be immature, yet not enough to transcend to amusing.

However, if you must be poop, at least stick some horns on and call yourself ‘bullshit.’ That’s kind of clever. Sort of.






#12: Sexy Nurse

Pain and misery are just so damn hot.



What is wrong with people? When was the last time you were ever in a situation that required a nurse and felt sexy? Never, that’s when. Nurses aren’t sexy; they’re scary. What’s next, the sexy oral surgeon costume?


Although, these boots are kinda punk rock.


#11: Celine Dion.

There’s just no way to redeem this costume. Even if you’re Celine Dion. Especially if you’re Celine Dion.



Is she going to eat that baby?


#10: A Penis.

Stupid costume. Especially when it’s badly made. Yikes.


I’m a penis. So’s my costume!



#9: A Vagina. See ‘Penis’ above.
Born again!




Although, put the two together, especially with some tap shoes, and you may have a winner. (Or is that a wiener? Yuk,yuk!)


So happy together!


#8: Muscle Mullet

The combination just isn’t believable. It’s a shame to waste a perfectly good mullet like that.

Chicks dig me!


#7: A Black Guy, if you’re not a black guy.

Unless your name is C. Thomas Howell and you’re starring in a little gem called Soul Man, you have no business in this costume. It’s just not funny at all.

A black dude dressing up as a white guy, though...that’s money! Well, not really.


Go wash your face, honky.


#6: Sheep Lover

Especially if you’re 40. This seems like a frat party prank and even then it’s pretty dumb. Shouldn’t that guy be going home to his wife and 5 kids?

Baaaaaaad idea!

(Good lord. I just found out that this is what my sister's boyfriend is wearing this year. )


#5: Cell Phone

This is so unbearably lame, I can’t even make fun of it. Please don’t do it.


Can you hear me now? I said I’m lame!


#4: The California Raisins

Some of you may know from my Proud White Trash blog that I grew up in a rough neighborhood. The kind of neighborhood where, on Halloween, it was nothing to bust someone’s face and steal their candy. Especially if their costume was stupid.

But nobody ever beat up a California Raisin, because they were just so...pitiful. Even the worst bullies, who fed on weakness, could only give the Raisins a painful sideways glance. And that was in the eighties, when the stupid things were actually (luckily temporarily) popular.

The lameness now is off the scale. But I guess you’d be safe from bullies, at least. (And if you ever dressed up like this, you can admit it. I'll only point and laugh for an hour.)

Rhys feels so sorry for us she won’t even put a sarcastic caption here!


The Top 3! I'm so excited!

We’ve done it; we’ve counted down from the awful to the absolute grotesque. Here are the three worst Halloween costumes of all!


#3: A Pimp

Nothing is less pimp than dressing like a pimp, dork.

Who’s your daddy? I’m guessing somebody really stupid.

Yo yo yo, wanna be my ho?



Strangely though, it’s a great look for dogs. Nothing cuter than a pimp doggie!



Arf, arf, arf, wanna be my ho?


#2: Adult Teletubby

You look like you should be on your way to a fetish party in this getup. Maybe you are. Hooray for freedom and all that, but keep it to yourself, bud.



He’s going to eat that baby!



And finally...

#1: Baby Hitler

I don’t know what to say, except this is most likely not going to contribute to your child growing up a happy, well-adjusted person. Anyway, it’s probably much cheaper to make a tiny little KKK robe.

I want milk, ‘cuz I hate Juice!


So very wrong. Well, there you have it, the absolute worst Halloween costumes of 2006. Of course, you’ve still got time to slap one of these atrocities together and hit the town. If anyone gets all disgusted or offended and threatens to kick your ass, just tell ‘em Rhys sent ya.
 
posted by Rhys at 7:15 PM | Permalink | 0 shooting the breeze
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
HG Is Gone But The Skankosity Remains
(This entry refers to things previously discussed on my personal blog. So there's info over there if you're at all intrigued. Sorry. But I wanted to let you know where I've been and that I have many writing/TV related entries to post here soon, I swear. )

Auuugh! You'll never guess where I've been for the last five days (including weekends.) Getting up at 3 to get to the place by 3:35...AM!!!....the place that makes hell look like a palace. That's right, the former workplace where HG held many a tryst. HG isn't there now (drug rehab) but the place is even worse. With people even worse than her in different ways. Yes, WORSE. My laws peeps, you would not believe.

I can't even keep my eyes open to type blog entries--these 14 hour days should last through the weekend than I'll be back to blogging more regularly--no, really...but I'll try to tell a tale of most of the assholes working there now.

