A donkey, a mammoth and a Dane walk into a bar...

FADE IN:

INT. BAR - NIGHT

SNUFFLEUPAGUS, a brown mammoth, sits at the bar, sipping beer through his snout. EEYORE, the donkey with the pinned-on tail and lopsided bow in his mane, stumbles up to the bar stool. Snuffy pulls the stool out so Eeyore can climb up to sit down.

EEYORE
Hey, Snuff.

SNUFFY
Hey, Eeyore.

Eeyore eyes the bartender. He nods, then pours out a rum and Coke and slides it across the bar to the donkey.

EEYORE
So Big Bird's letting you out of the fence again, I guess.

SNUFFY
No. I drugged his birdseed.

EEYORE
Oh.

SNUFFY
Yeah. He was singing some stupid song about multiples of five, counted himself right off to sleep.

EEYORE
Think he'll be mad?

SNUFFY
I don't care. I can take Big Bird.

EEYORE
You always say that but you never do it.

SNUFFY
Yeah? Well I don't see you taking out Tigger any time soon, either.

EEYORE
I've got a plan.

SNUFFY
Sure you do.

HAMLET, Prince of Denmark, walks up and sits next to them, signalling the bartender for a glass of wine.

EEYORE
Hey, Hamlet.

HAMLET
Hey, Eeyore.

SNUFFY
Hey, Hamlet.

HAMLET
Hey, Snuffy. Bid Bird letting you out again?

SNUFFY
Drugged his food.

HAMLET
Smart. Poison is smart.

EEYORE
I could probably poison Pooh Bear, but I don't think I could get Tigger to eat anything I make.

HAMLET
No, you'd probably have to push Tigger off a cliff.

SNUFFY
I bet Rabbit would help you.

EEYORE
Yeah. Probably. There'd be a lot of fallout, though. Piglet would go off the deep end.

HAMLET
Piglet you could probably poison. Or stab.

EEYORE
Probably.

Eeyore takes a swig of his drink. Snuffy snorts up the rest of his beer. Hamlet sips on his wine.

HAMLET
I want to die.

SNUFFY
Don't we all?

EEYORE
Not me. I just want to kill.

HAMLET
I could go for some of that too.

Snuffy checks the clock above the bar.

SNUFFY
So Bid Bird's probably waking up soon. I'd better get back.

EEYORE
I thought you didn't care?

SNUFFY
I don't. But I don't want to blow my edge. Oscar and I are trying to work out our assasination plot. We need all the advantages we can get.

HAMLET
I'll do it.

SNUFFY
Kill Bid Bird?

HAMLET
Yeah. I'll kill Bid Bird if somebody takes out my uncle.

EEYORE
I'll do it if somebody offs that damn Tiger. Ta ta forever, you annoying piece of crap.

SNUFFY
Good. We have a plan. Meet back here tomorrow, hash out the details?

HAMLET
Sure. I'll be done with my duel by then. Gotta fight Ophelia's brother.

EEYORE
How come?

HAMLET
I killed his dad.

EEYORE
Oh. Bummer. Well good luck.

SNUFFY
Watch out for poison.

HAMLET
Good advice. See ya.

Snuffy rolls off his stool and walks out of the bar. Hamlet looks around at the other patrons laughing, playing pool, flirting.

HAMLET
God, I hate these people.

EEYORE
Yeah. They should just die.

They both sip silently on their drinks.

FADE OUT.

Ds for everybody

Projects are due today. They're poetry projects. I gave the kids two weeks, most of it in class, including two trips to the library, to research an era of poetry - Renaissance, Classical, 19th Century, etc. - and present the major poets, a history of the period and an analysis of the poetry of the time. The idea is to explore how the poets are a product of their age.

That was the idea.

Instead I got a mumbly reading of something about Chaucer some boys downloaded and glued to a wrinkly green poster.

When I had to do a presentation on The Song of Roland, I made a puppet show out of socks. My project on Rosa Greenhow and the Civil War? A filmstrip with a soundtrack. For anatomy the only good grade I got was my hand-sewn spleen with clay tubes coming out of it. Geometry? A magic show, complete with a doll I sewed to look like our teacher as my assistant who got fake stabbed. I went through a sewing period in high school, which is funny since I have no idea how to sew now. I also really hate geometry.

I never in my life would have photocopied a print-out from Wikepedia and read it in a monotone and then asked if I got an A. Then again, I have always been fiercely competitive. If my project didn't wow everybody in the room and become the the pinacle of project awesomeness I got really irritated. My partners knew that if they worked with me they'd get an A for sure, but in the process they'd have to work their asses off because I would delegate.

I guess that's why I'm a teacher. Every day is one long presentation. God, I'm a nerd.

