bumblebees, balls, and angeline cook

i'm almost certain that someone in the neighborhood is performing illegal genetic mutations on the local insect population.

this afternoon, i could feel something watching me. silently hovering over my shoulder. i snap my head around in wild paranoia and am face-to-face with a bumblebee the size of a sparrow. i froze and everything became a smeared blur of slow-motion. it's stinger - i was sure - was aimed directly at my throat; dangling like a used syringe from its abdomen.

quick flashes in the recesses of my brain vaguely remind me that i had foolishly spread some honey on my toast this morning. and he wanted it back.

i tossed a small pebble into some nearby bushes; as a distraction. it spun around, giving me the fraction of a second i needed to make a break for the house. i could clearly see it shaking its head menacingly as i pressed my face against the window, breathing heavily onto the protective layer of glass between us.

needless to say, i purchased a badminton racquet at the local walmart to use in our next encounter.

and now onto the main event! i have updated hollywood news:
the agent, angeline cook, contacted me four weeks ago and asked to see a copy of my script and I promptly shelled out $18 to have it shipped next-day. all of my screenwriting books instruct me to wait a month, then try and contact her. the key word here is 'try'. most agents won't even give you the time of day, let alone take a phone call from some unknown writer. my script was at the bottom of a very large stack on her desk; and i was painfully aware of that fact.

last week, day 30 arrived. i picked up the phone to call her and check in, but had a sudden impulse to instead visit her in person. its not as if i have a job or 'life'...what's to lose?

after a 50 minute adventure through the LA freeway maze, i located her building on Santa Monica Boulevard. When I say 'building', I mean a dark and ominous structure rising so high in the sky it blots the sun. The lobby was just as cold and uninviting; I was surrounded by high powered agents and producers, marble floors, and endless rows of elevators - all leading up, if I dared.

I made my way up to The Agency with my script clinging to my sweaty hand. I approached the receptionist and asked to speak with Angeline Cook. She inquired if I had an appointment and I sheepishly told her I didn't. She offered to take down my phone number and have Angeline Cook call me at her earliest convenience. I figured as much. My mouth opened to spew out my number, but suddenly my brain re-wired itself and a new response came to my lips.

"if you don't mind, i'd like to sit in the lobby and wait to speak with her."

"she's extremely busy and will be in meetings all day, but i'll be more than happy to take down your number and have her call you"

"if it's all the same to you, i don't mind waiting over there and if she has a free moment to spare that'd be great. i just need two minutes to ask her if she's read my script."

"i don't think you understand. her meeting could last an hour, it could last five hours. it'll be a lot easier if you just have her call you."

"i think i'll actually just stay here in the lobby. if she's not available in the next four hours, i'll give you my number. until then, i'm going to sit down and read a magazine."

The receptionist just shrugged and resumed her work.

I waited for nearly two hours, lazily thumbing through every magazine at my disposal. Then, a blonde woman approached me and introduced herself. Angeline Cook! She asks me briefly about my script and informs me she hasn't read it yet, but has heard great things. Her assistant, Carl, had said how impressed he was with my query letter. I handed her another copy of the script, now stained in palm sweat, and expected to be on my way.

she asked if I had a few spare minutes. i laughed in my head. i had nothing but time. she invited me into a large mahogany conference room where high-powered meetings took place on a regular basis. she closed the door. she asked me about any other scripts i had. i told her. she seemed impressed. we chatted briefly about television specs, treatments, and networking. she had me sign a release form allowing her to legally read my script without fear of litigation. she assured me that she would read the script personally and admired my tenacity. i told her i appreciated her help and taking the time to see me. i started to lift out of my chair, sensing our little chat was coming to a close. no. she proceeded to ask me if i was from the LA area.

i slumped back into my seat and explained that i had packed up everything i had into my Jetta and moved to LA three months ago to pursue screenwriting. she stared at me with a scrunched face.

"so what do you do for work?" she asks.
"nothing. i'm writing full time."
"so what do you do for money?"
"i have some savings. but when that runs out i'll probably have to get a restaurant job."
"do you know anyone in the industry?"
"nope. i've just been holed up in my house trying to crank out as many scripts as i can until i'm forced to get a job at some restaurant."
"i have to be honest with you. you move down here on a whim, camp out in my lobby for two hours. you've really got a set of balls on you."
(should i show them to her? no. stay professional.)
"thanks."
"listen. i really like you so i'm going to tell you that i happen to know the Head of our Literary Department is looking for a new assistant. If you're interested sent me your resume and I'll see if we can't make that happen."

i wondered for a brief moment if she could smell the odor emanating from my freshly soiled pants. i came in just to check whether or not she'd read my script and i left having been offered a job working for her boss.

