Some decent news, so I think that I'll jinks it by typing it into my blog:
Yesterday, my pal Michael, with whom I work, pitched an idea for a documentary series to HBO. I'll hold off on stating the subject matter just yet, but it looks like it's a go! Now, to be honest, in Los Angeles, "it's a go!" means, "they didn't say no...yet - but at least no one spat in our faces!", but he felt really positive about it and got me shnockered on marked up drinks at some skeezy, poseur hotel bar in Westwood. So I've go tthis hangover going for me...which is nice.
Das year: 1981. I attended Westchester Middle School, it's first year in existence, on the far side of town, bussed in at 7 AM. Can you believe how early you used to get up for school? Shit, no wonder I can't remember a damned thing I was taught until at least 3rd period.
Let me quickly paint a portrait of Westchester, Illinois for you: Population 17,000 and four, FOUR HUGEgraveyards in town. There are more people beneath the ground than above: Not alot going on. Even though it's only 20 miles from Chicago, I think you'd be safe to bet that 1/2 of the residents never venture into the city with any regularity, and a slightly smaller percentage don't at all. When I close my eyes and picture my home town, the predominate colour I see is grey and the scent is that of the large garbage dump located adjacent to the Eisenhower Expressway.Me? Escape? You betya, at the first chance that I got. But, as I am wont to do, I digress...
My favorite classes were art and English, science was all right, and I despised with a passion my math class. Gym too. Oh God - this was my first year having to shower with other guys. As if you had nothing else to be freaked out about when you're 11, now you get to chalk up getting naked with your friends. I'll never forget the first time in that cold, sterile locker room that we all dropped trow while Mr. Lucas handed us green, faded towels. It was humiliating for each one of us...save for Paul Castlebuono, who I do hope pursued a career in porno, because even at 11 years old he outdid most grown men.
I had a crush on a Greek girl named Maria, so doing what all logical, preteens do, I pretended that I hated her and wound up "dating" Colleen, a redheaded, fair-skinned psychopath whom 2 days after our first dance, I "broke up with" (it is quite necessary when delivering sarcasm on the internets to use " " ).
This marked also the first year of school plays. I didn't audition, but they put up Westside Story, and the music teacher Mrs. Guitierrez asked me to tape record it. I was in love, not only with the idea of doing a musical, but also with Mrs. Guittierrez, a lithe, glasses-wearing, ivory-skinned psychopath (please note my obsession with nutters starting....now).
Yesterday, my pal Michael, with whom I work, pitched an idea for a documentary series to HBO. I'll hold off on stating the subject matter just yet, but it looks like it's a go! Now, to be honest, in Los Angeles, "it's a go!" means, "they didn't say no...yet - but at least no one spat in our faces!", but he felt really positive about it and got me shnockered on marked up drinks at some skeezy, poseur hotel bar in Westwood. So I've go tthis hangover going for me...which is nice.
Das year: 1981. I attended Westchester Middle School, it's first year in existence, on the far side of town, bussed in at 7 AM. Can you believe how early you used to get up for school? Shit, no wonder I can't remember a damned thing I was taught until at least 3rd period.
Let me quickly paint a portrait of Westchester, Illinois for you: Population 17,000 and four, FOUR HUGEgraveyards in town. There are more people beneath the ground than above: Not alot going on. Even though it's only 20 miles from Chicago, I think you'd be safe to bet that 1/2 of the residents never venture into the city with any regularity, and a slightly smaller percentage don't at all. When I close my eyes and picture my home town, the predominate colour I see is grey and the scent is that of the large garbage dump located adjacent to the Eisenhower Expressway.Me? Escape? You betya, at the first chance that I got. But, as I am wont to do, I digress...
My favorite classes were art and English, science was all right, and I despised with a passion my math class. Gym too. Oh God - this was my first year having to shower with other guys. As if you had nothing else to be freaked out about when you're 11, now you get to chalk up getting naked with your friends. I'll never forget the first time in that cold, sterile locker room that we all dropped trow while Mr. Lucas handed us green, faded towels. It was humiliating for each one of us...save for Paul Castlebuono, who I do hope pursued a career in porno, because even at 11 years old he outdid most grown men.
I had a crush on a Greek girl named Maria, so doing what all logical, preteens do, I pretended that I hated her and wound up "dating" Colleen, a redheaded, fair-skinned psychopath whom 2 days after our first dance, I "broke up with" (it is quite necessary when delivering sarcasm on the internets to use " " ).
This marked also the first year of school plays. I didn't audition, but they put up Westside Story, and the music teacher Mrs. Guitierrez asked me to tape record it. I was in love, not only with the idea of doing a musical, but also with Mrs. Guittierrez, a lithe, glasses-wearing, ivory-skinned psychopath (please note my obsession with nutters starting....now).
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