Bienvenue

Holy frijoles.

Thanks, Odocoileus, for the recommendation over at Done Deal. I've never seen so many hits on a Sunday.

If you came here through the link from Done Deal or you're new here for any reason, welcome to my brain. Say hi.

I teach English in a South Central LA public high school. I'm a lot like Michelle Pfeifer in Dangerous Minds but with a lot less tragic drama and no history of being in the Marines. Want to know some Spanglish? I'm getting pretty proficient.

I minored in French. It is not much help in my largely Guatemalan/Salvi neighborhood.

During my planning period I write TV specs. I've been in LA a little over a year (I'm from NC) and have been slowly making contacts who can help me as soon as my portfolio is ready. I have written about three feature specs and five TV specs, not counting all the trainwrecks I abandoned halfway through.

I am sarcastic all the time.

Come back. Ask questions. Live vicariously and be glad you don't have my job. Although, for the record, I kind of love my job. But it ain't for everybody.

Two heads...

Houseguest pointed out that I should write more stuff I know and less stuff that explodes. He's right, of course. He's always right. God, that's irritating. I'm kicking him out.

So I threw out this one thing: "I've got this one idea..." I said hesitantly. And then it started. You know that thing where you start with a kernel of a thought and you bounce ideas back and forth until you have a script all written in your head and all you have to do is transcribe it? It's bloody brilliant and it's a topic in which I have a ton of knowledge and experience. No organized crime or explosions involved.

So for the first time ever I'm taking on a partner for a project. My ear for realistic dialogue and Houseguest's expertise in clean storytelling is going to equal awesome. I hope. We might end up killing each other. But probably not since we'll be many states apart when we get down to business.

Any advice on working with a partner? Especially one who lives very far away? If you've done it, what worked for you? What were your biggest problems? How can I avoid destroying both script and friendship?

Enjoy your tryptophan.

Last night my Houseguest and I hooked up a new stereo to the TV and to test it out he insisted we watch Star Wars. Last thing I remember Luke was bitching about the blast shield being down. How's he supposed to fight? That was almost 1am and now I am at work while Houseguest sleeps in a warm bed. Tonight I'm going to lance Houseguest in the eye with a real light saber.

Houseguest and I will be spending Thanksgiving together in my apartment in a traditional meal of meatballs and shrimp and chicken and potatoes dipped in things. They're turkey meatballs, so it's kind of relevant. The hell if I'm cooking a whole turkey, and I don't like cranberries or stuffing. We still haven't decided on dessert yet. I suggested Baskin Robbins down the street, but apparently that is "ghetto". So it's narrowed down to chocolate fondue or peanut butter pie. Houseguest has been a good sport about going nontraditional and helped me buy groceries yesterday, although that may be because I've somehow convinced him that I'm a phenomenal cook.

Good lord, don't go to the grocery store unless you have to. Last night Vons was like Wal-Mart on moving day in a college town, especially around the turkey bin. Anybody ever wonder if Thanksgiving was just an invention by the turkey industry, like Halmark and Valentine's Day? The whole story about Indians sharing stuff was all a big lie perpetrated by North Carolina turkey farmers. The real story was probably -

Oh, hold up. That was a brilliant idea for a screenplay. The hell if I'm sharing it with you people when I can make a zillion dollars next year when I present my Thanksgiving script to the world and they go bat shit crazy over it.

Happy Turkey Day.

Reading is fundamental or something.

I'm finally teaching Hamlet after six years of waiting for the opportunity. It's a frabjous day. Hamlet is by far my favorite Shakespeare play and hearing 28 beautiful seniors read those lines of poetry, even when they butcher them, is a pleasing experience.

On my own time I'm reading Seven Seasons of Buffy, having already gotten through Five Seasons of Angel and Finding Serenity. You know you're a nerd when you spend valuable down time reading essays about a cancelled TV show, but they're interesting, dammit.

I just finished The Mastery of Love by Miguel Ruiz. It looks like a self-help book and I suppose it is, but it came to me recommended by a friend and after the day I spent devouring it between classes I found a lot of really useful insight. It's about how to not let the stupid crap bother you and focus on loving yourself. Sounds cheesy, but it was helpful. I recommend it if you have issues, and let's face it: we all have issues.

I'm almost done with the Buffy book, so after that I'm diving into Alex Epstein's Crafty TV Writing. I read the first chapter and already got some ideas on the next spec pilot I write, although I won't get to that until after I finish my current one and then work on a feature project. I also picked up the shooting script to Sideways, which I haven't had time to get to yet.

Somehow, I'm also revising my spec pilot during the day and going to the gym and spending all my spare time with a friend of mine who's moving out of the country soon and leaving behind a depressed Emily in his wake.