it has begun.

the mayor of bellflower

i think the mayor of my town is a warlock. look under his hobbies/special interests:

http://www.bellflower.org/home/index.asp?page=239

romance novels, sensual massages, and ninjas

i was recently presented with the opportunity to visit home. my aunt and uncle make an annual drive from arizona to seattle and decided to swing by LA on their way up. we had dinner together and my uncle proposed that i just hitch a ride with them and surprise my family. normally, i wouldn't have hesitated. yes, of course!

but it was at that precise moment that i glanced across the table at my four year old cousin who was repeatedly banging her fork on the table chanting some unintelligible song; angry glances being shot at our table from every imaginable angle.

they smiled and awaited my response. i'd love to!

thankfully i had the presence of mind to bring my sleeping pills with me. i was able to covertly crush them in my palm and dissolve them into her sippy cup of apple juice. so help me, this was going to be a smooth 18 hour trip.

i spent two weeks there and eventually found a ridiculously cheap ticket to fly me back to LAX. upon my arrival at the airport i soon realized why my ticket was such a bargain. there would be a three hour layover in portland. i felt sick. everything in me just wanted to be home, sleeping in my own bed. well, flimsy aluminum futon. that's not the point.

three hours. fine. i'll just do a crossword puzzle to help pass the time. twenty minutes later i was finished and checking my watch.

i decided to buy a book; apparently, it's what every sensible traveler does. all of the fat older women in the terminal were reading romance novels; with titles like 'The Flame and the Flower' and 'Forbidden Passion'. I entered the bookstore, strode past the endless aisles of a wispy and chiseled fabio staring lustfully into my eyes, and eventually found one that suited me. i went to the counter to pay.

there was a couple standing in front of me with one arm around the other, lovingly. i couldn't help but notice as the man's hand slowly found it's way down her back and onto her rear. so what? nothing new here, he's probably going to just tuck his hand inside the rear pocket of her pants. nope. he slid right past the pocket and went straight for her ass crack. his fingers made a slow and methodical trek down the length of the crack - lingering for a moment at the anus - and continuing downward. his fingers slowly glided up and down the path several times; meanwhile she's acting cool as a cucumber, handing the clerk her credit card, oblivious to the fact that her boyfriend is caressing her crack in public. my face scrunched in utter disgust, i spun around to see if there were any children watching this obscene show of theirs. they paid and left, leaving a distinct odor of sex hovering around the register.

i held my breath until i was at least 25 feet away from the bookstore. now to find a quiet little corner of the airport to read for the next two and a half hours. as i meandered, i passed a glass case containing various items Homeland Security deem dangerous and are therefore not allowed on the plane. curious (and bored) I stopped. The usual items were in there; hypodermic needles, 12-inch hunting knives, fireworks, canisters of propane...and then I saw a curious item. a chinese throwing star. not the flimsy one you secretly made in shop class when the teacher was in the bathroom. this was like a genuine throwing star that ninjas use.

you'd think it would be pretty obvious to airport security who was trying to confiscate these things in. the guy at the back of the line who's slender, wearing all black, and has a hooded mask enveloping his head. i imagined Homeland Security approaching him as he throws his hand to the ground and disappears in a wild puff of smoke, leaving behind nothing but this throwing star; as a warning not to interfere with the mighty and powerful ninja order.

i arrived at my gate to be cheerful informed that after three hours of agonizing layover, my flight would now be delayed another two hours. i could physically feel my heart coming to a grinding halt.

me: are there any earlier flights to LA?
attendant: no sir.
me: in the entire airport?
attendant: don't you think i would have mentioned that, sir?
(at this point i had a fantasy about tossing her tiny head into a nearby jet engine and gleefully jumping up and down, clapping my hands)
me: ok. thanks.

two more hours.

finally my flight arrived. my seat was located in the very last row of the aircraft, which meant i had to do that little two-step shuffle for the next five minutes as I make my way past everyone in the aisle. i sit next to the window, completely ignoring my actual seat assignment on the ticket. if somebody wants to say something to me about it, they can prepare for a face-full of venom.

after take-off i glance out the tiny window to see the cityscape. except that is impossible. my entire translucent square to the outside world has been clouded in forehead grease. it was as if someone had smeared mayonnaise across the entire surface of the window. i took the small napkin that came with my peanuts and attempted to swab a clear spot for myself to gaze out of. waste of time. it just spread the grease around, instead of actually removing it. i considered punching it, to pop it out of it's casing; no longer caring about things like 'pressurization'. dejected, i slumped back into my seat with nothing to console me but a bag containing exactly twelve peanuts and a dixie-cup full of Ginger Ale.