Still depressed about my writing. Well, I'm either depressed about it or having grandiose delusional dreams about being famous and being on David Letterman's show. I still can't figure out why I'm writing. I don't really even enjoy it that much, despite the fact that when I do sit down to actually do it, the words stream out easily. Everyone who has ever read my writing, had told me to write for a living. Me, I'd rather climb the corporate ladder surely but slowly and get paid shit loads of money. I know how to do the business thing and really well too. And my last job, people really respected me and asked me my opinion all the time. I hated people asking me what to do, but my friend Amy thought it was a sign of respect that people gave so much power to me. I had that at my last job too. My stupid boss kept telling me to watch what I said, because people in the company really valued my opinion.
I hated all the responsibility of those two jobs. I was always on my guard, I didn't trust anyone and I had to be so careful of my behaviour. All that corporate stuff now seems like walk in the park compared to writing. At least in a corporation, I knew how to behave, how to get ahead. With writing, I'm so drowning, not knowing if I'm any good. And then part of me thinks that if it were up to me, none of what I wrote would every be any good, so how can I even trust my own opinion.
I wish there was another way of creative expression that was so easily and readily available to me. But there isn't. Writing is what's there for me. Writing comes naturally and easily to me, never mind the fact that grammatically it's shit.
I wish I had a crystal ball and could look into my future to see if I do keep writing 10 years from now, or is this just another phase I'm going through.
Then there's those stupid damned stories that won't get out of my head. Voices of characters who want me to write down their story and who bug my constantly even when I'm in the shower. Sometimes I feel like I'm being haunted by the spirits of characters looking for a writer who they can tell their story to, a writer who will listen to them and who will just let them babble on forever about their life. I fee like Whoopi Goldberg in Ghost when she found out she really had the gift. It's like every character from here to eternity is camping inside my head, telling their story over and over again, till I get tired of hearing them and finally write it down. Sometimes I wonder if I'm just delusional like Russell Crowe in A Beautiful Mind.
Sometimes I wonder if there's a big hole in my head where spirits can slip in and live for quite a long time. Spirits of people I don't even know, have never met and will probably never meet in real life. I don't think all my characters are dead either, but just living their life as best they can, somewhere else.
I don't know if I want this gift. I feel like I've had it all my life, but it's only in the last 5 years that I've let it flourish. I know it's bad karma to turn down a gift, but there's got to be a limit somwhere.
Monday, April 08, 2002
Sunday, April 07, 2002
I'm getting a little depressed about my writing and wondering why I'm even doing it. Maybe I need to list all the times people have told me what a good writer I am.
Grade school memories
2 poems of mine were published in the local paper, The Garden Isle. Hardly an accomplishment since I grew up on a rock in the middle of the pacific ocean with a total population of 35,000, but still, I got to see myself in print at an early age.
My fourth grade teaching assistant, who was at my school interning from Chico State University, made us write commercials. He told me I wrote good dialogue. But then again, he also taught us Esperanto, so what does he know.
In my six grade english class, my teacher made us a write a story and then had our stories individually bound and donated them to the school library. I wonder if it's still there.
My sixth grade teacher also made us write our own hawaiian style legends at camp on weekend up in the mountains. My legend was published in the local paper. I'm sure the island folks were thrilled.
High school memories
7th grade english teacher made us write an inclass fantasy story. I wrote a story abou shoes and where shoes go when they die. My cousin, who's six years younger than me, told me my 7th grade english teacher read my story to his class as an example of a good creative story.
At graduatiion, they handed me the English award for my class. I went to small (800) public high school, so I'm not sure what this award really means, other than I did get $100 to spend.
The rest of my life
A press release for a concert I was promoting at Stanford University was published in the campus paper. They printed the release verbatim. It's a university paper, I think they'd print anything.
A press release for a race I was promoting made it to the front page of the Outdoors section of the Chronicle. Finally after two years, they printed something of mine.
I ghost wrote the deacon column in my church monthly newsletter and people told the head deacon, they loved my articles. It's a small church, what can I say.
I wrote up the special brunch menus for my friend's restaurant and people love it. How much can go wrong writing up descriptions of food.
I wrote up a bunch of flyers for the church singles group I joined for awhile. The minister in charge of the group, Dana, loved them, and so did the people in the church. But like I said earlier, it's church people.
I published an article on the ultra marathon race I was promoting in UltraRunning magazine. It's a running magazine, anyone could submit articles.
I did get misquoted in a SF Examiner article on ultramarathoning once, but who the hell cares about ultra marathoning?
