Mister T

I feel like Mister T lately. I turned down the horror film in order to write what I'm calling my High Concept idea next. I'm probably going to turn down an offer I got to play drums in a band. And these three other writers I had lunch with today want to "gang write" a script, and even though I (half-heartedly) committed to it, I'm gonna have to be Mister T on that one, too. Mister Turndown.

Feedback has been inexorably filtering in on Air Conditioned Jungle. A friend with a cutting sense of humor called me at 8:45 this morning to tell me I was a fraud. Nice to wake up laughing, it's good for the circulation. My manager met with me two days ago to talk it over and I could tell he wasn't feeling it. I think maybe he didn't get the comedy. He used a lot of praising language, but it all had the studied sound of the therapist telling the patient that vioelnt fantasies are perfectly natural, all the while making imaginary finger circles around her ear. A few other friends gave detailed thoughts, for which I'm grateful. Some people even liked it a lot. Go figure. I'm anxious to get back to it, but not too anxious since I'm taking a much needed break. Alas, I'm going to need to get back to it pretty soon. It sits too long, it'll get shuffled to the backburner, and the backburner is bad. Bad burner.

Paris is in the offing, writing in the cafe's of Paree. More about that later. For now, I'm going to just sit in the hot tub (at the Y, which is not as gay as it sounds) and think of all the actors I could cast in AC Jungle. That's always fun. The thinking, not the hot tub. Hot tub is relaxing. In a very straight way. Although...