It's just a temporary thing, through this weekend, but there's way more material than that, I can tell you. Unfortunately.

Also, I'm not getting paid for this. Nor do I want to. I'm helping out someone I care about who still works there on a HUGE project all the assholes refuse to help with. But hey, if you need me and you're my kind of people, I'll be there for you. Even if it means risking herpes infestation (and worse.) Oh, if you don't get the herpes reference you must be new here and really must browse the archives to catch up on HG tales. With crusty tails. Har har, I'm so tired that seemed funny even though it sucked. Rhys out. TTYS! I can't believe I'm back at that place...even for a week. You may want to pray for me.
 
posted by Rhys at 7:20 PM | Permalink | 0 shooting the breeze
Wednesday, October 17, 2007
TV's Year Of Premature Ejaculation
That's right; I said it: something DIRTY! Hmm, going by this and the title of my last post, you'd think I was all sexual or something. Let's get that out of the way right now: I AIN'T GETTING ANY. FROM NOBODY. And that's your 'too much info' tidbit for the day.

But seriously: this is what I mean. I'm used to the curse of television's second season slump that happens to so many shows, but second EPISODE slump? What the hell is going on this season?!

So many new shows seemed so promising, many dashing out the starting gate in full, glorious victory with a win in clear sight, only to...fizzle out by the next episode, and get even...limper by the next.

I had a small glimmer of hope for Reaper's revitalization last night (which I'd long ago picked out as the certain hit of the season, just from reading the description) but that glimmer was small. Pushing Daisies continues to annoy me. (Just one punch to that narrator's face, is all I ask.) And Gossip Girl is walking a fine line. And so many more shows are suffering the same malady. And...damn it, shows! Get some form of TV Viagra pronto. Or Enzyte, whichever you prefer. PLEASE don't leave with a wham-bam-thank-you-ma'am one episode tease with nothing but the wet spot to remember you by.



This year's TV season. This picture could've been SO much worse.
 
posted by Rhys at 8:13 PM | Permalink | 2 shooting the breeze
Sunday, October 14, 2007
Your Scribe Orientation: Straight, Bi, Playing For the Other Team, Trannie, or Total Fetish Freak?
First: my apologies to all you late night Internet surfers out there with the tube of KY in your hand who were probably expecting this entry to serve quite a different purpose.

I'm talking WRITING orientation, people. Now get your minds out of the gutter and work with me here. (And be sure to wash your hands later.)

I remember my frustration at trying to find 'purely' TV writing sites and blogs when I first started researching, as the available information is heavily skewed towards the 'other team' of screenwriting. (Not that there's anything wrong with that.) But as an aspiring TV writer, I assume the frustration was akin to being really...um....horny or something only to find yourself surrounded by people looking for Something Else That Night. So the purpose of this entry is a poll: are you a 'straight' all-or-nothing TV writer, do you 'play for the other team' over in the mega-huge screenwriting circles, are you bi (dabbling in a bit of both)? Or perhaps you're a trannie, switching from one format to the other after failure or frustration or a desire to try new things? Or hell, maybe you're an all out fetish freak and just can't get enough: TV scripts, screenplays, short stories, comic books, song lyrics...

I guess in these terms, since TV will always be my passion and first love, I'm straight, but I think a screenplay or two could be interesting, so I guess that makes me a bit bi-curious. Wow. I am so wild.

So what's your writing orientation? Say it loud and say it proud.
 
posted by Rhys at 12:31 AM | Permalink | 2 shooting the breeze
Teensy Bit Of ABC/Disney Fellowship Info
Most likely everyone already knows this but me, but I'll post it anyway in hopes it will keep you from torturing yourself waiting for the mail everyday. I found an e-mail response online (I forgot to link the page so I apologize to the original poster) stating that semi-finalists for the fellowship will be notified by PHONE (not mail) no later than November 30th. That'd make one hell of a Thanksgiving, huh?

Guess it wouldn't hurt to have a spare script or two in case they ask for another one...you never know. I better get on that, eh? Good luck to everyone. And I think the 2008 finalists should band together and definitely start their own blog. It would kick ass...even if I was only reading it instead of writing it. (But I'd rather be writing it.)
 
posted by Rhys at 12:27 AM | Permalink | 0 shooting the breeze
Saturday, October 13, 2007
Truth vs. Loyalty

Emily recently made me think about the whole Southern thing. How many Southern transplants are there in L.A.? And when I get there, will you please have some iced tea and gossip about people behind their backs with me(it's called manners, people) and agree that the only people in the world who can make a decent peach or blackberry cobbler are Southern? Because it's true.

