LOVE
                  is a necessary
              building block of life
I wonder why it's not on the periodic table?

Will work for food.....

When I feel small
and alone

I know I need
to open myself
up more

A heart that’s
stretched
doesn’t pinch

Doing it for yourself…..

There's nothing like opening the new pickle jar all by yourself to make your tuna wrap taste just that much better….

I need a cabana boy…..

Oh I know what you're thinking. You think I want a young stud with a washboard stomach to run around scantily clad fanning me with palm fronds, bringing me iced tea and slathering SPF40,000 sun protection lotion on my creamy white skin.

Nope. I need a cabana boy to firmly but gently take the paintbrush out of my hand when a canvas is done. And to firmly but gently stand shaking his head in front of the painting hanging in the same room that seems to be shouting at me: just add a little bit of color
right here in my middle -- when that painting has been done for months.

So maybe what I actually needed this past weekend was one of those big burly men in white from the basket weaving factory who discreetly carries a telescoping butterfly net around in his jacket pocket.

What would prompt this sudden realization? Well, I recently had what we'll delicately call a creative moment. Long story short, this past Sunday I finally sealed a canvas I painted over the winter. Then about an hour after I hung it back up over my sofa, I had an urge to paint something new.

I painted a new canvas and ended up with something I love. It's really vibrant and has a lot of movement. I stood and admired it for a while and then sat it off to the side to dry. I found myself deep in creative thought, standing there looking from the freshly painted canvas to the one hanging over my sofa. Back and forth, one canvas to the other ….. and like a sleepwalker….. I saw myself freakin take the freshly sealed canvas off the wall and start messing with it. Well, messing is the right word because I ruined it. And I mean really ruined it. Thankfully, since I was working with acrylic paint, I had the idea of taking it into the bathtub and seeing if what I had added would wash off the sealed canvas. Well, miracles of miracles, it did, and against all odds I dried it and then when I [maybe somewhat inadvisably under the circumstances] added some blue to the finished work, I was really pleased with the result.

I now have two paintings I love hanging in my living room.

But it was a near thing.

The next time I have an urge to paint I'm hiring a cabana boy. Or a robot. One of those with a timer and some sort of sensor that can tell when you've temporarily jumped your rails and need to be led by the hand to a place where you can have a nice quiet lie down. Oh and since Windstorm isn't sealed yet, when I get ready to do that, maybe I'll hire a robot with a laser and a countdown sequence that makes me evacuate the room or be fried after 15 minutes so I won't be tempted to go outside the scope of sealing it. But I still think I'd want one who'll bring me iced tea afterwards. But we'll skip the lotion; those robots have really cold hands.

Windstorm copyright Karen Schindler 2010

The evil plan…….

I figured it out. YouTube is an evil plan by the alien overlords to capture Humanity's collective memories into one easy to access location.

I twigged to this idea this morning. I sent a friend a typo suggestion using the phrase: Let me buy you an "A", which made me remember that Sesame Street bit where a guy was trying to sell Ernie an "O", so I promptly hopped on to YouTube and yup, sure enough, the video of the song was archived and I was able to send a link to it with my email.

Convenient right?

Much better than years ago, when to get across a point you had to describe what you were thinking about and wave your hands about, maybe hopping on one foot if you get REALLY excited about stuff when you talk, and actually engage your mind and the mind of the other human you were trying to explain the memory to, possibly even giving it a historical framework like when you experienced the memory, where you were at the time, stuff like that.

Now? For just about anything that delights/dismays us we can provide a link. Because it has also delighted/dismayed someone else on planet Earth and THEY had time to put it on YouTube even if WE only stored the original info in our brain. Television shows, stand up comedy, movie snippets, songs, great moments in history, all are being added to YouTube by someone somewhere every second of every day. The shared information can then be accessed in its entirety by any human with an internet connection and then uploaded directly into their brain.

Doesn't that seem like some of the science fiction stories of the fifties?

And the weird thing is we do it for real life stuff too. We put our baby's first steps on YouTube. Wedding receptions, photo montages of people who've passed on, vacation videos, marriage proposals, our cat doing weird stuff. Anything and everything that is significant to living a life that's human.

What if the aliens find a way to put one giant subliminal message into all the stored YouTube information?

I'm playing around with an idea of what the message would be because I think this would be a great screenplay idea.

