One of my favorite things about writing for TV, or wait, my favorite thing about writing for TV, or wait, my favorite thing just about The Whole World, is / are the dry erase markers. They are so fat and satisfying. Every character has its own color, and it’s just MAGNIFICENT and reminiscent of colorforms to neatly and obsessively write story beats on the board and then study your rainbow, with its teen kisses and tense car rides and Oops! Where’s the Baby? Given that my handwriting hasn’t changed since 8th grade (hence my room nickname, FRESH KILL!) it’s also fun to remember what it is to write. Like, with your hands, and legibly, which is no easy feat, and almost harder than writing for TV, but then someone makes waffles, or goes for frozen yogurt, and then everything is just fine, except that you’re fat. But: markers.
UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES
CELEBRATORY OR NOT
AM I EVER MEANT TO MORE THAN ONE MARTINI
NEVER EVER AT ALL.
I don’t even know if I’m allowed to be bloggy of this, and so I will be irksomely vague, but remember that time when I had to pitch that movie and I was all down on myself, presuming that I’d do a terrible job? And then remember when a few magical friends told me that I could do it, and that it would be great, and then I convinced myself that this was true, and just went in and pitched my best / perhaps left my body / told a weird story about the dreamhouse my family and I used to go visit that we could not afford? Invoked plane crashes, my home state, breakfast inventions, ponies, books of old pictures and stamps?
WELL I GOT THE JOB! I’m so stoked. I either want to throw myself a party at Putt Putt or bathe myself in dirty martini’s or both. So let this be a lesson to you / us: if nothing else, we have to at least learn to adjust our negative thinking. We have to do whatever we can trick to ourselves into believing that good things are possible, or how will they ever Be?
One of my favorite character archetypes is Really Stupid Hot guy. I just want to touch them and charm them with my extensive vocabulary. Their abs, their lips, their penchant for weed and unnecessary toplessness! Their tendency to only eat chicken tenders! How they don’t know Words! So as a storyteller AND as a woman, I very much respond to Ryan Lochte. This deliciously stupid swim star now has his own reality show. Here is is, five minutes after his goif of 4 years dumps him over the phone.
At first he’s pensive, sad. But then a buddy posits:
And then EVERYTHING IS FINE.
I can’t wait to watch even more instead of things that could potentially enrich my life.
Now, I don’t have children, but I’ve heard from various parents and cultural anthropologists that getting your kid to do its business NOT in its pants is really, really hard. My parents nailed it. My brothers and I were all bribed and rewarded with gummy coke bottles for our marvelous toilet feats. It’s no wonder that every time I see or consume one, I kind of have to pee a little bit / immediately need to be told I’m a Big Girl.
Jodie B and I ventured to the beach sans towels. It was only fate that two abc employees were handing out free beach towels to promote the upcoming premiere of MISTRESSES! We then lounged about, as Mistresses, who get ample beach time, and engage in lots of deep thinking about what’s appropriate to wear to church.
SO STOKED that my Mom is here and I get to show her all of the thinnngggggs! I parked her on the Switched set yesterday, where she learned some valuable industry lessons, such as:
- Actors are people too, and they have names separate from those of their characters.
- Gilles Marini is flying to Paris for 24 hours to hug his sister, and as a fireman, used to deliver babies.
- Gils Marini, just in general.
- There are people that stand in for the actors so that the actors don’t have to stand there.
- You have to remember to go to the bathroom.
-Headsets help you hear!
- Everyone has different jobs, and everyone must do their job to make the thing.
- Actors have little portable homes with their names on them.
This gal’s a legal pad and a baseball hat away from running her own showwww!
I spent a bunch of time on the phone with brother Tiny Tim yesterday, running some military storylines by him. After we hung up, for some reason, I felt sad. I had this sense that I wouldn’t always be able to call him, or something. Like our relationship would somehow end. You bond with and become attached to boys, and then it ends, and then you have to pry yourselves away from then. I then had one of those Am I high? epiphanies: Tim is my brother, and that’s forever. And then I got really happy about that.
Unrelated, this Richard Brautigan poem I just remembered:
Spinning like a ghost
on the bottom of a
I’m haunted by all
the space that I
will live without
Writers, Producers and Cast of Switched at Birth, post a spectacular table read, with our (slightly dwarfed) Peabody Award!