I was wondering: do you think where you grew up greatly influenced your writing style? Will a Georgia girl's scripts always be discernible from a Yankee's?

Natalie Goldberg, in one of her many fabulous essays on creative writing, praised the mysterious “Southern writing gene” possessed by writers born in the South, and elusive to anyone else who seeks to imitate the distinctive writing style.

I inherited this gene, and it is the most valuable thing I inherited from the land of heat and humidity, a land I’d wanted to leave for a long, long time. I did so once, moving across the country, as far as you could get from my childhood home.

But that gene is pervasive. No matter how far I travel or how high into the snow-capped mountains I go, sticky summer nights bespeckled with fireflies and the musky-sweet scent of night-blooming jasmine will always be part of my soul.

When you think of Southern writers, some common names come to mind: Flannery O’Connor, William Faulkner, Dorothy Allison, Carson McCullers. They are famous for their characters, perhaps most for their child characters.

O’Connor and Allison, especially, have drawn both praise and criticism for their realistic portrayal of children in a beaten-down, dusty life, twisted and stunted under the burdens they bear.

There are all sorts of theories about these Southern children. Some writers believe it is the legacy of racism in the South which is still strong today, that has so infected these children with its ugliness that they have no hope of growing normally. Other look to the South itself, a portion of the world born of conflict and war, always at odds with itself and the world in general. Maybe it’s the heat, or growing up with old stories, but many people, and places, in this land seem frozen in time, baked into a tableau that never moves, full of faded plantation homes and long-gone heroes.

In a wonderfully revealing essay, Flannery O’Connor talks about how she got a letter from an old woman telling her that she was not ‘lifted’ by O’Connor’s works, and that all people read in order to get this lift. Which, by association, would mean O’Connor’s work was useless.

O’Connor mulls that no matter what she wrote, there would be thousands of people unhappy, and her job is to relate the truth of the human condition…a loyalty to the story rather than the reader.

I think this is what makes Southern writers so distinctive and so brave: the willingness to provide an unhappy ending. It’s especially shocking because when you encounter a child, in a movie or book or television show or life, you expect to find happiness there. No matter what the world has shown us to the contrary, we still cling to this belief.

The broken and misshapen Southern child, though, represents all that is real and ugly, embodying the characteristics we are wont to turn away from in real life.

I’ve encountered this in my own writing: people generally highly praise it, but always voice one thing they wish I’d change: the ending.

But when you’re Southern, you’re Southern.

What do you think, of this struggle between loyalty to the story and loyalty to the reader/TV viewer? Which must you please first?


Child of Truth
 
posted by Rhys at 12:35 AM | Permalink | 2 shooting the breeze
Thursday, October 11, 2007
Welcome, Darlings!
Welcome TV lovers, haters, and writers along all spectrums. This site will chronicle my TV writing career and stuff like that. So...welcome! I've learned a lot from many of you out there and hope I can be of some use to you, even if it's just for an occasional laugh or two. Lord knows writers need to laugh more. And I'm not saying I'm hilarious or anything; just that stupid stuff always seems to happen to me. It's just that kind of life. No wonder I'm a writer.

Most of the entries here will be original content found only on this blog, but sometimes I'll cross-post some entries from my personal blog, if there's anything about TV writing in there. Or TV. Or if I just damn well feel like it. I'm doing that tonight, for my first entry. So don't get confused. You're probably already confused because writers stay up too damn late. Anyway, the (cross) post follows this paragraph. Welcome!

Hey homies! I sure did miss you! What a nice surprise to come back to find all the sweet comments and e-mails you took the time to leave for me. You all are the awesomest. Thank you for taking the time to check in and not give up on me. It means so much to me.

So how are you? I guess I'll find out after spending a year or so catching up on your blogs. Good lil' blog writers, posting entries all regularly and timely like! Show offs.

Well, when I left on the jet plane from way out yonder, it was 25 degrees with snow flurries. When I landed back here, it was in the nineties. At midnight. With dripping humidity and clouds of mosquitoes. Definitely back in the Deep South, y'all. Ain't that the berries! (If you're Southern you'll know what that means.) Something made this plane trip a little bit different, though...I was accompanied by 14 pounds of white fuzz. No, that's not the latest drug lingo, kiddos. It is in fact this specimen:



Don't let that cute face fool you. He is a hellion and a half. After the stress of worrying about him on the flight and 3 straight days (nights?) of no sleep because of his issues, I was about 2 seconds away from coming on here and begging you all for miracle dog training tips, 3 seconds away from begging one of you to adopt him, and about 4 seconds away from inquiring whether there were any Cruella Deville types out there who preferred Bichon fur to Dalmatian spots. But we're slowly adjusting. I know; he deserves my patience and understanding. And he's getting it. Good thing I love him, the little turd.

