The first thing my writing partner Paul said when I walked by him this morning was: “Somebody’s got a healthy vegan glow about him!”. In fact, it wasn’t a healthy vegan glow. It was much, much worse! As Ashleigh informed me, we hadn’t eaten vegan after all. We’d actually gone to a raw food restaurant! So, after last night’s experience, I’d say vegetarianism is to veganism is to raw food dining as lobotomizing is to trepanning is to cracking someone’s skull with a hammer blow to get them to shut the hell up.
For his part, Carl was complaining about the peculiar lingering odor coming off his backpack. “It’s that hippie stench!”he cried. “That’ll never come off!” Apparently, Carl’s hippie-issues stem from an emotionally-scarring incident in his youth that saw him denied the opportunity to celebrate his tenth birthday at Disneyland because a bunch of hippies had taken over Tom Sawyer Island, forcing the park’s closure. It explains a lot.
Excruciatingly slow going on the script front. Still stuck early in Act I, spinning my creative wheels in frustration. It’s times like these I regret not having pursued my childhood dream of being a detective. If I was offered ten million dollars never to write again, I would gladly take the deal. As a matter of fact, make me an offer before I have to complete this latest script, and I’ll settle for 7.5 million. Come on, haters! Put your money where your mouths are! Remi Aubuchon doesn’t have 7.5 million to spare but kindly offered to kill me and thereby obviate my need to finish the script. I turned down the offer. Paul suspects that a week from now, when I’m agonizing over Act III, I’ll come to regret my rash decision.
Pics of the gang –
Hey, sis sent me a pic of Maximus in his svelter days…