Overtaking a planet without bloodshed, just moving the inhabitants from one state of being to another through the use of existing technology, without them even being aware, let alone alarmed, that it's happening, oh wait. Didn't something like that happen in The Ring? Or one of the Halloween movies? Or that bizarre indie movie that the guy in the grocery store was telling me about when he showed me that snippet on his iPhone?

What was that movie called anyway…..darn..…I just can't pull it up in my head at the moment; it's RIGHT on the tip of my tongue. Hang on, I'll go plug it into Google, I'm sure I can find it again. It's got to be online somewhere. I'll get back to you.

For the love of older men

I just had a friend who jokingly said to me that I should stop falling in love with men in their seventies because they just up and die on me. Although that has been true-- in three recent cases as of today-- I just can't help myself sometimes. When you meet someone who has a quick mind, a love of life, a passion for something that you both love-- in my case two were writers, and one was just as nuts about nature as I am-- it's hard not to give your heart away. Each was married, so it wasn't that kind of love, but each belonged to me in a special way all of my own.

Each is missed. Sorely missed. And will not be forgotten.

I won't stop giving my heart. Life is for living and if you can add loving into the mix?

Well isn't that just the best thing ever?

Joy suckers

It's five o clock in MARCH and the sun is still out!

[I enthused into the phone]

Just wait until daylight savings time kicks in then it'll be dark again.

[Was the response]

When I hung up, I sat down in a lovely puddle of sun to stretch and meditate.

Well, I sat down to stretch and meditate right after I figured out how to delete a saved number from my cell phone.

I think it's best for all concerned. After all…….I'm not even really sure how Eeyore got in there in the first place.

A fine line….

Sometimes I wonder what the difference is between people who tweet their haiku and the people who shout the same sort of things while pushing their shopping cart full of cans through crowded sidewalks….

Then I remember……a roof, heat, running water, enough food and other people who care about them.

In this time of giving remember to give of yourself; even if it's only a smile.

Sometimes the only gift needed is acknowledgement of another's humanity.

 

Baby I’m a want you

Sometimes I think the idea of romantic love

Is like the smell and then the taste of coffee

It draws you in with its tantalizing odor

And then when you actually have it in your hands

You find that not only is it addictive

And somewhat of an acquired taste

It can be really hard on your system

Outside my comfort zone

This last week I did something that I was sure would be outside my comfort zone.

Turns out, my comfort zone has gotten pretty big in the last couple of years.

What I did was throw coming home to the wolves on a local poetry site for a segment they call "Blind Review Friday."

The idea is you give them your poem anonymously and other poets "workshop the hell out of it."

I was concerned that since I'm fairly new to writing anything that even remotely resembles a poem that I would be thin skinned and feel bruised and battered after the commenters were done shredding my words.

Just joking around, I told the moderator of the site that it was a good thing that the piece went up on a day that people liked my flash fiction because that ego bolstering would hopefully offset any ego bruising from people hating my poem.

But, as it turned out the whole experience was quite pleasant.

I really enjoyed the experience and thought that the people at this poetry site were honest, welcoming and full of constructive suggestions.

I was surprised at first by someone actually rewriting my poem, but it was intriguing to see what it looked like and felt like after he was done.

What he did was interesting, but it changed it almost beyond recognizability for me even though he used most of the same words.

The pictures generated in my head when I read his version were drastically different from the original and the sense of immediacy changed a lot for me from his point of view.

It was still beautiful. And maybe even more poetic. But changing the rhythm really altered the interweaving between the lovers and made the piece less erotic for me.

It's amazing that something as simple as removing a few words and changing an ing to ed could affect the feel of something that drastically.

That lesson in and of itself was worth the momentary worry of stepping outside of my comfort zone.

Workshopping is a good way to hone your skills and a great way to get tips on making better choices for impact.

The one thing I do know for certain now is that unlike prose, which can be edited and added to but still be "yours" poetry is not collaborative.

But poets are.

 

 

Thanks to Michael Salinger of ClevelandPoetics and everybody who commented.

Here's the link if anybody wants to see the actual criticisms and comments.

World wide wondering

Do you ever really know someone? Oh you can know their favorite color, where they grew up, how they got the scar on their left pinky, their birthday, their favorite movie actor, why they're afraid of spiders, their mother's maiden name. All things that you could use to steal their identity, but are these collected things, these little peeks into the window of the mind and soul enough things to steal yourself into their heart and mind? In the time of information overload, how much information is necessary to plant a seed in another heart so that it can grow to fruition and become a relationship? Is friendship made with words, with deeds, with touch, with text, with gestures? Is connection built slowly on a foundation of small steps or is it built on giant leaps of faith where you grasp the hand of another, virtual or otherwise, close your eyes , take that leap……… and trust?

