2007 was, perhaps, the most closely documented year online and, in my opinion, my most successful year of the group. After the crap ending of last year a lot of my priorities changed concerning my future. Acting was pretty much out of the picture. I was dealing with the separation from Tchotchke and attempted to get myself out of corporate coffee and into a career more suited to my abilities and education. Talked to anyone and everyone about getting a better job. Searched heavily in the healthcare field, as is where most of my professional experience lies, but no one was biting. Almost scored a position at Highland Park Hospital, almost. Didn't matter, though, 'cause HP came calling later when a chance encounter and an overheard conversation led me to becoming Executive Assistant to the Store Manager of the Highland Park Saks Fifth Avenue. Felt really remorseful about losing Tchotchke and very bolstered by the new position, so much so that I made an impassionate plea to get her back and was shut out. This led to a snot-nosed teary-eyed semi-breakdown in my kitchen while trying to cook a grilled cheese sandwich. Couldn't go through another break-up like I did the last one, with years of self destruction and pain, so, for a rare moment in my life, I sought out help and started up therapy. Once a week I'd meet with this social worker, suit jacket slumped on the sofa, and cry in my tie for an hour talking about how much I missed her and what I thought she thought of me. And it helped. For a little. Since I'd been through this before, I was making great progress, if only for the fact that I had someone else to listen to me bitch and moan. But I was writing, too, and that was getting the demons out as well. And then everyone was reading it, not just Little Miss Social Worker. So our hour got longer and the stories got less about Tchotchke and more about me. And I'm shelling out money for this? Decided writing was more fruitful and less costly, so I ended it.
Didn't end Corporate Coffee, though. Was kicking my ass seven days a week, Saks Monday through Friday, Coffee Saturday and Sunday. The "weekend" was from 5pm Friday night, when I ended Saks, to 2pm Saturday afternoon, when Coffee started. Coffee actually became a joy. It was automatic and the only stage I had, so I played with it as much as I could. Ooh, and I hated Mondays. Closed Sunday night and Monday was nothing but payroll. The cosmetic ladies and sales associates knew to keep their distance and speak cautiously. Y'know, I've had some experience doing clerical work, but I had little idea what I was doing in that clothing store. And even less interest in doing so. But I made it look damn good. And I must've been doing something right, 'cause they invested a lot in me. Even allowed me to make a business trip. It's a very sexy feeling, stepping out of a limo at the airport, a well-dressed professional young man, bag of high-fashion merchandise, reading an oft-talked-about modern classic of American fiction, waiting for the flight to Chicago.
You would think.
Couldn't close a deal to save my life, so to speak. Went on many dates, but they remained dates. I didn't... I couldn't. And I don't know why. Well, I sorta know why. I just left Tchotchke, a relationship unbalanced. I'm totally not ready to give balance to another relationship, and I don't want to put anyone else through the pain of a breakup. I need to put myself together before I attach with someone else. Something like that. It made sense at one point. So I didn't. And I couldn't.
When I wasn't working I maximized my relaxation time, very often doing nothing. When the weather was warm I sat on my roof and chatted with Buddha, oriented myself with the world, contemplating my surroundings. The sky erupted into brilliant lightning storms that summer. The only days off I had I had to schedule months in advance, and they were usually for flights. I flew more this single year than the previous three years combined. In Detroit I steamrolled years of work experience into a day and raised the public appreciation for Saks Fifth Avenue staff. In New Orleans I traded tour stories with a band at Jazz Fest and tricked a whole beer tent into thinking I was an Aussie from Scotland. Texas was a roadie gig helping Sis move, the moving truck breaking down on the way and just making the flight back within hours. It all got to be too much, really. I gained a new appreciation for fashion but I couldn't get behind my product. $500 for a sweater? Plus I'm dealing with the North Shore on two fronts, clothing and coffee. The higher the price, the louder they bellow. I don't wear the clothes, I wouldn't shop there, and I'm not happy with where the path leads: 70-hour workweeks and "fabulously" high blood pressures. I'm working three full-time positions and being paid chicken feed. And they're grooming me for more of this. I can't. I have to leave before I get in deeper. Five months after I started, I did.