Time is the problem. I've got too many books to read and too many scripts to write and too many friends to see and muscle groups to tone. How am I supposed to do my actual job? Stop sleeping, maybe. Or lots of group projects. Let the kids design power point presentations and posters while I concentrate on my hobbies. That's how I mold young minds - half-assedly.

So what are you reading? Anything good?

We should all be more like Chuck.

It's kickboxing day! Because sometimes you just need to beat things.


Jane Espenson posted about where she likes to write and I though that was interesting. She doesn't sit at a desk because that makes it feel like work. I get that.

Now that I have a laptop I like to sit on my bed with one of those lap desks and type. Some people hand write their stuff, but isn't that a big old time waster? My hand hurts if I try to write on paper. Sometimes I write at work, but usually I only get one or two pages done that way because it's not as easy to get wrapped up in your story when teenagers are constantly banging on your door to see if they can borrow your scissors.

I like to listen to music. I put on whatever would fit on the soundtrack for that moment, so I have different playlists for different moods. I have songs for depression, for violence, and for sex scenes. When I wrote my first script a few years ago I killed off the love of my lead's life because that's what I do. That's still what I do four years later. I listened to Evanescence's "My Immortal" about fifteen times while I wrote that scene and ended up with blurred vision from all the tears. That was a good death scene. The rest of the script was mediocre at best of course, but I murder people like a champ.

But I digress. I write at work and at home but I always write, even if the conditions aren't ideal. People always ask me how I get so much work done while I have a real job, and this is how:

Even if you get one page a day in, that's five pages in a week and that's better than nothing. I see a lot of people post about how they've written one script and then stop like that's some great accomplishment. And it is, but it's not enough. When's the last time you wrote a page?

Everybody's got patterns of behavior. We all have ways we like to write, certain times we like to write, a certain order of operations. And so many people use that as an excuse. You'd write, but only if you have your favorite pillow or your proper music. I love to write with music, but if I don't have any I write anyway. I don't let a week go by without writing something, even if it's only one page.

I've played the flute since the fifth grade. I'm pretty good. I'd be better, though, if I practiced more. I used to stare at my flute in the case and whine about what a pain in the ass it was to practice, but once I got it out of the case and put it together it wasn't nearly as difficult as I'd made it sound in my head. Once you sit down at that computer (or put a pen to that notepad if you're a freak who writes longhand), the flow starts and before you know it you have a page. Then another page, then another until you have a working scene. But you have to get the instrument out of the case first.

Do you think Chuck Norris ever shirks his resistance training? He didn't get those muscles by staring at his freeweights and whining about how the conditions weren't ideal for a workout. He's Walker, Texas Ranger, bitches. He fought Bruce Lee.

I'm not going to tell you to stop reading blogs and posting and get to work. Personally I use both the posting and the reading as inspiration to get started. A lot of the time I'll read something that gives me an idea, then I'll open up Movie Magic and add a line of dialogue that turns into four pages. Hell, I just read one of Bill's posts about action scenes that revoutionized my way of thinking about the weakest scene in my current script. Now I can rewrite it properly thanks to a blog post.

There are no rules about how to write, and there are no excuses for not writing. So wherever you write and however you write, make sure that you do it. Stop arguing. It's just wasting time.

It helps if you listen to The Fray while you read.

Right now my life is either a romantic comedy or a tragic love story. I won't know until I get to the montage. I wonder what music will play while I look wistfully out the window? Probably something by Gavin Degraw or John Mayer, or maybe that creepy and depressing Imogen Heap song with the voice effects. That seems to be the montage song of choice these days.

Do you guys do that? Imagine your whole life as a movie? Sometimes I walk down the street listening to some ass-kicking song on my Ipod and imagine thugs attacking me and getting beat down by my cool kickboxing moves that are much better in my imagination than they are in real life. Sometimes when I stand in front of the kids and give some inspirational speech about why they have to work their way out of the ghetto through education I hear an inspirational ballad swell in my mind. If my life is a series of movie scenes, I'll cut out the one of me typing entries in a blog. Then again, I can probably jazz it up with intense music that shows how hard I'm working to achieve maximum blog awesomeness.

I really need my own soundtrack.

Back to work time

I've been in hybernation this week. Sometimes you just need to hide away and shirk all your responsibilities and rest, and that's what I was up to. Just another moment in the evolution of me.

I was supposed to host my table reading today. I had the actors all lined up and the scripts all copied, then I did a read-through on Friday night with a friend of mine who gave me some really solid criticism that made me extremely unsatisfied with my script. My problem is, the first half is a fantasy-style comedy with some unrealistic fight scenes and innappropriately funny dialogue. My second half is a dark drama with some scary violence and a real grasp of the theme. I have to find a way to reconcile the two.