I've always been a person who trusted easily. And sometimes that has come back to bite me in the butt.

But it's hard for me to imagine living my life closed up and off from other people. I don't mind being vulnerable in a lot of situations because if my guard is down it means that I'm really communicating with another soul.

If my heart is open then I'm making a space for the other person to come inside of me.

And I don't just mean physically. I mean inside of my heart, my mind my being.

To really get under my skin.

When you work to get that connection, that real understanding of another person's wants, needs and desires, then it makes the physical aspect so much deeper and more connected.

And if you actually understand your own wants, needs and desires, well then you're ahead of the game.

A lot of people go their whole life without ever really knowing themselves, let alone getting to know those around them.

I think that what I'm talking about is really trying to connect on a level where you can accept another person for who and for what they really are and not be blinded to reality by your own projection of what you think they are or what you'd like them to be.

A friend of mine recently said to me "I think that most relationships fail because of things that were there in the beginning but because of lust, loneliness or wishful thinking people tend to sweep issues under the rug until later on when there are other problems."

[she's very wise]

So my question is I guess, how long does it take to build trust? Is leaping a good idea? Do lasting friendships happen for adults like they do for children?

You bonk someone on the head with your tonka truck and after apologizing then you're bff?

And here's a big one…..

Can men and women just be friends?

Ok, now you guys just take your time.

Slow steady deep breaths.

Don't want anybody's head to explode……….. [again]

 

P.S. I wrote the first six lines in response to a writing challenge in brevity. It's AMAZING what you can say in just six lines. And it really concentrates the mind. Kind of like the prospect of being hanged in the morning….....

 

Where the #$&* is my #$@&*ing comment?

"You know I love you. It's nothing personal."

"But I don't get how you could just cut me like that."

"I didn't even have to think about it. It was a no brainer."

"Oh, ripping my heart out is that easy for you, Sal?"

"I think that you're overreacting David. Really. Try to see it from my perspective."

"What? The first amendment doesn't work on your blog? I can't say whatever the hell I want?"

"The first amendment is alive and well darling, that's what I'm trying to tell you. I have a right to publish what pleases me, and the tone and content of this one particular comment didn't go with that particular piece or the overall flavor of my blog, so I deleted it. It's that simple."

"Oh, the tone and content of my comment, why didn't you SAY so…… I thought that you didn't like my grammar. You know how touchy I am about my grammar. Well, that's alright then. Pass the potatoes?

A charming, brilliant and much enjoyed friend of mine recently left a comment that I deleted without thinking he'd mind or even probably notice.

About four hours later I had an email from him saying something to the effect of I left a comment, what happened to it? [the word censorship may have been bandied about]

I composed this little dialog drama for him and emailed it back to him as my response to his question.

Then I waited hoping that he'd be fine with my humorous take on the whole concept....and not pout.... take his marbles and go home.

His entire response?

"Well at least it wasn't my grammar."

I love my friends.

Baby aliens among us

So I was having a blue day today.

Missing friends, feeling lonesome.

Yes, believe it or not... that happens.

About once a year.

Then I saw this:




And I felt right at home again here on this planet that you humans call Earth.

Music to judge me by

I often marvel at people who announce what's playing on their iPod in the sidebar of their blogs

I didn't even fill out the favorite music portion of my bio.

I think that some folks announce what they're listening to so that reader can use the music they've chosen to judge the current mood of the listener.

Kind of like a barometer with a beat.

I understand the immediacy of that. The hey I've got something upbeat on because I'm jazzed, or I'm listening to THIS because I feel lower than a snake's belly.

But trying to make a list of my favorite music just seems unrealistic. I'd need charts and graphs and three dimensional diagrams to express the depth of my feelings about music.

I love so many different kinds of music that I think that it would be nearly impossible to give someone a clear view of my musical tastes without talking to them for a couple of hours.

And the type of music I listen to also depends on what I'm doing.

So for me to say on blog what I have playing at any given moment wouldn't make sense unless I actually had a running list up so that you could see ALL the things that I listen to.

I have music for exercising, music for meditating, music for dancing, music for writing, music for making out, music for hanging around reading a book, music for waking me up if I'm flagging, music for settling me down to get ready to sleep.