And the most amazing thing happened. I cut out all auditions except for Blue Man Group this year. Really wanted to ride on the coattails of last year's baby steps. Practiced for months beforehand, drumming my arms numb. Got rubbed out right at the start. Wanted to pack it all up until I got a call about a callback audition for a little theater in Oak Park I auditioned for the previous year for the Buddy Holly Story. This play they were hyping was brand-new. My absolute last day at Saks Fifth Avenue I drove from the Far North suburbs through the city to the west suburbs to spend a couple minutes doing a monkey dance for someone. And they bit. 'Course I was one of two guys young enough with an open schedule to fit the parts, but accepted I was. And it paid, too. And the rest of the season with the theater held a lot of promise as well. But, if you've been reading all this so far, you know this already.
Spiritually I was reaching a major crossroads, the mixing of conscious and subconsicous. Things were falling into place very well for me. My altar was modest but proud. My meditation was sporadic but fulfilling. And my journal was filling up right quick one page at a time. But I know this path I'm on. And I know what's supposed to happen next year. Seventh Chakra: Death and release. The end of the road. I'd been at this for so long I felt totally immersed in it. But, this path sorta made me so removed from many people I knew, especially my family. They're strongly Roman Catholic, as I was raised, and they've invited me back to church dozens of times for multiple reasons. I had left the church years ago, mostly due to ennui and frustration with the dogma, and taken myself upon this path as a way to soothe my depression. Some things changed inside me, some didn't. Was what I was doing the right thing? I didn't know. The only way I knew to be sure was to stop what I was doing and go back to what once was. You only understand half of the effect someone or something important to you is when you're connected to them. The other half comes when you don't have them anymore, when you have to deal with the hole they left in you. So I took out everything Buddhist in my life: My malas, my altar, my Buddha rubber duckie in the bathroom. Went back to church a couple times. Was even asked to be an altar boy right around Christmas. Long story, tell you later. My view of Jesus Christ changed from a kind, sweet man who taught wisdom and kept his friends close to a bloody tortured soul nailed to two pieces of wood. And I saw people flooding buildings every week to kneel at his feet. Was this inviting enough for me to come back? Not really. So I left the year sorta floating tetherlessly, a leaf on the wind.
There's so much more to write. Search the archives or check out the zoomshare website to catch up. I see no need to regurgitate more of this now. And this coming year makes me laugh so hard I feel compelled to start in on it. Though I will leave you with this: One should never read Henry Miller while exercising at the gym. Those who don't understand just scratch their heads, but those who do cast the most discerning glares. Skeevish perverted fun.
The sixth chakra is indigo, mysterious, and is located at the forehead, the Third Eye. It directly correlates with the location of the pineal gland, an organ which, like its cousin the pituitary gland, controls hormone balance and, unlike the latter, is said to be connected with paranormal and parapsychological ability. The sixth chakra controls foresight, imagination, problem-solving. Its energy can be channelled by Lapis Lazuli. Now that Being and Every Other Being are communicating with each other, every message they transmit sparks another message in the other. Even absence of message transmit a spark, if the two beings are connected. Both beings are pieces on a go board. If one moves here, the other cannot, and their next move dictates how the rest of the game goes. That's all this is; just a game. And like all games, every one comes to an end.
----------------
Now playing: Fall Out Boy - The Carpal Tunnel of Love
25 October 2008
11 October 2008
Fifth Chakra: Sketchpad
2006 was, hands down, the most challenging year of the septumvirate. I always consider myself to be less an instigator than an alleviator in a relationship, but this year I felt encouraged to become more vocal. I have plans and goals, and instead of always pushing mine aside to make way for others, as is my wont, I decided to stand steadfast. My plans are just as valid as yours, and I plan to go ahead with them regardless. Not only does it take a lot of teeth-grinding and hand-wringing to have me stand my ground, it takes much more to endure the frowns and harsh tones of others when I defy them. But, that's under normal circumstances. This year the teeth-grinding and hand-wringing were replaced with a clear mind and a stomach full of molten lead. God, it about murdered me.
This year was, perhaps, the most realistic in terms of my acting career. True pounding the pavement, true juggling of artistic dreams and keeping my bread-and-butter. In other words, my track record went down the tubes. Chicago is a great market for a beginning actor because there are so many projects going on at any time which don't require unions or agents to hook up with. I started marketing myself hardcore, talking to old friends who were well-established in the Chicago theater scene, sending out PR packets to anyone and everyone, Finally landed a legitimate agent, but I was already scheduling about three auditions a week for myself at that point anyway. Striking out, striking out, striking out: I realize an actor has to learn to love the audition process, but rejection never ends being a tough pill to swallow. Did score some paying gigs, but it was just too amazing how every time I collected a paycheck my car suffered some malady which cost EXACTLY the same amount of money. A lot of my energy was spent working on an original script with three other friends, our own foray into life in a coffee house. A script of this still exists somewhere. My greatest failure was a drop-of-a-hat cattle call for Blue Man Group which got me a callback just based on my week-old self-taught drumming skills. My experience with those last two projects made me rethink my whole dedication to this acting thing. I know I'm good, people tell me I'm good, so why do I run myself ragged grasping at straws for a small role in someone else's monkey show? I got my own monkey show which is better than theirs, and I deserve to put my energy towards myself. So, after months and months and dozens of failed attempts, I decided to cease all that crap and focus more on my own talents and strengths. I wanted to be creative for my own sake, never someone else's.
