Locked away in a padded sellout.
While perusing http://www.scriptseeker.com–a website I found quite by accident, but which I am glad I did, it’s become an excellent resource on a national, not just regional, level–I discovered that ABC/Disney has begun accepting applications for their Writers’ Fellowship; a yearlong program that produces film and television writers who go on to make significantly more money than I ever will at my current job. Oh, and their work gets seen more often [1].
So…am applying. The process requires a scriptwriting sample, something of which I think I have an adequate selection to choose from. I can apply to either the TV or Film Division, but not both. There is no application fee. I would have to move to Los Angeles if selected.
Ah, and there’s the rub [2]. I’ve often discussed moving to LA with my girlfriend, and ultimately I’ve reacted negatively, because I’m just more of a Chicago-New York sorta guy. But the Fellowship pays about fifty grand for the year. It provides a month of free housing while I look for an apartment. It flies me out there. In other words, if I get selected, I’d be an idiot to pass it up. As I have no intention of being an idiot, now or in the future, I’m presented with new logistical dilemmas. My girlfriend and I agreed awhile back that there would be no cohabitation without marriage, so as to avoid parental umbrage [3]. But if I move out to Los Angeles, I can guarantee that she’d have to soon follow. But getting married on short notice is not an option. So we may have to move in together anyway. The other option is for her to find an apartment of her own out there, which is Dumb.
Clearly, I’m getting ahead of myself. There are issues with the application agreement I’m wary of, but I don’t think I’m so wary as to not apply. The three-page agreement seems at times to state that anything I submit as a Sample can be stolen from me, either conceptually or identically, and I agree not to sue. There’s language that a good lawyer could argue protects me, but I don’t know. I may want to have a friend’s father look at it for me, or perhaps my girlfriend’s brother’s girlfriend [4]; both of whom are attorneys.
In addition to the above, I have auditions this week with the Windy City Players, a traveling company based in Chicago; and the Chamber Theater, a traveling company based in Boston. It is seeming more and more like I’m determined to quit this job before Unusual Palindromic Year finishes up.
My car is dying again; it must be summer. I hate having to look for a new used car, I’m already having trouble keeping my account over 2k; as was the New Year’s Resolution. On the other hand, a new car of any kind might have things like a working tape player, air conditioning, and my faith that it could survive a road trip of over fifty miles.
Callbacks for the short play going up at Artistic Home were on Saturday. We didn’t get our first choice, but did get our second; and with good direction, the play will turn out fine. Out of my hands. Oh no, it go, it gone, bye-bye.
Love-hate relationship with sister continues. Made a special trip out to the burbs to see her yesterday, and was summarily dismissed from her presence four or five times. I don’t like using the “b” word to describe family, but she’s teetering on the tip of my last nerve. Grow up, dammit. You’re 21. Just because you’re old enough to drink doesn’t mean you have to act rotten when you’re sober. Dammit. I’m trying to apologize for anything I’ve done wrong. Dammit.
I’m realizing that the Jumble scanning project that I get every summer is good for the recording industry [5]. Since it’s such busy, busy work, I find myself needing new music to listen to just to stem the tide of soulcrushing boredom. I recently bought two old XTC albums (both excellent), and imagine myself buying at least three more CDs before the month and the project are finished. I need to purchase a CD rack again. I no longer know how many CDs I have.
[1] Had a discussion with girlfriend, while in the car, about how my priorities as an artist have evolved from college. In college, back when I was incessantly repeating a line from Liz Phair’s “Fuck and Run” [6], I told myself that all I really wanted as a writer was to have my name remembered. Money would be nice, but Shakespeare died poor, and Danielle Steele will die rich, and two hundred years from now, there will be no college classes in which students are tested on “Palomino.” Mind you, I don’t wish to die poor, and further mind you, I want to have my work pored over and loved and remembered as Great. That’s not my point. However, as the prospect of getting married and having a family loom closer to my life, I realize that the Bohemian ideal won’t put the kids through school. Again, getting ahead of myself, but I’m slowly gaining a greater appreciation for Greed. Can I dance with the devil without being fundamentally changed? Tune in next year, and maybe we’ll give you the answer.
[2] Speaking of Da Bard (Boyeee!), I wonder still what the phrase “There’s the rub” comes from, if it came from somewhere besides “Hamlet.” What’s being rubbed? I presume it’s unpleasant, just from usage, but what is it? And how hard?
[3] And what is the root of umbrage? “Umber?” Does anybody talk about how that news story filled them with umber? And isn’t umber some kind of brown? Or is that only when burnt? Damn these mysteries.
[4] “What does that make us?” “Absolutely nothing!”
[5] And I’m no fan of supporting the recording industry, even if supporting their artists occasionally requires me to put most of my purchase money into their pocket.
[6] “I can feel it in my bones/ I’m gonna spend my whole life alone.”
Current music: XTC, “Nonsuch”
Creative Control 