I mentioned before that my main character wasn't fleshed out enough to compete with my second part. That's because he shouldn't have been the lead. I've turned it into an ensemble piece and that has totally changed the dynamic. It's allowed me to play to my strengths, because one of the things I excel at is juggling dialogue in a room full of people.

I've gone from being depressed at having to acknowledge that my script is not where it needs to be and that I thought it was and that means I kind of suck, to getting a little excited at the changes. Just by intercutting new scenes in my teaser and adding one scene to my first act I've already tightened the script and given my characters more consistent personality.

And that's why you have to have someone you trust read over your script. I didn't see my own problems. At first I felt bad about it, like I should be good enough to know what's wrong with the script without input from an outside source. But that's just the ego talking. I needed guidance. Who cares how I got it? In the end it will lead to a better story, and that's what we all strive for, isn't it? Fortunately all my actors were cool about putting off the reading because they're swell people. I just wish I hadn't already paid for all the script copies.

It's okay to cuss on TV if it's in Spanish.

I've had a few people email me asking for more teenage language lessons, so here's another round of what the kids are saying these days. I'm long out of the loop on standard white kid speak, so this only applies to my Latino kids, although the black kids who live in the neighborhood have picked up a lot of the lingo as well.

Came out - not a gay thing. To "come out" means to appear or act or exist. Someone comes out in a movie or a magazine. The kids sometimes add "barely", which I brought up last time, so a typical sentence would be, "Brad Pitt had barely came out in that Babel movie." (notice the tense is off - that's very common.) I regularly hear this question: "If I get my picture taken this weekend, will I come out in the yearbook?"

That's the only English phrase I've thought of lately. So now it's time for Spanglish. Yes, Spanglish, it's not just a boring Adam Sandler movie that made me fall asleep on the plane on the way back from North Carolina that one time. It's the name for the language that is creeping across the country and started right here in LA and surrounding areas. I tell the kids they can't use Spanish in their writing, but Spanglish is okay because it's an understandable dialect. It's essentially English with slang Spanish words thrown in with wild abandon. It's extremely cool to listen to. Every time I ask the kids to teach me vocabulary, it's Spanglish they give me, so I can't order anything at a restaraunt, but I can cuss you out pretty well. Here are some of the more popular words:

Chismosa - Gossip. Somebody who is all up in everybody's business. This is the feminine form, but it does come in a masculine too, as chismoso. This is my favorite Spanglish word and I use it all the time.

Pendejo/a - asshole. You've probably heard this one. Fernando Sucre uses it a lot on Prison Break.

Chinga - fuck, as in "Chinga tu madre" or "Fuck your mother". That's a very popular phrase around here.

Huey (pronounced like "way" - fool, idiot, jackass. It's technically a cussword. For many of my kids this word pops out every other second. I have a student who says it so often my nickname for him is Heyhuey. A commonly heard phrase using this word is "Callate, huey!" when you want somebody to shut up.

There are many, many more words but I will save those for another day.

I will shoot a clown in the face if I have to.

I have a confession to make. I hate clowns. I don't dislike clowns or think they're creepy or get mildly uncomfortable when they're around. I HATE them. If I saw a clown walking across a foggy highway in the middle of a backroad in Eastern North Carolina at 2:30 in the morning I would run that son of a bitch over and not think twice about it. I'm not kidding.

It's called Coulrophobia and it's a real fear. Greg probably thinks it's funny. Greg can get bent.

Krusty does not frighten me. Pennywise makes me scream in terror. I will cross the street to avoid walking past a grate in the curb because that creepy bitch is not going to grab my leg and rip it off like he did that little boy's arm. No we do not all float down here, you fucking psycho.

I thank my lucky stars nobody at the party dressed as a clown Saturday night or I'd have had to hide in a corner and cry all night. Really, I'm not kidding. I think it's the idea of a fake smiley creature trying to seduce little children with candy and balloon animals. Screw that. Evil fuckers.

My students can't know this. You can never show them your weakness. So today when a student drew an evil clown on my board at the end of yearbook class I had to pretend it didn't bother me. I didn't look at it directly, just cheerfully told him to erase the board as soon as he drew it so that I wouldn't have to clean it later. Then I turned around to shut down the computers and one of them has now been evil clown wallpapered. I looked at the evil clown. He looked at me. I looked at the ceiling as I switched the screen to tulips. Ahh, tulips. Beautiful, nonevil tulips. You are all that is holy and good in this world.