Tchotchke and I become more honest with each other this year. With her help and encouragement, I was the cleanest and most sober than I can ever remember being. A couple seasons of no cigarettes, no weed, no alcohol, I even stopped drinking coffee for a few weeks. Boy, did I get argumentative. We took multiple breaks from each other, no contact, a few days here, a week or so there. Things got really hit-or-miss. She knew how talented I was but she didn't approve of the artistic collaboration with friends, seeing it as a waste of time, and eventually she became a wedge which help split apart everything. Her career was taking off and flourishing, and grad school brought on more promise, so when was I gonna buckle down and find a more secure place with my profession? I may be a great guy, but where was my future going? I could never give an answer which held much weight. Why? Because, with what I wanted to do, even I didn't know. At this point, the little things took over. Every little thing that irked me, that got under my skin and became unbearable, that I looked the other way from because I knew she was so much better than that, it all added up. After two years of this, I knew that nothing I could do would change her, and I didn't want to regret the whole relationship. I motioned to break things off in late September. We still saw each other for previously-made commitments and some social things. Our last time together was December 26. Boxing Day, Dana's going-away party at CJ's. She was radiant, straigtened hair, sharp grey skirt, black heels. She was the most classically beautiful girl I ever dated, and one of the best friends I ever had the pleasure of knowing. She had many reasons to question my loyalty and fidelity, but I never once cheated on her, and that's one thing I can take from all of this with a clear conscience. I loved her, but I didn't love her as much as she loved me, and there's no justice in a relationship based upon that.
Dear God, even necessary breakups suck.
I was two years into living in my apartment downtown, a three-bedroom flat in the Ukranian Village. This was my old neighborhood: The first house I grew up in was literally around the corner, my mom used to work overnights at nearby St. Mary's of Nazareth Hospital, and the building I lived in was owned by my grandparents. My aunt and uncle used to be up in that third-floor flat, and I remember being a kid playing in those same rooms with my cousins, the rooms I now occupied with my girlfriend and roommates. The living room was nice and spacious, a darkwood hutch built into the wall made for a classy touch, and the room was left relatively vacant, a perfect space for rehearsal and working out monologues. The sunporch was my favorite room, outfitted with a scrapped clawfoot bathtub left over from renovation. Perfect for those Jim Morrison moments. I fixed up the whole room with colored running lights, lava lamps, and posters for a groovy hang-out space, the first thing you see as you come up the main staircase. It reeked of my childhood and bolstered my future, but something happened that Fall. Tim's girlfriend was living with both my brothers in my parents' condo close to the family house. She had a hard time that October with the memory of her late brother's passing, and she did something desperate. Luckily, it failed, but that incident mixed with stories of hostile altercations in the past warranted my parents to restructure the household, with her sent to a care facility and him moving back in with my parents. Brian was living by himself, and it was a wild card as to who would occupy the other rooms. My parents invited me to move into the condo, to be a support for Brian and to block off any unexpected move-ins. I left a good deal in Chicago to come back into the fold. The condo is not without any modern charms, but it's not me. I figured I was doing them a favor, my parents and my uncle/landlord, whose relationship with I felt I was endangering every time we met at family functions by throwing business into the mix. Part of the hard line I drew for myself two years prior was that I would never move back into my parents' house again, and this was as close a jump back as I was willing to make.