So things to do now:
1. Fix myself.
2. Fix dog. (I'm hoping the first two will occur together.)
3. Get job.
4. Get life.
5. Get fabulous TV writing career.
6. Fix everyone else's life.
7. And a bunch of other stuff happening in between the aforementioned stuff.

So that should all take about what...three weeks? Get ready for some roller coaster ridin' my peeps, is what I'm sayin'.

Soon after I returned to the homeland, I checked the sheriff's website and found two recently incarcerated people I recognized, one of which I'm distantly related to. It was oddly comforting in a way. Something about the familiar, you know? Checking those jail sites is all the fault of my little sis, who is addicted to them. She goes on every day and calls and crows with glee every time one of our relatives is on there. Well, unless they do something REALLY bad. Mostly they do lame stuff though. Drunk people are usually lame. Except of course for my Uncle Clyve's drunken arrest that goes on the record for being the coolest family arrest ever because it:

1. Took place on Thanksgiving. (Our family gets arrested mostly on the 4th of July, followed closely by Thanksgiving. The holidays are stressful.)
2. He started out in a frog suit.
3. He ended up passed out half-naked (frog suit abandoned in parking lot) in the middle of a mall department store's Thanksgiving sale.

Eek! Ugly Betty's coming on. Back in an hour or so.

Okay, I'm back. Was that episode awesome or what? LOVE THAT SHOW. Love it. There are some haters out there saying it's gone down in its second season, and to that I say 'a pox on you all' because could a show rule more? And remember that script I wrote back in June for the show? It's almost eerie how perfectly it would fit into this season. So seriously, I hope somebody just hires me already. (On a side note, any of you ABC/Disney Fellowship hopefuls heard anything yet? Keep me posted.)

It wouldn't be Rhysently without some more family drama/pathetic comedy stories so here's what happened while I was away...well, 2 things anyway. I'm getting tired. First, my sister had a particularly gruesome tale about someone she knew who committed suicide recently. Horrible yes, but if the reasons behind it are what they appear to be, the guy will burn in hell anyway so it's good he went there sooner than later. (For every non-evil person who has ever found themselves in so dark a place, I am so sorry for your pain and please talk to somebody. ANYBODY. Please. You're worth it.) I won't go into all the details--I have SOME couth--but it took several different methods to get the job done. Apparently--this is not pleasant--a plugged-in hairdryer in the bathtub didn't work. I guess that's why Mel Gibson just ended up hearing women’s thoughts in that sucky movie. You know, the one where we all learned women can only have one...thought...at...a...time?

And now on to a more cheerful tale. Well, it's a bit sad because I won't be able to meet the inventor of tampons and Sandy Koufax after all, because my cousin's wedding is off. The whole thing was a bit weird anyhow because it was so rushed and out of the blue, but the beach ceremony that was supposed to take place last weekend was er...unceremoniously...cancelled by my cousin, who at the time refused to say why except that he was never getting married EVER, and he'd remain an eternal bachelor. The girl was Canadian, and they had already had a civil ceremony in Canada, and were going to do the 'real deal' here in the states with the whole works: beach, open bar, tampon inventors. So I finally found out why he called it off. Three days before the blessed event was set to take place, the girl (I can't remember her name, something Canadian, eh) went out drinking with her friends and didn't come home all night. My cousin was quite annoyed and locked the doors and went to bed. He awoke at 4am to screaming and cussing and pounding like the demons of hell had swept upon him but it was his beloved, who apparently turns into a raging monster when drunk.

She BROKE DOWN the door--like SPLINTERED IT PEOPLE--and when he refused to fight with her and turned around to go back into the bedroom, she grabbed a heavy metal astray off the table and BUSTED HIS HEAD with it until he was bleeding all over and crawling to get away from her. By this time the neighbors had called the police. (Oooh, if it's in Canada, does that mean it was those cool guys in the spiffy red outfits on the horses? 'Cuz that would make this story so much more awesome. I don't know if Canada has the boring type of police so I'm going with the Mounties for my own amusement.) Anyway, the police arrested the girl (took three to wrestle her to the ground and handcuff her) and hauled her away in their car, (or on their horse, depending on the police situation in Canada.) My cousin celebrated his would-be wedding day recovering from a concussion and getting the marriage annulled. He was so mad he refused to call everyone who had been invited so it's likely people flew in to discover a beach completely empty of open bars, wedding marches, or tampon inventors. Doh.