Spare Parts

Planning a table reading has educated me in a big way. I'm hoping to have it next Sunday with about ten of my actor friends at my apartment for a couple of hours. I have to give them the script ahead of time and tell them what parts they're reading and then the all show up and I sit in the corner with my mouth shut while they do all the talking. In theory. I've never actually done one of these before.

But what's been interesting about it is the way I've started looking at my script once actors entered into the equation. They're my friends, but they're a lot less likely to want to read my material unless I give them something juicy to do with all those acting chops. As I've been informing them of their parts, I've realized that some of my characters are weak. I feel bad asking a friend to come over and spend time reading a part that has no real emotional involvement. Of course, not every character can be great. You don't want minor characters to take over the story. But just because they're minor doesn't mean they can't have personality. In Last Kiss there's a gay neighbor who has about three lines but those lines are brimming with character. One of them got the biggest laugh in the film. In fact, all the characters in that movie had a distinct personality no matter how much screen time they got. It's an actor-friendly film.

So I'm doing an actor-friendly rewrite. I'm going to think of my script in terms of what I'd be proud to have my friends read. When they come over, I want them to be satisfied with the job they're doing, even if it's not the lead. I've never thought about it that way before.

So next time you work on your script, try it. If you were an actor, would you want to play that part?

Later I'll pee in your coffee.

Today I had to pretend to like people. It's the first day of a new semester and I have a new senior English class. In it is a boy we'll call Jose because there's always a Jose. Jose used to date Mayra. They had a baby together, they were voted cutest couple in the school, they were never apart and always held hands in the hallway. Right after Jose lovingly supported the birth of his first child, he dumped Mayra for a little bottle blonde chippie. Mayra was in my class last semester, so I've grown to hate this boy.

Then today the boy and his chippie show up in my class and struggle to keep their hands off each other. And I have to pretend this doesn't bother me because I'm not supposed to take sides. Half of teaching is acting.

The teacher who was leaving my classroom wanted to take my books. I offered her a deal to trade one set of books for another and she didn't want to make that deal so I didn't let her have my books. We had to have this fight in front of two classes worth of students so it was a polite, smiley argument where we worded everything as if we were really just looking out for everybody's best interest when really we were punching each other in the face psychically.

I wonder how often in a given day people do that. Fake niceness. They don't do it enough in scripts. People say what they mean far too often in stories, when it's what we don't say that both tells the story and provides better conflict. The whole class knew that other teacher and I didn't like each other. I think they were disappointed that we didn't get into a fist fight, but that would have made it a different story. My day is usually a comedy, not an action pic.

Stay away from the Jello.

Raise your hand if you were hung over Sunday. Yep.

Every Halloween I'm the same thing: Buffy. I love Buffy. Being Buffy makes me feel badass. I even have a sharp wooden stake a shop teacher made me one year, which very nearly got me in trouble with the cops in Chapel Hill, but we don't need to go into that. The point is, this year I wanted something different but still heroic. I was gonna be the invincible cheerleader from Heroes.

I shouldn't have waited until Saturday to shop for the outfit. The costume place was packed with people but short on cheerleader costumes. I found something close to what I was looking for in a child's size.

So I wore this:

Not exactly heroic, but very comfortable, even when I puked in the bushes. Unfortunately I'll probably have a scar from where I backed into the outdoor heater with my exposed calf.

I'd like to publicly thank the rugby players who helped me to the car. I know I was proclaiming my ability to walk on my own, but I was lying. Thanks fellas. I wish I knew who you were or remembered what you looked like.

And thanks to my girl for magically getting me into my pajamas. It was nice to wake up with pants on.

Why I love actors

I love actors. I know that's not the popular theory because everybody thinks of actors as dramatic premadonnas who demand too much and give too little, but I love 'em. Most of my LA friends are actors. Maybe I still love them because none of them have blown up yet. A couple of them are about to, so I'll probably be able to start hating them when that happens.

Actors are passionate people. They have to be able to call up their emotions at the drop of a hat and I respect that. It's easy when I'm in my office staring at a computer screen with mood music playing and nobody else around, but surrounded by a camera crew and preparing to share your performance with the world? No way.

I can write the words all day long, but without someone talented to read them, nobody will ever know what I have to say. We should love them for that alone.

I don't know how they find me, but they do. And they all want me to write them the Oscar-winning part even though I keep explaining to them that I write TV and that nobody pays me yet. "Yeah, but when you do make it," they tell me, "I'll audition for that part I like." Actors are so optimistic. They have to be. There are thirty thousand of them competing for one part, but they have to be convinced they'll get it or they would give up and go home. Their optimism rubs off. Hell, all their emotions rub off. That's why they're actors.