At this point in my meditation I had a pretty strong blueprint of my ritual. I had procured a VHS copy of Lama Surya Das, an American-born Buddhist monk, performing and explaining aspects of Dzogchen Buddhist Meditation, and I adorned it with little personal interests of my own. One major aspect of Dzogchen meditation is to keep eyes and ears, all senses open while breathing through the motions, a challenging feat for anyone to try. The Lama, in all his enlightened enthusiasm and Wisconsin-bred flatlandery, still solidified a strong foundation in me, a routine I memorized back to front: Incense, chimes, calling the spirits, grounding one's self, chanting "aa", grounding, "Sky-gazing", grounding, chanting "om mani padme hung", closing the circle, bowing to the Buddha inside yourself. Sometimes I would skip sky-gazing and insert a techinque I learned called "rebreathing", which incorporated sacred geometry in the body, exterior chakras, creating a MerKaBa, and twenty short breaths. Sound way out there? Yeah, still is to me, but it helped. At the end of each session I would chant out "Om Namaha Shivaya", which translates out to "Salutations to that which I am capable of being." and during that, I would envision where I wanted to be, a solitary figure on a stage, floodlit face, stool, single microphone, and a full house in front of me. Moving back to the suburbs brought me back to my most favored of Sunday walk retreats, the River Trails woods. I've explored every inch of the inside of those woods on my own: The bramble patches, the clearings where people bunked for however long in secrecy, the protected prairie reserves. Picked up all the rubbish I could find, including spend alcohol bottles, used condoms, and appliances exploded with firecrackers. And this year the blue element was made by making knots out of blue hemp and tying them as beads. That, and I found some lapis lazuli looking beads to make a compliment mala for the year.
Other exciting stuff happened this year. I was the official mascot for Irish Fest in Milwaukee for a two-hour shift. Me and Tchotchke trolloped all around the fairgrounds entertaining drunks and children, and I even got goosed by some unknown. Translated two rock concerts for Deaf attendees: Styx and Foreigner at Northerly Island in Chicago, and Def Leppard and Journey at the Marcus Amphitheatre in Milwaukee. Lost my car during the process, but how awesome to command a crowd of that level, even taking attention away from the bands. After Tchotchke and I separated in September, I waited three months until I tried to play rebound. Her name was Christine. She was a customer. We had a night of drinks and billiards in Andersonville and then back to my place. The next morning she sat around drinking coffee while I packed up the Chicago apartment and listened to NPR. That was December 22. That was the last time I was with a woman, last time I was with anyone. I didn't come.
The fifth chakra is blue, bubbly, and located at the throat, the larynx. It controls communication, personal expression, experimentation, and is the first major step in the direct relationship between the Being and Every Other Being. After the Being recognizes that it and Every Other Being share the same journey to get to their present situation, it will compare and contrast all the ways the two are alike. Feeling a need to explain itself, the Being has to relay information to Every Other Being. About itself, its wants and needs, its desires and opinions, how the Being sees the world. And Every Other Being will accept and reciprocate. Or not. How it reciprocates and the to-and-fro between the Beings begins with infinite possibilities but quickly whittles down to a finite set of parameters, much like a game of go.
This year was, perhaps, the most realistic in terms of my acting career. True pounding the pavement, true juggling of artistic dreams and keeping my bread-and-butter. In other words, my track record went down the tubes. Chicago is a great market for a beginning actor because there are so many projects going on at any time which don't require unions or agents to hook up with. I started marketing myself hardcore, talking to old friends who were well-established in the Chicago theater scene, sending out PR packets to anyone and everyone, Finally landed a legitimate agent, but I was already scheduling about three auditions a week for myself at that point anyway. Striking out, striking out, striking out: I realize an actor has to learn to love the audition process, but rejection never ends being a tough pill to swallow. Did score some paying gigs, but it was just too amazing how every time I collected a paycheck my car suffered some malady which cost EXACTLY the same amount of money. A lot of my energy was spent working on an original script with three other friends, our own foray into life in a coffee house. A script of this still exists somewhere. My greatest failure was a drop-of-a-hat cattle call for Blue Man Group which got me a callback just based on my week-old self-taught drumming skills. My experience with those last two projects made me rethink my whole dedication to this acting thing. I know I'm good, people tell me I'm good, so why do I run myself ragged grasping at straws for a small role in someone else's monkey show? I got my own monkey show which is better than theirs, and I deserve to put my energy towards myself. So, after months and months and dozens of failed attempts, I decided to cease all that crap and focus more on my own talents and strengths. I wanted to be creative for my own sake, never someone else's.