My acting teacher, John, who is supposedly this ultra famous acting teache, said I was a good writer. All of friends who have interviewed for acting schools and acting programs here and on the east coast, said that everybody knows John. John taught at ACT for 12 years and he knows Annette Benning and Danny Glover, and is well respected on both coasts in acting circles. But he's an acting director, what does he know?
More church stuff. I wrote a prayer for the people and read it at a service one Sunday. Some nice looking guy who I'd never seen before came up to me afterwards and told me, my prayer really moved me. Then Pam, who was on the worship committee and an editor at Harper Collinss, came up to me and said she really like my prayer and requested a copy for the church files. I was like OH MY GOD. Pam was classmates with Hilary Clinton in college at that Seven Sisters school, whose name I can't remember right now. Pam worked for all the top notch publishing houses in NYC before moving out here. Pam liked my prayer. And Pam is so articulate and well spoken and so east coast in speech and manner. That woman spearks in grammatically correct and perfect sentences at all times. Pam would know wouldn't she? Or is this just because it's a small church?
I wrote and performed a story I'd written called Art is Scary. About 30 people were there, most of whom I didn't know. People loved my performance and three people, two guys and one woman said they loved me story.
And finally, I got a fanmail from someone who'd read my blog and was kind enough to tell me.
I'm not sure if I feel better, but I think I need to keep writing I guess.
Grade school memories
2 poems of mine were published in the local paper, The Garden Isle. Hardly an accomplishment since I grew up on a rock in the middle of the pacific ocean with a total population of 35,000, but still, I got to see myself in print at an early age.
My fourth grade teaching assistant, who was at my school interning from Chico State University, made us write commercials. He told me I wrote good dialogue. But then again, he also taught us Esperanto, so what does he know.
In my six grade english class, my teacher made us a write a story and then had our stories individually bound and donated them to the school library. I wonder if it's still there.
My sixth grade teacher also made us write our own hawaiian style legends at camp on weekend up in the mountains. My legend was published in the local paper. I'm sure the island folks were thrilled.
High school memories
7th grade english teacher made us write an inclass fantasy story. I wrote a story abou shoes and where shoes go when they die. My cousin, who's six years younger than me, told me my 7th grade english teacher read my story to his class as an example of a good creative story.
At graduatiion, they handed me the English award for my class. I went to small (800) public high school, so I'm not sure what this award really means, other than I did get $100 to spend.
The rest of my life
A press release for a concert I was promoting at Stanford University was published in the campus paper. They printed the release verbatim. It's a university paper, I think they'd print anything.
A press release for a race I was promoting made it to the front page of the Outdoors section of the Chronicle. Finally after two years, they printed something of mine.
I ghost wrote the deacon column in my church monthly newsletter and people told the head deacon, they loved my articles. It's a small church, what can I say.
I wrote up the special brunch menus for my friend's restaurant and people love it. How much can go wrong writing up descriptions of food.
I wrote up a bunch of flyers for the church singles group I joined for awhile. The minister in charge of the group, Dana, loved them, and so did the people in the church. But like I said earlier, it's church people.
I published an article on the ultra marathon race I was promoting in UltraRunning magazine. It's a running magazine, anyone could submit articles.
I did get misquoted in a SF Examiner article on ultramarathoning once, but who the hell cares about ultra marathoning?
My acting teacher, John, who is supposedly this ultra famous acting teache, said I was a good writer. All of friends who have interviewed for acting schools and acting programs here and on the east coast, said that everybody knows John. John taught at ACT for 12 years and he knows Annette Benning and Danny Glover, and is well respected on both coasts in acting circles. But he's an acting director, what does he know?
More church stuff. I wrote a prayer for the people and read it at a service one Sunday. Some nice looking guy who I'd never seen before came up to me afterwards and told me, my prayer really moved me. Then Pam, who was on the worship committee and an editor at Harper Collinss, came up to me and said she really like my prayer and requested a copy for the church files. I was like OH MY GOD. Pam was classmates with Hilary Clinton in college at that Seven Sisters school, whose name I can't remember right now. Pam worked for all the top notch publishing houses in NYC before moving out here. Pam liked my prayer. And Pam is so articulate and well spoken and so east coast in speech and manner. That woman spearks in grammatically correct and perfect sentences at all times. Pam would know wouldn't she? Or is this just because it's a small church?
I wrote and performed a story I'd written called Art is Scary. About 30 people were there, most of whom I didn't know. People loved my performance and three people, two guys and one woman said they loved me story.
