the curmudgeon

sometimes i think i work too much

the siren calling my name

constantly. relentlessly. stuff should be illegal.

he'll never be back

Jesus, that is. Probably your ex, too.

what I gave up for lent

Eating anything that is in black and white only.

consider the sparrow

I'm in the midst of writing a screenplay called "consider the sparrow" (that's right, no caps). In its current incarnation, it is a dramedy about a young woman dying of cancer who goes on a road trip to find an ex-boyfriend. Anyway, the name of the script has fallen out of favor with the king inside my head, and now I'm up at night thinking about what I should call it. 

I like this one. It reminds me of being young. 

the fun table

I'll bet the conversation at this table is riveting.

I'm looking forward to the day when artificial intelligence can write all of our blogs for us. The weight that will be off of bloggers' shoulders is stupendous, if you really think about it. Plus, the day when AI can read blogs for us and summarize what they say, that day will be extremely awesome.

first, thus best thus far

I feel obligated to make this post over 140 characters, as though I'm writing it on golden paper and ergo must earn the privilege. Am I there yet? No? How about now? 

Actually, this is convenient because Twitter does not appear to be working. While I calmy sip my Starbucks, I can hear the pandemonium rising outside. Oh the delightful smell of anarchy. Too bad the Tweeters will be back at it any moment now.

 

....right, Twitter? Right?