Once a Typewriter

Friar's Club. WGAE Holiday Party.

Gorgeous place that time forgot. The only writer I could spot by visage was Mr. Tom Fontana. He was there early but it took a while for me to muster up the courage to say hello to him. I wedged my way into a circle early on and shook hands with him (VP) and Chris Albers (President), who was talking about HornyManatee.com.

Later, drunker, I ran across Tom again, who noticed me and asked me how I was doing. I took the golden opportunity to blather on about how much I loved Oz. He seemed momentarily pleased that I was a fan of his work, and asked me what my story was. I proceeded to explain the whole SPF thing, and the Paramount thing, and I watched his eyes glaze over. He quickly fobbed me off onto another playwright who he thought I should talk to, and that's the best I can remember. Tom did mention that he started as a playwright but hasn't written a play in many years.

I admit, I find these functions... difficult. A mass of people. Trying to wedge yourself into "conversation circles" and scanning for a suitable conversation entry-point.

Eventually, I resigned myself to sitting in with a bunch of girls from the office. Administrative ladies. This one woman talked about M. Night Shyamalan and how much money he'd put into the WGAE coffer. After I talked about my horror picture, she joked that I'd be the new M. Night, and we all of us had a good laugh over this.

I've kind of grown a bit worn out talking about "it". I know it's one of those stories, and it's inspirational, and some people get a kick out of it, but I'm pretty bad at keeping it fresh. I'm no ingrate. I'm thankful for what I've got. But at the end of the day -- even though I'm not commuting to an office -- I'm still just a working stiff. Working for a big company. Trying to get my job done so I can enjoy some weekend that is far away and theoretical.

Ain't rich. And the future's as uncertain as ever. It is a lonely, desperate existence. And I'm just trying to keep it going.

Silly rabbit...