The men all want Brad Pitt's career. They also want to have his body in Fight Club. I don't know what the women want, but I think I'll start asking. If you ask what kind of role they prefer, it's almost always the villain. Actors love playing villains because it's more of a stretch. It allows you to do things you'd never do in daily life because your conscience won't let you.

I should be a casting agency. You name it, I got it. Need a spunky Indian princess? Got one. Need a hot, tall, Germanic blond hero? An all-American boy next door? A dark, disturbed musician with the sexiest voice you've ever heard? A funky gay best friend? Got all those and more. And they're all fabulous.

Well, all except that one guy. I don't know what his problem is.

The best part about having a harem of actors as some of your best friends? In a few weeks I'm going to pay them pizza and beer to do a table read of my spec pilot. And that will be very cool.

How I spent my weekend, part three

SUNDAY

Arrival at 7:15 during Volunteer Coordinator's big speech about how important that book for the room is and why we shouldn't lose it. As people dispersed to their various locations I grabbed a donut and a walkie-talkie and got to work.

Sunday was easier than Saturday. No Pixar, for one thing. Plus, classes ended a lot earlier in the day and we had enough volunteers to go around. I spent most of the day in a chair in command central, answering phones and solving problems as they filtered in while VC handled the big stuff.

Biggest problem of the day: Tim Minear's A/V stuff was not set up or working or something. All I know is there was a thing with a white board and a projector and the A/V guys were all over it for a long time. There was some frantic radio traffic for half an hour. Tim Minear was so cool about everything. His assistant was all over it so he could relax and teach his class. He even came back an hour before his second session so he could spend more time discussing story ideas. People followed him out of the room before lunch like little baby ducklings and he just trucked along, happily answering questions. A swell guy.

Ran a lunch room again. If you were up in the Meridian room I stamped your hand. A smiley face. We ended up with well over 100 boxed lunches left over, so a crew of us
broke down the boxes and pulled out apples, cookies and chips to feed to the hungry crowd at the closing ceremonies. We felt really bad throwing out the sandwiches, but nobody had enough energy to go find homeless people to feed.

Sat at the computer taking back the books and checking people out. We got every single book back. We did have a few speaker noshows, but one of those was a guy who showed up one minute after his students all left and two of them had cancelled a week earlier but it never made it down the pipeline.

The volunteers did a good job. I definitely made new friends, which was my main purpose in going to the Expo anyway.

Most of the volunteers went to help clean up the ballroom when all was over but I stayed in the volunteer room chatting up VC's cousin, who, as it turns out, grew up where I went to college.

As people filtered out one after the other, all that remained was A/V guy, VC and VC's cousin, three guys who have known each other for a while and were working this thing for four days. Then there was me, the new kid, the interloper. But they included me when making plans for next year, and I appreciated that. I am so down for doing it again. Probably because I enjoy the power. I had people under me.

It was like summer camp as we were all leaving. Hugs and business cards flying freely around the room. I had no business cards so I wrote all my info on leftover name tags. The Expo taught me that I need business cards.

I passed by the bar where the scribosphere meet-up was taking place but I was so worn out from two days of constant running around that I just wanted to go home and sleep. I wish I'd have at least stopped in to say hi, but I was afraid if I did that I wouldn't leave because I know how I am about conversations and meeting people. I had to be at work the next morning at 7:15.

As it turns out, they accidentally held over my sub so I didn't have to be at work at all yesterday. I wish I'd have known that before I showed up on time.

So that's the Expo. Look for me next year. I'm the little blond with the walkie-talkie and the loud Southern accent.

How I spent my weekend, part two

First off, let me establish that this post will teach you nothing about screenwriting. This is all about the visceral experience of running around next to the guy who's next to the guy who runs the show. If you want the vicarious Expo educational experience, check out Maggie's posts. Hers are far more filled with useful information. I am filled with something else entirely.

That said, I give you...

SATURDAY

There weren't enough volunteers Saturday as some people neglected to show up. So while there were supposed to be two or three "break roamers", people who run around to give the volunteers the occasional bathroom break or to disseminate information, instead there was just me.

So I'm thinking, break roamer. Okay. I'll get to sit in on classes in snippets as I casually go from room to room all day.

Hell no.

So this is how I ended up with a walkie-talkie and an attitude, unintentionally making people think I worked for the magazine.

Let me tell you something about Volunteer Coordinator (VC). For some reason he doesn't want credit for anything so I'm not going to say his name, but I can't let his contribution go unnoticed. Without VC the building would have imploded. Chaos would have erupted, dogs and cats would be permanently cohabitating, there'd have been anarchy. There were complaints all day long about the crowded rooms, the temperature, the parking, the food, the building layout, the cost, a million other things that weren't under VC's control. Not once did I hear this man raise his voice to anyone. Even when he was confronted with thirty people shouting his name and tugging on his sleeve, he dealt with every single one of them fairly and honestly and without malice, and he did it all for a paltry sum. He's a truly decent human being and anybody who was there owes him more than you realize. I feel lucky to have been his sidekick.