And finally, I got a fanmail from someone who'd read my blog and was kind enough to tell me.
I'm not sure if I feel better, but I think I need to keep writing I guess.
Saturday, April 06, 2002
Screenplay freakitis is gone now, thank god. Julie, my screenwriting teacher didn't call me till Thursday so I was left to stew in my own juices. I think what was really bugging me was the beginning and ending of my screenplay. Julie said to start later in my original story and leave all the baseball stuff out. But DAMN, I was so attached to all the baseball stuff, I mean after all, it's the story of a baseball player, right? By Wednesday afternoon, I couldn't take it anymore and I took all the baseball scenes out and started the story in the locker room after game 2 of a three game series at Pac Bell Park. Once I did that, the screenplay freakitis went away and I was able to write 10 pages of the screenplay that night.
When Julie finally called me on Thursday, she suggested exactly what I had already done. I guess I just beat her to the criticism.
Screenplay writing is such a trip. First of all, it has to be in this special format and you have to use a courier 12 font, which when printed kind of looks like you typed it yourself on a typewriter instead of a computer. The film industry is very particular about the format, so there's even software programs which you can buy that puts the screenplay into the required format.
I would buy the screenplay software if I thought I would be writing screenplays for the rest of my life, but I don't know that yet. So I cheated and found a free template on the Net. The template has all the macros built in which do all the formatting stuff for you. I downloaded a demo version of the most popular screenwriting software, Final Draft, at work but I think I like the template I have on my pc at home much better. Besides the template was free and you just can't beat free. I think I'm going to check out the full version of the screenwriting software out on Monday at the Academy of Art college, where I take my screenwriting seminar, just to see what the full version is really like. Julie says they have a pc lab there with the software on it.
God, what else? Damned allergies are in full swing right now, which makes me totally miserable. I went to see my kineseologist/homeopathic doctor today and he said he was going to try to up my immune system more so my histamine reaction wouldn't be so bad. I don't think it's working, but all the other stuff he's treated me for has been great.
God, I hate my allergies. I think I'm going back to taking the powder form of aloe vera, which is totally expensive, but so worth it because when I was taking it, my allergic reactions were very minor even in pollen season. I keep wondering when the company that makes the powder form of the aloe vera is going lose their exclusive patent on this product, so I can buy it generically from someone else. I haven't seen it on the Net or in any of the health food stores, so I guess they still own the patent. The stuff is so expensive, but I'm thinking it would so worth it right now if I didn't have to go around with my nose stuffed and snot dripping down my upper lip.
I went to Casual Fridays at the SF Ballet last night and saw program 5. The featured drink was a naked cosmopolitan, which was vodka and white cranberry juice with a lime twist. My friend and I drank three of these and didn't even get a buzz. I guess they forgot to put the vodka in. Next time, I'll get wine. Should have known to get wine, since all the staff was drinking it,
We chatted in line with Evelyn Cisneros, who used to be the premier ballerina with the SF Ballet, before she retired. I loved her in Swan Lake, which I saw a few years ago. She's very pretty and very, very thin. She was so friendly and nice and she chatted to us happily about her 18 month old son. My friend said "ballet tickets $46, chatting with Evelyn Cisneros PRICELSS". Gotta love that mastercard ad!
Went through a thing about my mother on Friday. Just when you think you're over your parents, they come back to haunt you in the most unexpected ways. I was remembering the way my mother was when I was about 5 years old. She was this always on the go passionate woman, totally dedicated to her job and workaholic, perfectionist freak in heels and makeup and hairsprayed hair, who wore her emotions on her sleeve and was totally quick tempered with a sharp tongue that could slice you to ribbons in a minute flat. And me? I was her totally hyperactive child, who was always falling down, getting into scrapes and who was constantly getting into her way and making her late for work. My poor mother though. I think if they had Ridalin in those days and I was on it, my early childhood would have been alot happier, but the term "hyperactive child" didn't even exist yet.
I used to be so afraid of my mom. Being around her was like a stepping into a mine field. I never knew what action of mine would piss her off and it seemed like back then, everything I did made her really angry. I learned to be very careful of what I did and what I said to her, just to have her not yell at me. It's an odd way to live, but as a child I think you easily adapt to all kinds of weird situations and they become normal after awhile.