Tchotchke and I become more honest with each other this year. With her help and encouragement, I was the cleanest and most sober than I can ever remember being. A couple seasons of no cigarettes, no weed, no alcohol, I even stopped drinking coffee for a few weeks. Boy, did I get argumentative. We took multiple breaks from each other, no contact, a few days here, a week or so there. Things got really hit-or-miss. She knew how talented I was but she didn't approve of the artistic collaboration with friends, seeing it as a waste of time, and eventually she became a wedge which help split apart everything. Her career was taking off and flourishing, and grad school brought on more promise, so when was I gonna buckle down and find a more secure place with my profession? I may be a great guy, but where was my future going? I could never give an answer which held much weight. Why? Because, with what I wanted to do, even I didn't know. At this point, the little things took over. Every little thing that irked me, that got under my skin and became unbearable, that I looked the other way from because I knew she was so much better than that, it all added up. After two years of this, I knew that nothing I could do would change her, and I didn't want to regret the whole relationship. I motioned to break things off in late September. We still saw each other for previously-made commitments and some social things. Our last time together was December 26. Boxing Day, Dana's going-away party at CJ's. She was radiant, straigtened hair, sharp grey skirt, black heels. She was the most classically beautiful girl I ever dated, and one of the best friends I ever had the pleasure of knowing. She had many reasons to question my loyalty and fidelity, but I never once cheated on her, and that's one thing I can take from all of this with a clear conscience. I loved her, but I didn't love her as much as she loved me, and there's no justice in a relationship based upon that.
Dear God, even necessary breakups suck.
I was two years into living in my apartment downtown, a three-bedroom flat in the Ukranian Village. This was my old neighborhood: The first house I grew up in was literally around the corner, my mom used to work overnights at nearby St. Mary's of Nazareth Hospital, and the building I lived in was owned by my grandparents. My aunt and uncle used to be up in that third-floor flat, and I remember being a kid playing in those same rooms with my cousins, the rooms I now occupied with my girlfriend and roommates. The living room was nice and spacious, a darkwood hutch built into the wall made for a classy touch, and the room was left relatively vacant, a perfect space for rehearsal and working out monologues. The sunporch was my favorite room, outfitted with a scrapped clawfoot bathtub left over from renovation. Perfect for those Jim Morrison moments. I fixed up the whole room with colored running lights, lava lamps, and posters for a groovy hang-out space, the first thing you see as you come up the main staircase. It reeked of my childhood and bolstered my future, but something happened that Fall. Tim's girlfriend was living with both my brothers in my parents' condo close to the family house. She had a hard time that October with the memory of her late brother's passing, and she did something desperate. Luckily, it failed, but that incident mixed with stories of hostile altercations in the past warranted my parents to restructure the household, with her sent to a care facility and him moving back in with my parents. Brian was living by himself, and it was a wild card as to who would occupy the other rooms. My parents invited me to move into the condo, to be a support for Brian and to block off any unexpected move-ins. I left a good deal in Chicago to come back into the fold. The condo is not without any modern charms, but it's not me. I figured I was doing them a favor, my parents and my uncle/landlord, whose relationship with I felt I was endangering every time we met at family functions by throwing business into the mix. Part of the hard line I drew for myself two years prior was that I would never move back into my parents' house again, and this was as close a jump back as I was willing to make.
At this point in my meditation I had a pretty strong blueprint of my ritual. I had procured a VHS copy of Lama Surya Das, an American-born Buddhist monk, performing and explaining aspects of Dzogchen Buddhist Meditation, and I adorned it with little personal interests of my own. One major aspect of Dzogchen meditation is to keep eyes and ears, all senses open while breathing through the motions, a challenging feat for anyone to try. The Lama, in all his enlightened enthusiasm and Wisconsin-bred flatlandery, still solidified a strong foundation in me, a routine I memorized back to front: Incense, chimes, calling the spirits, grounding one's self, chanting "aa", grounding, "Sky-gazing", grounding, chanting "om mani padme hung", closing the circle, bowing to the Buddha inside yourself. Sometimes I would skip sky-gazing and insert a techinque I learned called "rebreathing", which incorporated sacred geometry in the body, exterior chakras, creating a MerKaBa, and twenty short breaths. Sound way out there? Yeah, still is to me, but it helped. At the end of each session I would chant out "Om Namaha Shivaya", which translates out to "Salutations to that which I am capable of being." and during that, I would envision where I wanted to be, a solitary figure on a stage, floodlit face, stool, single microphone, and a full house in front of me. Moving back to the suburbs brought me back to my most favored of Sunday walk retreats, the River Trails woods. I've explored every inch of the inside of those woods on my own: The bramble patches, the clearings where people bunked for however long in secrecy, the protected prairie reserves. Picked up all the rubbish I could find, including spend alcohol bottles, used condoms, and appliances exploded with firecrackers. And this year the blue element was made by making knots out of blue hemp and tying them as beads. That, and I found some lapis lazuli looking beads to make a compliment mala for the year.
