Okay, I know it's been too long since I last blogged when I can't remember if I sign on as a new blogger or an old blogger. Apparently I'm a new one now.

I just got back from an impromptu trip to the bay area. I think there comes a point in your life, or several of varying magnitude, when you look at the people around you and you're acutely aware of their immense vulnerability. And suddenly, despite your extreme desire to protect them and make everything right for them, you realize that this whole world is completely open-ended. There's no promises, there's no guarantees, there's no storylines and last minute poetic saves, there's no greater meaning built upon givens that states that if you understand the abstract themes of any hardship, you're rewarded with safe passage. There is no safety net, despite what anyone tells you. Only that anything can happen at anytime, and there's nothing you can do about it. I think that drowning is like that. There's a very specific moment as you struggle when you realize that the only thing you can do is just give in, and let the greater force take you, and this is the greatest relief of all. You relax and concede to ultimate inevitability. I think reaching the ultimate zen state is probably the same feeling.

I wonder if those who are artistic are the ones that refuse to give in to a world that is all incidents and accidents. We deny the facts by insisting that there is more under the surface that will provide clues of meaning, and we build our cases like obsessive blind, deaf and mute scientists...using shapes, forms and colors to create incontrovertible proof of possibility in a malleable world. Sometimes I hope that collectively, we can will the universe into aligning itself out of its violent chaos to finally reward our exhausting efforts by showing us a glimpse of a bigger, sensible picture, that there really is a safety net, and for all our efforts, that there is overwhelming value in idealism.

The good news. Rie is moving to California. The bad news. She's moving to Stockton, aka the Armpit of California. I'm very excited though. I always said that I would end up splitting my time in the bay area, but I'm starting to think I'm closer and closer to that time. I would like to be able to afford a small place up there, so I can stay there and write when I'm there. Preferably some place by the water. It would be great to be closer to my family. It seems like communication in that house breaks down a lot.

I took Michael to the Warriors game on Monday and sat behind the bench. This was my first time sitting in those seats with Michael, since we had previously been too nervous about Michael's irritability with crowds to risk having him sit so close to the team and all of the surrounding security. He was great! He was into the game and smiling a lot, even told me that Biedrins was his favorite player. He was particularly mesmerized by the players' tattoos, while I was particularly worried about the fact that every food item he got (outside of his bottle of water), was fried. One of the players is awkward but always smiling and flirting with me. At one point, he winked but immediately got embarrassed, so he tried to pretend he wasn't winking, but had something in his eye. I didn't want to laugh outloud because he was so awkward, but I did giggle to myself.

I miss Michael a lot. He's working at my parents' place now and he's very committed to working there, so he doesn't want to come to LA if he's going to miss work. He's doing fairly well but I don't think he's ready to join a workforce that doesn't have someone close to him protecting him. His self-esteem has come a long way, and I would like to see him become more confident and mature before I would feel comfortable having him in an unpredictable environment. In the meantime, he'll probably stay up there and work at my parents' until he's ready for the next stage of his independence. I wish he lived closer.

This week we had orders totaling over 240 bottles of lemonade. Our weekly average is between 100 to 200. We need a larger commercial location since we're maxed out in terms of storage. I think a part of me is scared about the responsibility of renting a place and buying all that equipment, then failing. Starting a business in unfamiliar territory is overwhelming. I would have never thought, 2 years ago, that at this time, I would be involved with a beverage company that is growing exponentially faster than we can handle.

On the other (stress) front, our remodeling project is out of control. Some days I think that I'm starting to look at money as water, some days I think, this isn't so hard...it'd be really cool to own an apartment building and fix it up. Then I remember how hard it is to make money, and how it takes a shitload of money to own things.

Our film is in the Boston Film Festival in June so I'll be heading out there right around my birthday. Rest assured, there will be no cancelling of Spankfest '07.

I think I want to go back to working on comedy. I think we're focusing on horror etc. now because it's the best genre to get work distributed, but I'm really not into it. The thing about horror or the thriller genre, is that you can't miss a beat. You mess one thing up--the monster looks too fake, you don't explain WHY the old lady hates hitchhikers, the twist is too predictable--and the whole movie sucks. People aren't into it, or all they remember is that moment where they were taken out of the movie. The only way to make a solid horror is really to make it so emotionally engaging, that it grabs a viewer and doesn't let go. Otherwise, you just hope that people find it campy in a good way, rather than just a piece of crap. The thing about comedy is that if you write 50 jokes and funny scenes, and 2 of them are absolutely hilarious, people will say, yeah, that was a funny movie. If 30 out of 50 things were funny, then people say it's a great movie. You don't worry if some things don't work as well as you had hoped, because the comedy genre is more forgiving. For example, I went out and bought Corky Romano on DVD, just because I liked that one scene where he's coked up and giving that talk to little kids and thinks he should buy a boat. There's only 1 thing funny in that movie and that's it, yet that one scene was funny enough to get me to shell out money for it. Twice. Maybe I'm a big coward. Maybe I don't have what it takes to make an utterly engaging movie. But I enjoy writing comedy more, because unlike horror, I don't sit at home outlining, then get scared that any tiny noise means some apparition is stalking me in my home.

So I want this:

https://secure.officeorganix.com/

I read that this one screenwriter has a set-up like this, so she basically sits in an anti-gravity chair and writes lying down in a dark room. Since I solve most of my script problems by falling asleep with my script pages splayed on my chest, this would be the perfect solution to my creative workflow.