The Pixar thing was packed to ridiculous proportions as the line of people overflowed out the door and around a piece of the building. Fortunately, the planners had called for overflow rooms all over the building. Unfortunately, the audio feed was absolute shit. That kept pretty busy the A/V guys and girl, who were very cool, hard-working people who never stopped going all day. I didn't hear much of the Pixar presentation, but I understand it went pretty well. I occasionally went by a room and heard the audio and they were doing a bunch of stuff about Toy Story. I have no idea what else they did because I was racing pell-mell from one place to the other bringing people water and information, answering questions and generally handling whatever minor irritations seemed to keep buzzing their way into the volunteer room.

Eventually I got a walkie-talkie. People look at you differently when you have a walkie-talkie. Ever want instant respect? Put one of those on your waist band. Ever want to be hated? Make sure you have the volume way up when you open the creaky door and walk into a postage stamp sized classroom to look around while the teacher is revealing the secrets of the universe.

There were three main areas where lunch boxes were distributed, so I was put in charge of one of them. If you bought a Gold Pass or a lunch ticket you got a box and permission to see the speaker. If you didn't pay ahead of time, you were on your own. No speaker for you.

There was no speaker in the room where I was, but it said there was on everybody's ticket. So I told the people in line that they could get their food but the speaker, Michael Arndt, would be in another room and simulcast just like the Pixar stuff. People grumbled but accomodated.

Then another volunteer came up and told me the speaker would in fact be in the room. I announced that to all the people in the line and they happily got their lunches and sat down.

Then VC came up and told me the speaker would be in another room and simulcast and there would be nothing going on in the room where I was. So I announced that to the room. For some reason, they didn't pelt me with their veggie sandwiches. Some even thanked me for being so quick with the information. I must have some kind of charming voodoo I didn't know about.

I believe this was about the time the people got stuck in the elevator. There were firemen. It was funny, though probably not for the people who were in there. Everybody was a little afraid to go to the 18th floor after that, especially when the A/V guys almost got stuck in it again.

After lunch is a blur to me. I don't remember it, just that I was really tired later and collapsed on the floor in a heap. Somewhere in cyberspace there is a picture of me laying in a chair, a thousand-yard-stare planted on my face, my mouth wide open and possibly drooling.

I ate three large cookies, a turkey sandwich with brussel sprouts and drank about fifty-seven Pepsis during the day. My stomach hates me.

Friday and Saturday we shared the Marriott with Concord Law School. That was a big pain in the ass and we wouldn't have had nearly as many problems or all those tiny rooms had we not had to give up rooms to the law school. But just before Pixar let out the 900 or so people watching the post-lunch presentation, a 50-year class reunion began in the hallway. Fortunately they moved into a ballroom just before the presentation ended, but for half an hour they blocked the only route of escape from the ballroom floor. Several of us were trying to figure out how we could steal some of their drinks from the bar. We did not succeed.

Then there was the networking party. You had to buy tickets to that, but the party started early and we were tired, so I'm sure we missed some people. If you got free artichoke pizza, bully for you. Drinks were still at least $5.50.

Some of the volunteers got together and played "two truths and a lie." That's how I learned that I suck at that game. I got every single one wrong. That's at least 20 times I fell for a lie. People were purposely guessing against me. Then I got one right just as the bar closed, and that was the signal that it was time to go. The bar closed at 11. Why did the bar close at 11? I don't know.

I had so much fun and met such cool people I volunteered to do it again Sunday. Or maybe I just hate myself.

By the way, a bunch of people have been asking why the Expo wasn't held at the Convention Center this year. The answer is simply that it was all booked-up in advance. According to the guy in charge of A/V, who busted his ass this weekend for minimal thank-yous, the Convention Center isn't that great a prize anyway. Perhaps if we hadn't been sharing the Marriott with a law school and the geriatric crew, people would be complaining a lot less.

Tomorrow, SUNDAY.

How I spent my weekend, part one

Whew. I can breathe again.

Friday at the Expo I met Maggie, who is pretty damn delightful and somehow recognized me as I was meandering by at lunch. I saw David Ayer and learned a thing or two, sat in on Joel's informative and cheerful lecture and introduced myself, then watched Harlan Ellison interview Ron Moore in one of the more hilarious conversations ever to be set on a stage in front of hungry screenwriters. They mostly talked about Harlan's book and why we should all buy it. But it was informative too, not because Moore talked about how to break in, but because he talked about crafting a series and how he made the creative decisions he eventually had to live with. The reason? Exactly what you thought: Ron Moore has big brass balls.