Music is why I don't need drugs.

Music is mood altering.

Music is life affirming.

Music is soul enriching.

Music inspires passion like no other artistic medium can.

Music can bring people together, and in some cases tear them apart.

How many cases can you think of off the top of your head where music brought people to blows? Either because someone was playing it too loud too late, or because someone insulted someone else's musical taste?

Now how many times can you think of that you've seen music bring folks together? Like at Woodstock or at a Live Aid concert or really at any concert where there are enough people gathered who love the artist.

Music reaches out and grabs you by the heart and shatters age/race/gender barriers.

Music is one of the best things that humans ever invented.

I think that music is what separates us from the apes.

Well, that and the fact that we don't generally fling poo.

Re-centering the bubble

When you're paid to do something you're a professional.
When you do it for fun you're an amateur.
When you're paid to do something that you'd do for fun anyway, isn't that the best of both worlds?

Well, unless you're a hooker.

The last couple of weeks I got involved in a project that looked like a good money making opportunity for me. It was something that came naturally to me and that I do well. The only problem that I encountered was perception. Other people's perception.

What the project consisted of was writing custom gentle erotica for couples in love to buy as gifts for one another.

I launched a website using a pseudonym and put some of my written samples up for people to get an idea of what they could purchase.

I IMMEDIATELY got solicited for sex.

The first guy was from Japan. The second guy was from Michigan. The third guy couldn't spell well enough for me to get past the first line of his email. I learned a hard lesson about myself that day….that even with a possible order on the line; I'm still a snob when it comes to literacy.

They each wanted to place an order….. it's just that what they wanted to buy wasn't what was for sale.

Part of the problem was the traffic that the name of the site engendered.

I was going for the young couples in love/newlywed kind of crowd, but what I got was the creepy guy who still lives in his parent's basement kind of crowd. I thought that naming it Erotica feeds the soul would set the tone from the get go.

APPARENTLY not.

The good news is, I ended up submitting an edited version of one of my poems from that website to an online poetry journal and it has been accepted for publication. I'm publishing it under my real name and am pretty pleased about it being published.

I'll provide a link to the poetry journal later this week when I know when the poem will be published.

The further good news is that the ick factor that came up with the perception of erotica as PORN and my alter ego as a hooker didn't tarnish my soul and I let all the creepiness float away out into the ether as soon as I deleted the website.

Thanks to everybody who was with me throughout this whole thing and heard about the ups and downs already.

You know who you are and I thank you for a) supporting me wholeheartedly and b) not living in your parent's basement.

Expectations

When you create something are you your own worst critic? I think a lot of us are. I think most writers are. I wonder if that is why a lot of writers are often riddled with performance anxiety. Heck, let's throw all of the performing arts, actors, artists, comics and musicians into that mix as well.

In my life I have had the privilege to meet and get to know a lot of different artistic folk from a variety of different industries. Lumped together, the first thing that strikes me about all of them is that they each pushed themselves to become better at what they do.

Some of them fanatically so, some in just a healthy I know I can do better kind of way. And it doesn't seem to matter how high the success rung is that they're currently standing on. They want to drive themselves to do more.

But what is really startling to me when they are viewed as a group like this is that a lot of them just plain lacked confidence in their own obvious talent.

Thinking about that this morning, it made me start to wonder about people, expectations and the place that rock solid human connection has in the artistic life.

As far as expectations go, when do you know that good enough is good enough? How long do you stay on the treadmill churning the same idea round and round until it goes way past the hey this is good ice cream stage and sours into something that you have to put down the garbage disposal?

Well, one way is to have some kind of mirror to hold up to yourself so that you can actually see what is going on with you. The BEST mirror is one that only has you looking back at yourself giving yourself love and approval and honest critiquing of your work. That's the A mirror. The one that it takes a lot of soul searching to acquire. The one that everybody aspires to. The one that you have when you can have peace and quiet in your mind any time you take a still point in your day for yourself and your sanity. The one where you say, hell yes, that's good. Let's go with that. And release what you've created out into the world and let it take wing to become whatever it is destined to become.

Successful people have this mirror and use it to their advantage to live and create in a healthy manner in a sometimes not so healthy work or life environment.

