How To Completely Disappear

Good Afternoon.

The week is melting in to the next and I've had some fun--like the Super Ego & Id dirty-dancing  off of a cliff, only to land in some sort of ball-pit, but then sinking through, deep underground, to the depths of the Earth's Core and there, we find ourselves accosted, encroached by Creatures you'd think would be living in said conditions: leathery skin, pointy ears, terrible saw-tooth fangs.  And, at the zenith of our fear, one of them, Harrison, pulls me aside and tells me despite the fire, lava, and inexplicable bones scattered about, they succumbed to the same anxieties and self-loathing that afflicted us Surface Dwellers.  After a few cocktails, we exchanged facebook friendships and they, in a very direct altruism, purchased a few bus tickets and sent us on our way.

I haven't done anything all week relating to Apartment Hunting and it's wearing on me.  We're busy at my restaurant and I need  the income (for specific purposes: writing class, girlfriend's birthday, very good friend coming in to Chicago next week), but I feel detached from my real work and I'm trying to keep it from becoming corrosive.

And I'm out of time:

-I have to work-out (30 minutes)

-Get ready for work (30 minutes)

-Commute Downtown (one hour)

-Run back-and-forth in a restaurant (9 hours) 

-Pass out at my girlfriend's (?)

Maudlin Recaps don't suit me well, I know.

-m

29 rhymes with um...Plenty Lime? Yeah...

So--if you're of the Detective-Savvy Ilk, you may've pieced together (that, and it's in my previous post) that today is my 29th Birthday--or I suppose was given it's almost midnight.

The Pleasantries:

- Waking up with my girlfriend

- Breakfast: Lox on sprouted-wheat bagels, cream-cheese, tomato, cucumber, red onion, olive oil (I use olive oil on just about everything--Peanut Butter & Jelly included) 

- My girlfriend bought me a neat pair of shoes (Dress Shoes: I have an interview [second job--server] tomorrow and like a child I didn't have proper attire)

- Very intense cellular-detox sea-salt bath: You fuckers can laugh, but I DARE you to try it, correctly, and not feel yesteryear's booze, amphetamines, impurities just fly away

- Shaved my beard into a moustache: You fuckers can make ironic-hipster-jokes, but I DARE you not to look at me and feel a mighty pang O' joy gestate in your heart 

And despite everything--it didn't feel too "Hey-it's-my-birthday!"-ish because I've deferred all celebratory hullabaloo until tomorrow.

But I'm behind, I'm falling more and more behind on Apartment Hunting I still don't even have my treatment done--which sort of makes me an asshole.  If you want 'In' on one of my major neuroses as a writer, it's the out of sight, out of mind syndrome: forgetting where to connect scenes at the perfect thoroughfare, absent-mindedly leaving out this joke, or this particular flashback; I can tell you, for me at least in all my ADD-addled glory that it's important to be succinct and consistent.

Did I need to watch 10 episodes of 30-Rock with my Girlfriend (in a span before and after she was working) and fill the temporal gaps with other Housewife duties (I'm a spectacular housewife, or househusband if you will) ?  Well no, but, and I'll be transparently honest, the very person I want to--need to--get my professional-shit together for so we can have a future (NOTE: I of course, want the same fantastical-limitless-potential-tapping-inspiring-the-masses future, but I hope you can appreciate my sense of urgency and domestic-pangs), is the same individual I have a kids-at-recess-flummoxed-and-crestfallen-that-mid-game-kickball-has-to-end-because-recess-has-concluded attachment to.  Either way, I'm awful bored with masturbating.

The Tunes: Miles Davis' Bitches Brew

The Anxiety: That I'm somehow going to fall ill and relay to the 50 or so people I invited to my Birthday Shindig that, yes, my immune system failed me once again

The Early-March-Social-Anchor: Watchmen midnight-showing tickets at the IMAX 

xoxoxoxo,

-michael

That Reckless Transatlantic

Happy Friday Everyone--except You (points wrathfully)...

Pardon my Deadbeat-Dad-intermittent-posting-consistency, please... I'd blame it on the residuals of performance enhancing drugs, but I'm not privy to the existence of a Screenwriting Federation that regulates Adderall, Ginkgo Biloba and coffeee (and some pretty swanky meditation in front of my hand-carved Buddha, but now I'm veering off into the Braggart Zone).

My Girlfriend came back from Pittsburgh a week ago and, like the Relationship VS Person post (see below) I fell off the wagon of that sweet, sweet consistency we know and love i.e. me sitting at my desk giggling to  myself in front of my monitor...

So--you can't blame a guy for being in love--well, unless it's someone you were in love with prior to my being in love with her.  In this case, we shall duel at sundown, Navy Pier, and if I could have a moment to switch the primary beneficiary of my life insurance that would be oh so radical.

And then there's Apartment Hunting--it's looming above, as I type this, an embryonic God waiting for safe transport into this, the Modern World.  I'm finally into the Treatment phase (a shortened, prose-like summation of the plot that's generally 5-10X shorter than the script--however I do an OVERVIEW, CHARACTER SET-UP, PLOT, section(s) because it's the sexier way to go about things) and for having never (or been to obstinate) having done one before I can say it's a MAJOR necessity because if you're work's not up-to-snuff, it's gonna show, like cum-stains in blacklight, and then it's back to the drawing board you go.  Thankfully, like effusive-southern-baptist-church Thankfully, the script is where it needs to be because thematically and plot-wise it's flowing beautifully.  And by 'flowing' I mean the Treatment will pique your curiosity to pick up the actual Script and give it a whirl.

So--I'm calling myself out here--I will not make my 2-16-09 (my 29th birthday) deadline, but rather be delayed by a week or so....However to see this thing gestate, and assume a formidable shape is freaking me out--in that fantastic sort of way, like when you feel the Ex or mushrooms start to take hold in the pit of your stomach.  But trite drug-use analogies aside it's where it needs to be: 100%.  And taking this term off from Second City was a masterstroke (now I suppose you want trite masturbation analogies?); and in perfect timing, this draft will be more than ready by the time classes (advanced writing program) start again mid-march.

The title of the post?  Ah, well, I'm STILL reading Gravity's Rainbow from Pynchon and 'That Reckless Transatlantic' was inspired by a nickname given to Tyrone Slothrop, one of main characters who may, or may not have the ability to make Rockets fall where he chooses.  This book makes me Wet all over, but I read slow and this is all the way over on the dense side.  My favorite novel Infinite Jest  by David Foster Wallace (rip) took so long the book was tattered and torn (carrying it around chicago) by the time I was finished.   

(BTW the more people subscribe to this blog the more I'll feel the neurotic pressure/motivation to post--sort of like when you were a kid and demanded your parent watched you do a trick in the local swimming pool.)

OK: back to the Treatment I go.

The Coffee: Metropolis 

The Music: Fennesz 

The Cardigan: Vintage Orvis cashmere