Other exciting stuff happened this year. I was the official mascot for Irish Fest in Milwaukee for a two-hour shift. Me and Tchotchke trolloped all around the fairgrounds entertaining drunks and children, and I even got goosed by some unknown. Translated two rock concerts for Deaf attendees: Styx and Foreigner at Northerly Island in Chicago, and Def Leppard and Journey at the Marcus Amphitheatre in Milwaukee. Lost my car during the process, but how awesome to command a crowd of that level, even taking attention away from the bands. After Tchotchke and I separated in September, I waited three months until I tried to play rebound. Her name was Christine. She was a customer. We had a night of drinks and billiards in Andersonville and then back to my place. The next morning she sat around drinking coffee while I packed up the Chicago apartment and listened to NPR. That was December 22. That was the last time I was with a woman, last time I was with anyone. I didn't come.
The fifth chakra is blue, bubbly, and located at the throat, the larynx. It controls communication, personal expression, experimentation, and is the first major step in the direct relationship between the Being and Every Other Being. After the Being recognizes that it and Every Other Being share the same journey to get to their present situation, it will compare and contrast all the ways the two are alike. Feeling a need to explain itself, the Being has to relay information to Every Other Being. About itself, its wants and needs, its desires and opinions, how the Being sees the world. And Every Other Being will accept and reciprocate. Or not. How it reciprocates and the to-and-fro between the Beings begins with infinite possibilities but quickly whittles down to a finite set of parameters, much like a game of go.
08 October 2008
Brilliant Ultimatium
When I move I move slow. Couple boxes at a time. Been lucky enough to have places cool enough to let me do so. Less stress over deadlines and rental vehicles.
Because of such, Year Five is taking longer than imagined. Too much real life to do. The writing isn't compelling me enough to sit down and let it pour out. To quote Kevin Smith, "I don't get writer's block, I get writer's laze."*
In the meantime...
I've been struck with this wonderful idea for a project. It's not so much a storyline or a plot as it is a foundation or launching pad for any kind of genre. Sorta like an environmental MacGuffin.
It hinges on current events.
It comes into fruition early next year.
It has everything to do with the Government.
It has nothing to do with the oncoming election.
It can attach to most any developing storyline to add further depth and suspense.
It must be jumped upon immediately.
It affects everyone in the country.
And there ain't one damn chakra anywhere near it.
It's screaming for a pitch session. A couple of people sitting 'round a room bouncing ideas off of it to see what sticks.
I don't want to spill more beans until the time is right, but I need a handful of bright, energetic, talented, dedicated people to share bullshit with.
Which is why I'm asking you.
Wha'dya say?
I can't ignore it, so I have to nurture it.
It's a real good idea.
Honest Injun.
Wanna get in on the ground floor of a really great journey?
Please somebody respond in e-mail. You'll be glad you did.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Quotations:
*: Smith, Kevin, An Evening With Kevin Smith 2: Evening Harder, Disc 1: Toronto, Sony Pictures, 2006
Because of such, Year Five is taking longer than imagined. Too much real life to do. The writing isn't compelling me enough to sit down and let it pour out. To quote Kevin Smith, "I don't get writer's block, I get writer's laze."*
In the meantime...
I've been struck with this wonderful idea for a project. It's not so much a storyline or a plot as it is a foundation or launching pad for any kind of genre. Sorta like an environmental MacGuffin.
It hinges on current events.
It comes into fruition early next year.
It has everything to do with the Government.
It has nothing to do with the oncoming election.
It can attach to most any developing storyline to add further depth and suspense.
It must be jumped upon immediately.
It affects everyone in the country.
And there ain't one damn chakra anywhere near it.
It's screaming for a pitch session. A couple of people sitting 'round a room bouncing ideas off of it to see what sticks.
I don't want to spill more beans until the time is right, but I need a handful of bright, energetic, talented, dedicated people to share bullshit with.
Which is why I'm asking you.
Wha'dya say?
I can't ignore it, so I have to nurture it.
It's a real good idea.
Honest Injun.
Wanna get in on the ground floor of a really great journey?
Please somebody respond in e-mail. You'll be glad you did.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Quotations:
*: Smith, Kevin, An Evening With Kevin Smith 2: Evening Harder, Disc 1: Toronto, Sony Pictures, 2006
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