Another way is to surround yourself with friends or trusted others who hold up a mirror that not only reflects you but your work in a kind, honest straightforward helpful way. That's the B mirror. Still a great mirror and certainly one to aspire to having. Getting more than one person in your life to believe in your talent is nothing to sneeze at, let alone having more than one person walking behind you cheering you on. Believing in your talent because other people believe in it is human nature, but you're still limiting yourself if you only believe in yourself only if others believe in you.

But many many successful people have this second kind of mirror and it hasn't seemed to hurt their career, their souls or their sanity one bit.

Then there are the folks that don't believe in themselves at all, and are even more fragile for that non belief, but somehow become wildly successful anyway because of a mix of talent, timing, tenaciousness and trusting others to manage their careers.

What toll if any does that last kind of propped up success take on your soul?

Especially when it gets ripped out from under you because of human nature. Because you got older, or the type of art you make goes out of style, or because you no longer have that THING that allowed you to create in the first place.

Well, when that happens, if you're strong you reinvent yourself and move on. And with any luck you'll still have people in your life to help pick up the pieces and let you accept that just because your creative talent has run out, or your looks have left the building, your value as a human being hasn't.

Because a friend with a hug and some kind words in the deep dark lonely portion of the endless night when you think that you are no longer the wunderkind that you once were beats a valium followed by a revolver or a noose hands down any time, any day in the same situation.

As an artist, go out into the world and create, but remember to create healthy strong human bonds as well. These are the ties that bind. The ones that heal a broken spirit, a broken dream, a broken mind.

The ones that matter when all is said and done.

The ones that stay with you for life and then take you on to the grave……. and even more importantly keep you from an early one.

I have been lucky enough in the last two years to have time to make the journey to the place where I have acquired the type A mirror. And I am also extremely fortunate to have loving positive people surrounding me virtually and otherwise from all walks of life. Each of these people touches my life in different ways, but each is invaluable to my creativity, my sanity and my spiritual and physical health.

A lovely person recently asked me if Karen from mentor referred to an occupation or a place.

My reply?

Both.

So if you are ever in need of a kind word and a hug, virtual or otherwise, or just need to unburden yourself to someone who won't judge you for being human, believe me whatever you're dealing with I've been there/done that, bought the tee shirt and then made it into a sock puppet…. If you need a shoulder, give me a shout ..…your secrets will be safe with me…….and this internet thingy? It's always on….

Collector of odd things

Ok, I have to admit that I love having a camera on my phone. I love having the camera if for no other reason than when I'm shopping and see a sign in TJ Maxx that says "Active Bottoms" I can take a picture of it and show it to my friend James when we're walking in the woods. And then tell him why the sign delighted me.

I also have photos of the star trek pez dispensers that I saw in the drug store. Kirk, Spock and Sulu are stored right beside a photo of a big eyed, big headed neon green alien parakeet toy that I saw in the grocery store.

A few days ago I attempted to take a photo of a garter snake with mixed results. The results were mixed because a) he was moving, b) the phone camera is pretty limited and c) right after I discovered him twelve of his siblings found my sandal interesting and slithered over it. I like snakes, but thirteen snakes that close to naked toes made me make a girly squeaky noise and back up. So there's no picture of the snake on my phone.

My favorite photos on my phone at the moment are in no particular order a picture of a friend's dog, another picture of a different friend's dog, a picture of a boy polly pocket doll in a powder blue tuxedo that looks just like someone I know in real life, my daughter rockin a hat, a book jacket cover with the words "Santa versus Satan", a picture of some awesome awesome hooker shoes with clear platform heels with goldfish embedded in the Lucite, a picture of Lauren giggling, a tee shirt with snoopy dancing, a picture of a bowl of soup that my friend used noodles to draw a smiley face in …no alcohol was involved…a toddler tee shirt that says "chicks dig me" with of course chicks on the graphic, a really hideous painting of elvis on velvet, a neat vw bug (also powder blue), a GIANT toad sign that was outside the nature center one day, some ducks with their bottoms sticking up in the air while they forage for something on the bottom of the pond (that never gets old, cracks me up EVERY time I see it), a picture of some amazing polka dot rubber rain boots, and my robots, gotta have my robots, red wind up metal Schylling robots…. one of which is my wallpaper for the inside of my camera.

The best part about having this collection of oddities is if I'm stuck somewhere with no book in my purse (which would almost never happen) I can scroll through and look at the photos that I've collected and grin at them.

They cost me nothing to collect…take up no closet space ….they give me enjoyment….and I got to tell you guys about it…..win/win situation.

