the blog where i convince myself i'm not a writer

I refuse to write on Final Draft in public in Los Angeles, going to Los Angeles, or coming from Los Angeles. It is my attempt to not be a "number".

These "numbers" flock to LA with the lurid hope that they too will one day become the biggest writer since Sliced Bread, who wrote for Small Wonder during the '86-'87 season.

So here I sit, on a flight from Tennessee to Los Angeles firmly attached to my Text Edit.

Ahh, Text Edit; mysterious as the days are long. Yes, on it I could be writing something "LA"; a script, a treatment, autoerotic literature, but I could also be writing a list of groceries,"thank you" notes to relatives, autoerotic literature.

I don't like labels; sure, I've been called many names in my life; "Jew", "That Jew" and "That Creepy Jew Who Writes Autoerotic Literature", but I dare to defy them; NO! I will not write at the library, NO! I will not hold "business meetings" at a Starbucks, NADA! I will not eat Baja Fresh who sobbing profusely about my many failures.

No sir! I am a working writer, who works to write and writes to work. Also, I hate myself and everything I stand for. I guess that proves I'm not much of a writer though; ending a sentence with a proposition? If only William Safire was here to critique me.

So I refuse to write on Final Draft in public because as soon as anyone SEES me writing on Final Draft in public, they immediately define me as "one of those"; the nameless, faceless masses who take up about 95% of Los Angeles real estate and contribute nothing, except indigestion and slight dose of narcissistic hypochondria, which is a word I needed spell check to figure out how to spell. I guess that's strike two against being a writer. I'm a terrible speller. In fact, I almost spelled terrible with a 6. That doesn't eve6n make sense.

And neither does the fact I want to be a writer. I mean, what kind of self-important twit thinks that they have something truly revelatory to say that anyone wants to hear? Not me; in fact, I can barely stand being alone with myself for more than 10-12 seconds. And that's generous. No, I hate myself too much to be a writer; I'm a firm believer that even though people like Woody Allen or David Sedaris might be self-effacing, in their heart of hearts, they are OBSESSED with themselves. Not me. I vomit tears and blood when I look at myself in the mirror.

Strike three I guess. Oh well, it was a nice 16 1/2 years dreaming of being a professional writer. I'm gonna hand in my union card and become some sort of sex monk that gets to meditate and have sex with nubile young hippie chicks.

But wait....

Worrying about grammar and spelling? This is the 21st century and illiterate nincompoops are now shining beacons of literature! I don't need to actually know shit in this LOL LULZERS society. Well, take two strikes back.

As for the third strike...This entire blog posting is about myself...so I guess I'm kinda obsessed with myself in a "Mysery" starring Kathy Bates kinda way. The only thing is, I'm not sure whether I'm Kathy Bates or James Caan. Either way, I'm either breaking my legs or having my legs broken.

I guess you can love yourself and despise yourself at the same time. That what they call "Larry David" syndrome, right?