I can understand him not wanting to deal with it, but if that had happened to me, I would have mailed out an overnight fancy wedding un-invitation to every damn person who was supposed to come, with her mug shot on the front and the details of the whole affair in flowery script on the inside. Then again, I'm kind of mean sometimes.

But seriously, can you believe that? I defy anyone to claim a crazier family than mine. ANYONE. And you wonder why I'm so screwed up. I had no idea Canadians could be so violent though. I've always pictured the place as very clean and crime-free with those police with pretty red coats mostly for decoration. I consider myself an expert on Canada because of the 20 years I've devoted to watching Degrassi (that’s right, I'm not ashamed. I am Degrassi's bitch and I love it.) Now, anyone who watched Degrassi knows that of course Canadians all grow up and go through the same basic issues: lots of sex, drinking, drugs, wild parties, penis pumps, and wildfire school outbreaks of gonorrhea after too much oral sex in the ravine. (Damn it must be AWESOME to be Canadian.) But violence like that? I am SHOCKED. Surely Degrassi hasn't misled me?

Tangent: aww....look at Emma when she was such an adorable moppet! Can you believe she turned into this just three years later? And that adorable moppet and the other adorable moppet from the first clip ended up DOING THIS?! (Again...Canada. Awesome.)

Also, I'm watching Mad Men while I write this so if it's all incoherent and stuff that's why. Speaking of TV, which I do a lot, I started a new blog which will deal with my upcoming TV writing career: Great Boobs And Tubes. The title makes perfect sense. Just think about if for a sec. So occasionally I'll cross-post some things on both blogs, but I'll keep most of my writing info and adventures over there. It makes sense for a bunch of different reasons to create a separate blog for that, even though Phil doesn't like when I do that. But of course, Phil IS Canadian, which means he's so busy getting drunk and having wild ravine gonorrhea parties that he probably isn't giving very good advice anyway.

Speaking of Phil, THANK YOU dearest blogger pal for sending me my very first birthday present of the year. I loved it. And man, those pictures were amazing! (Haha, let people infer what they want from that, wild Canadian.)

Which leads me to my birthday. Which is tomorrow. With all the crazy stuff going on, I haven't even thought about it (except when I received Phil's present of course a few months ago) and now that people are asking me what I want. Usually I milk my birthday for months on end. It, along with Halloween, is my high holy day after all. But I just can't get into either this year. Just too much...stuff I guess. Although it's a shame to miss a birthday, because who knows how many you'll end up having after all? I still have an hour and a half until it's officially my birthday, so maybe I can make it feel 'right' by then. Or maybe in the next few days. But probably not for a few months, when I'll then snap and get all whiny and demand late birthday attention from every one of you. I'm warning you now.

I haven't even been able to think of anything I want, because I haven't wanted anything lately--never good--so maybe I can come up with a list now, however half-hearted to get started in the right direction. Let's see. (Big Sigh.) I guess these would be good...

1. A domain renewal. That's always good.

2. A barrel curling iron. I have no idea if this differs from a normal curling iron, but according to my fashionista little sis, I need one to keep my hair looking as super cute as possible. So, one of those. And I guess some of that stuff girls spray into their hair to hold curl...you know, that spray you put in your hair...I'm sure there's some kind of name for it.

3. The Peak Performance Cardio with Kendell Hogan DVD. He's my favorite workout instructor EVER and I can only get him on Exercise TV for a few weeks every few months or so (they have an annoying habit of taking off programs and adding them later for no apparent reason. Stupid.) Here's a video of my man in action so you can see how awesome he is. Damn Exercise TV. What a tease.

4. And um...I'm almost out of toilet paper. So I guess I can use some of that. I like Angel Soft.

There. I did it. So I guess you better (Big Sigh) send me some presents or else Phil is going to make you all look bad.

Hmm, this is sort of a long post. Nothing for months and then a huge splurge of words. Ah, I am officially a Blog Binge and Purger. Hey, I started a new Internet disorder! You heard it here first.

But seriously. I need to start posting regularly again. It's good for me. You'll just have to suffer. I guess that'll end our bedtime story for tonight, kids. Sleep well. I missed you.
 
posted by Rhys at 11:39 PM | Permalink | 0 shooting the breeze