Oh, and I forgot….there is the flickering flame image that came with the phone. I use it when I want an encore at a concert.

Have a great Sunday everybody, I'll be off watching my friend Brad starring in a play. Maybe I'll take a picture of him on stage with my camera phone…nah, like the snake, he'll probably be moving around too much, but I can guarantee that even though I have front row seats and some members of the cast are in the legal profession, none of the actors will slither over my sandals…. because I'm wearing closed toe shoes to the performance.

Comedy, is it contagious?

I've been a pretty under the radar type of chick my whole life.

I've always been funny in person and with friends I know well, but I hadn't done a lot of PUBLIC comedy until this last year or so.

Now after testing the waters for a while, I've built up confidence in my funny factor, and I pretty much let my freak flag fly in person and in my writing.

I say what I want to who I want, and mostly get a positive response. (it might help that I'm cute)

Sometimes there's a Scooby doo double take "huh???" accompanied by that zoinks noise he makes, but that happens less frequently now that I carry an eighties reference to modern day reference translation guidebook with me at all times.

And the Japanese interpreter, she helps, oh and the sign language lady….

What has surprised me the most as I meet more and more funny people, is just like misery loves company, funny people love company.

And it's not just so they can steal each other's material (which can and does happen….you know who you are, Steve Martin) but so that they can feed off of each other's creativity at the time and also to go off and spin it into something of their own making for later.

When you start really getting funny with someone else that's funny? Man it's like an orchestra adding together all of the instruments needed to make beautiful music. You get on a roll, into a groove, and everybody involved gets high.

They really do, because laughing raises the levels of all of the feel good chemicals in your brain, and your brain thinks it's on dope, even though all you're doing in actuality is ACTING like a dope.

Sparks fly, and the creativity becomes so collaborative that even when there is no alcohol involved, without film there's no way to tell who thought what up.

And no one cares.

This is how epic stories get born.

I love it when that happens.

In a lot of situations comedy is…just like yawning and smiling….….contagious.

So go out and catch some comedy, you'll be glad you did.

Comedy, it does a body good.

Did I mention that I haven't slept in 72 hours…….???

This is what emailing me at three am is like.

But you get my point, right?

Creative people love to jam together, and funny people jam with their funny bones…and all benefit from the experience.

So try an experiment today.

Go laugh at somebody….they'll enjoy it….but don't point…'cause that's just rude.

Or better yet, laugh with somebody…and then give them a hug.

You'll both benefit….but make sure that the somebody you're hugging isn't a magazine salesman…'cause I'm pretty they have issues.

Weekly issues.

I am not M. Night Shyamalan

I am not M. Night Shyamalan but I recently got a glimpse into what his life must be like.

I don't know how anyone could confuse us. There are few similarities. I'm tall. He's tall. He has those dreamy liquid eyes. I have eyes. We're both parents. And we both write.

But I think that's about it for similarities folks and still, there seems to be some confusion.

I know, I know, a lot of my stories start with I met a man in the park ......but I spend a lot of time in the park so a lot of my random conversations take place in the park.

When this gets old for you feel free to substitute in your head the words ice skating rink, boxing match, skeet shooting or white water rafting for "in the park."

So I met this man in the park, we met on several occasions, nothing planned, we just happened to be there at the same time.

We had a bunch of conversations about a bunch of stuff that I won't bore you with, but one day we happened upon what I do for a living.

Well, he got really excited about me being a writer.

He asked what I was working on.

I told him about my current WIP and even showed him my synopsis which I happened to have in my pocket because I'd had lunch with a friend earlier in the day and she wanted to see it.

He asked if I'd ever written a script.

I told him one of my favorite stories about a movie idea that I'd had and about sending it off with a kiss into the land of bottom drawers and garbage pails in agent's offices everywhere.

The twist to my story is that someone famous who shall not be named in this place, but when I tell the story has the adjective "freakin'" in front of his name was mildly interested in my idea.

Which led to me getting a phone call while driving and having to pull over to the side of the road, only to find that I only had a scrap of paper one inch by one inch in size to take notes on.

So I'm telling this story, again it's one of my favorite stories, waving my arms around and doing all the hopping up and down that I do when I'm excited……..

I get to the end of the story,

Wait for the laugh,

Instead, he leans in and says,

"So can I pitch you a movie idea?"

See the title of the piece. Lather, rinse, repeat.

Note: As a follow up to this see "My friend T is a Rotten Stinking Bastard"