Saturday I volunteered. Last year I worked the big room with the keynote speakers and I liked it, so I figured I'd do that again this year. Either way I didn't want to be stuck in a classroom all day. Those of you who were there know about the California rooms. For those of you who weren't, let me explain. Half the rooms at the Marriott that were reserved for the Expo were the size of the head (as in bathroom, for those nautically challenged) on a Russian nuclear submarine, and most of them filled up with people spilling out into the hallway as the air got thicker and thicker with the odor of screenwriter B.O. I did not want to get trapped in there all day, and when you volunteer that's what happens: You get stuck in one room all day. The upside is you get to sit in on all the classes and take notes, and all you have to do is take tickets whenever somebody comes in. The downside is, you get stuck in a classroom all day.

I don't sit still. I spend all day in my job on my feet talking. The truth is, teachers make the worst students. We're used to running things, not kicking back and watching.

So I had to have the Marquis room with the Pixar people. I set my alarm for 4:45 a.m. to make sure I had enough time to hit the snooze and be out of the apartment by 6:00 to get to the volunteer room as the first in line like last year. My alarm never went off because I forgot to switch it over to the weekend setting. So I woke up at 6:15, cursing.

I got in the car at 6:30 and raced down Western to hit the 10 West. Ramp closed. I took the 10 East to Normandy. Ramp closed. I guessed Vermont must be closed too so I trucked it south down Normandy, really hoping I could figure it out from there. I did, but I ended up as one of the last ones in the room. No Pixar for me.

This is where I begin to believe in fate. There were about five people left and only tiny, submarine bathroom rooms left and Volunteer Coordinator turned to me. "Do you need an errand runner?" I said.

Thus begins my weekend of adventure.

To be continued tomorrow.

Expo day one ramblings

I'm here. And I'm wondering how many of you have walked by me while I sit here during the long lunch break across from the bathroom, noodling around on my laptop. Some guy just walked by an applauded the fact that I'm actually writing. I'm not sure this counts.

That guy would be cute if he hadn't pinned his Expo catalogue to his chest with his backpack strap. Dude, that is so nerdy.

This is a nice location. It's a lot quieter than last year. If you don't come until Friday you may have trouble finding it; it's downstairs in the Marriott. It took me a while to find it, but at least I parked for free, and you'll have to torture me before I tell you where because you are not taking my spot.

I spent an hour in traffic on the 10. I had to pee the whole time. You know that Simpson's episode where Grandpa's bladder ruptured while they drove past several bathrooms and the world's largest toilet? That was almost me. Thank God for Burger King.

My feet stink. If you walked by me just now and smelled them I apologize. My shoes were in my gym bag for three days with little to no ventilation.

Lunch was lonely. I ate a Von's sandwich and grapes and I forgot my Ipod. So I sat and read Seven Seasons of Buffy.

Interesting talks so far. There's not much going on, but there are a few interesting speakers. I'm surprised by how many people are here today. The main speaker room is like three degrees, so bring a sweater, and I can't find a water fountain, so bring money.

The volunteer coordinator remembered me from last year. I must be more obnoxious than I thought. I just wish I could find the two friends I made. I keep thinking I see them, but I'm hallucinating.

If I had a digital camera I would take pictures. Man, we are a dorky looking people. There's a dude staring at me. Either he thinks I'm hot, thinks he knows me, or is disgusted by the odor of my feet. It's probably the feet. Jesus, they smell bad. Maybe I should put my shoes back on.

Teaching rant #3

Our college prep counselor is a lunatic. She once grabbed a friend of mine's package and she took a picture of herself holding up her arm and smiling as her submission for a TB test thinking she could just send that in, and she did it right in the middle of a seminar. Then she asked my friend if she could pay him for sex. Today she decided the entire school should take the PSAT.

Sophomores and select Juniors will be taking it. Freshmen and Seniors will take the practice PSAT (that's right - the practice practice test). Our kids aren't eaxctly the best behaved students in the world. Also, they're in homeroom for this, which is not a really structured classroom to begin with. So I'm in homeroom for three hours with 30 freshmen trying to force them to take a test they know doesn't count for anything.

I spent the first half hour struggling to get them to be quiet and pay attention to the test with no results. So I gave up. I really hate homeroom. There's no set curriculum but we're still expected to teach them something. I don't have a classroom, but for some reason the guy who's room I'm in has no homeroom while I have to travel here to babysit these freshmen. It's completely stupid, and so is this ingenious plan to make every kid in the school take a practice practice college entrance exam.