07 March 2004

What You Do When You Have Merely One Day Off In a Given Week


--I would like to take a moment to officially link Jessica Asche, Will You Marry Me?, a Blog I found by complete accident. Blogger every minute generates a list on its homepage of Blogs from all over the world that have been posted in that 60-second period. I not-purposely clicked on the above-mentioned this afternoon and was pleasantly surprised. All other writers are good people as far as I'm concerned. If you feel like you don't understand writers in the least, click on the link of the left side of his page under "FAQ" that says, "Who is Jessica Asche?". Perfect explanation of the Scribe Soul. Actually you'll probably understand writers less. Or more. I don't know. It makes absolute sense to me.

--In my personal writing news, I'm am deadlocked with my brain on page 64 of my current attempt at a screenplay, thus giving us a total of one finished (and still horrible) feature-length script, several finished short scripts (film and play), and six screenplays at differing levels of completion. My latest Cranial Recommendation (TM) says that I should bag the script I'm writing and focus on the notes I have for the script about The Mailey Family, my mother's side. Write What You Know (TM), right? I've got a story all lined up. Now if I could just find a free week to put all of my notes together and write a first draft...

Sign #3,478 That God Is Plotting Against Me and Laughing With Every Consecutive Success

I've been pretty good at avoiding female problems for the last 8-12 months. Well...no, that's not accurate. But I've been good at avoiding almost all of them. What I had been entirely successful at was avoiding getting interested in someone beyond a short-lived sexual encounter. It makes sense--I hope to move sometime soon, I work all the time, I have no money (nice dichotomy there, no?), the blessings of not being in a relationship seem to vastly outweigh the benefits of being in one, and, oh yeah, females are Vitality Vacuums (TM).

(EDITORS NOTE: I like that. From here on out I shall replace any mention of the generic "Females" with "Vitality Vacuums (TM)". You see the trademark there. Don't try to steal it. I'm watching you, motherf*ckers.)

So what happens? Of course! At the apex of my work-hour calendar and the deepest valley of my financial forecast, I meet someone who bucks all the V.V. characteristics I have come to abhor. But wait, there's more. Not only is the chemistry very well on, the young lady very attractive and quite my type, and the community of friends common, but it's the near-uncalled for Worst Possible Timing in the History of the World from about seven different perspectives. I mean it's uncanny. Am I not part Irish? Am I not supposed to have some kind of Ancient Gaelic luck on my side? What the hell happened here? And what does the situation make for? What's our favorite word here at GooseTown? You guessed it...

A-W-K-W-A-R-D. Yaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Not so much in the minute-to-minute operations of hanging out and whatnot, but there have been several parting moments that would have made Kevin Arnold look like Rudolph Valentino. You know what I'm talking about: you both know that you should be throwing clothes on the floor, but there is this dumb cloud hanging around your head, so you know neither of you can make a move, so you have to play it off, and you can't hug (potentially too intimate), you can't shake hands (too gubenatorial), so you just avoid eye contact by scratching your head and rubbing your eyes until someone gets the hell out of the car.

Aggravating. Even more so because neither is attached, no one is dying, no one is promised to an arranged marriage, but you have to sit around and wait for some kind of Human Respect Contract to pass its statute of limitations. God it's annoying. Of course, if history had progressed as it should, I'd be in LA now doing coke off a stripper's titty, so it's not like I should have expected different.

I'm going to go ram my head into a tree now.

--The Browns are currently courting Jeff Garcia and had Drew Henson in for a workout this week. If we can land one of those two (preferably Garcia for the time being), I will be a happy, happy man. In any event, the Browns have Pick Seven in the 2004 NFL Draft, and since I know they'll just find a way to f*ck it up and draft some kind of unnecessary Cornerback or Wide Receiver, here are my Pointless Draft Hopes, in order of whom I'd like most:

1. Sean Taylor, S, Miami
2. Robert Gallery, OT, Iowa
3. Shawn Andrews, OT, Arkansas
4. Ben Roethlisberger, QB, Miami (OH) (Total pipe dream, he'll be way gone)
5. Kellen Winslow, TE, Miami

As per our current QB situation, well...I like Tim Couch. I've always been a Tim Couch supporter. I feel bad that he has to go. It's not his fault. Chris Palmer and the Old Cleveland regime ruined him, sticking him for 3+ years behind a sh*tty line with no decent RB and no go-to receiver. They put all the pressure squarely on him and then allowed his confidence to shatter. From what I'm hearing they have a trade in the works that would send Timmy to the Cowboys for draft picks. I hope it works out that way, Parcells helps him revitalize his psyche and career, and Cleveland brings in a Pro-Bowler to help get the boys back to the playoffs.

All for now. Check back midweek.