I’m 26, which makes me sick to think of how much time has passed and I haven’t done anything to make the world a better place. Not that anyone really does. At best the best person in the world is able to affect it in a way that resonates throughout history, but even then, the history books tend to skew slightly and memory gets washed over like bleach on a stain. History and memory are all we have to go on, to try to fix things. As individuals, we make things more like the way we want them, not as much the way things should be.
Ewwww, I just vomited maudlin all over the page. Sorry about that.
Last year I was in Las Vegas, sitting at a casino resort pool with my laptop on a table, smoking a cigar and writing a script which, to date, is still not finished. It’s a Garden State-esque script, without that one line “So there’s that,” from Zach Braff, the one that comes out sounding like he’s auditioning for Clueless 2. One thing I’ve discovered, writing scripts over the past few years, is that I enjoy delving into characters far more than I enjoy plotting out intricate storylines. Don’t get me wrong, characters are bound up in a story, but I sometimes wonder if my storylines aren’t subsidiary to my characters. But I’m trying. My sitcom is very plot-heavy, with characters getting only a bit of development along the way (though there’s clearly an arc).
Twenty-six means a lot of thing. I have to work hard to avoid moving into that “Creepy Guy With No Job” realm where my daily visits to the coffee shop with me on a laptop don’t devolve into the sad but maybe inevitable scenario in which mothers with children take the long way around my table to avoid my odd glances as I attempt to pierce the veil between this world and the one in my head. I figure as long as I keep one hand on my latte mug, I can get away with the innocent youthfulness look for a few more years.
I don’t remember ever doing the soul-searching this year’s turn has brought. There hasn’t been much to see, fortunately. It’s like a peek around the corner of a small peaceful country town. The view is sparse, but you know the big city encroaches eventually, covering even the farmlands with roads and buildings and industry and commerce. It’s the way of the future. There’s lots to see and do, and it’s just over the hill. So really, twenty-six isn’t so bad. It’s all in your perspective.
I love Los Angeles. Coming out here has been great for me, for my career (still jobless at 12 months!), and I’ve only suffered through three parking tickets ($135), two major car repairs ($669.70), a roommate getting hitched (go John!), and with luck, I’ll have agent representation by the end of August. Oh yes, I’ve made a few really good friends (you know who you are) and have had the pleasure of working on some great projects that have given me a better idea of what kind of people I want to work with in the future. Things are happening. Life is happening. I haven’t been making other plans, which is why the year went by so quickly. Life at 26 looks pretty sweet when you know everything has been prelude to what’s ahead.
Ah, hell. I don’t care that I’m being a sentimental gentleman. It’s my birthday, isn’t it?