Full Disclosure

Here's all you need to know about me (unless you're planning to blackmail me for something juicy and you'll have to work a little harder if you want to do that) -- would-be novelist, wannabe screenwriter, occasional poet (though I hate occasional poems) living on Nantucket (aside from Juno, Alaska and possibly Guam, the farthest point in America or its protectorates from Los Angeles), painting houses for a living. Often writing and painting at the same time, much to the annoyance of my customers. Officially too old to make it in film or TV, and finally beyond the last meaningful demographic. I also digress constantly. Like now: I saw a poster for some comedy today, starring one of those C-list Saturday Night Live punks, and all I could think about was the 20 year old, smart-ass illiterate film geek writers who pitched it to the 20 year old, smart ass illiterate film geek studio executives. And I'm just not interested. The fly on the wall in that room wouldn't be interested. (though the fly on the wall when they were pitching the Fly remake sequel thought it was a pretty cool idea; but then again my pug loves Men in Black). Anyway, I felt bad when I turned fifty, because I was finally out of the 34-49 age group. After that, they couldn't care less about you, unless they're selling laxative and Depends under garments (the same company probably makes both products). But I don't care now. I don't want their new pair of sneakers with the bubbles (I like my old sneakers with the holes). I have no interest in turbo charged pick-up trucks (I rarely drive up vertical dirt hills in the desert), or lemon coke. If I want lemon coke I'll squeeze some lemon into my coke, old school style. They can't bullshit me and they know it, so they've finally stopped trying. I take it as a compliment. This is a good demographic -- no suckers allowed.

Enough of that. I read books the way I always imagined James Beard would eat a five pound lobster (though I don't wear a bib); I watch movies like a rat in a Skinner box having my pleasure centers jolted. I'm absurdly opinionated (I've been arguing with son for two months about whether hummus is a food or a condiment. Food, obviously!) Feel free to argue with me unless you actually believe that the staple dish from Dubai to Detroit is just a sauce. In which case you probably think ketchup is a vegetable. No, that was Ronald Reagan. And if you are Ronald Reagan, keep your thoughts to yourself. You're dead, dude. Even if most of your speechwriters are still alive, working for your heirs and assigns, and it's looking a lot like late afternoon in America. There are a thousand points of light, Peggy, and this is one of them. Deal with it.

So this is a Bush-hating-screenwriting (member WGAW)- novel scribbling-agent bashing-movie reviewing, house painting tall tales-telling (What to do when you spill half a gallon of paint onto a wall of anqtiue bricks? How to force a customer to pay that last payment without lawyers or blunt weapons? )Blog. Parenting tips? Light verse? Hollywood war stories? (Okay, these anecdotes are from well behind the front lines, but those bombs can be pretty loud, even back where I'm stationed. Not to mention land mines. And the food sucks) It's all here. I'd say "And more!" because people always do. But there isn't any more. That's it. See you next time.