The thing about my mom came up because I now have three friends in my life who subconsciously reminded me of my early childhood experiences with my mom. All three of them are like her in their own way. I seem to make make them mad by the majority of things I do and say. What's so interetesting though is I don't want what it is I do to piss them off. It's just like it was when I was a child and I couldn't figure my mother's reasons back then either. They're my friends and I love them so dearly, but my relationships with them are sort of strained right now, because I was very resentful of them being agree with me all the time, for seemingly silly things.
But yesterday, I figured out that they were all reminding me of my mother and once I figured that out, the resentments inside me all went away. I think I was subconsciously thinking of my friends as my mom. Strange huh? I was surprised because they're nothing like my mom, but it's the minefield effect that was confusing me. But what' s so cool is that now the strain of the relationship, at least for one of my friends, is gone. At the ballet last night, we had the best time. It was like in the old days, when my friend and I used to do everything together and we just loved being in each other's company. All the strain is gone. I hope with my other two friends, I get the same results.
The things with your parents is funny. When you grow up, you either start to emulate them or if you had teenage rebellion like me, you do everything in opposite to them. Like take my mother for example. She's this passionate, wears her heart on her sleeve, girly type woman who dresses to the nines in ruffles and lace. I'm this buttoned up, closed down, stiff upper lip with a glacier reserve type who wishes she could wear shorts and tshirts for the rest of her life. But then what's totally trippy is that even though I've tried to do everything to rebel against my mom's teachings, at work, not in this job, but in other jobs, I was this on the go, well-dressed, always in heels, makeup and perfume and suits with pearls, workaholic bitch. I became my mother at work! So scary!!!
But when I got this insight yesterday about my mom and me, I realized that I didn't have to rebel against her anymore or freak out because I became her at work. I could pick and choose the best of my mother's traits and get rid of all the crap that I didn't want. When I first realized this however, I freaked out.
Part of my identity was so wrapped around being rebellion against my mom and her teachings and praying to god and every other diety I could think of, that I wouldn't become like her. Losing this mom part of my identity made me feel like I didn't know who I was anymore, and that's not a great feeling to have.
I had similar feelings when I let go pf my resentment about my dad and my relationship with him and his untimely death. I felt the "I don't know who the hell I am feeling" back then too. And it was even scarier the first time, because I distinctly remember feeling like I was in a foreign world for a couple of minutes and the sidewalk was going to open up and swallow me. Losing a big part of your identity is not a pleasant feeling. I had so identified myself as someone who hated her dad, that letting go of the hatred and resentment was like losing this enormous part of myself. I lost my m.o., I guess you could say.
But you know what, that "I don't know the hell I am feeling" passed and was replaced by the joy of realizing I could reinvent myself over again. A brighter, better, happier Brenda!!! What a concept!!!
So, I'm in reinvention mode right now. I want to take the best of what my mother taught me, throw the crap out that I hated and reinvent yet another "brighter, better, happier Brenda". God, my mom was amazing. Everybody loved her, well, everybody loved or totally hated her. There was no inbetween reaction from anybody including the family. My mother was so smart, so determined and such a damned good cook and hostess. That woman knew her jewels too and could spot a fake a mile away. I think I'll get rid of mother quick temperedness, impatience and mine field personality but leave all the fun stuff like her sense of humor, her ability to turn any bad situation around to her own advantage and maybe her ability to deal with men. My mother was a determined flirt, a real southern belle even though she wasn't from the south. Growing up, I watched my mom flirt and charm men and have them eating of her hand in 10 minutes or less. That skill set will come in handy for a few things, I think.
What's definitely so great though, is I think I finally left home and I can now be my own person. I can now be the person, I've always wanted to be because I'm not living my life out of hating my father and my mother and I"m not also not rebelling against either of them either. This is such a weird concept, don't you think?
When Julie finally called me on Thursday, she suggested exactly what I had already done. I guess I just beat her to the criticism.
Screenplay writing is such a trip. First of all, it has to be in this special format and you have to use a courier 12 font, which when printed kind of looks like you typed it yourself on a typewriter instead of a computer. The film industry is very particular about the format, so there's even software programs which you can buy that puts the screenplay into the required format.
I would buy the screenplay software if I thought I would be writing screenplays for the rest of my life, but I don't know that yet. So I cheated and found a free template on the Net. The template has all the macros built in which do all the formatting stuff for you. I downloaded a demo version of the most popular screenwriting software, Final Draft, at work but I think I like the template I have on my pc at home much better. Besides the template was free and you just can't beat free. I think I'm going to check out the full version of the screenwriting software out on Monday at the Academy of Art college, where I take my screenwriting seminar, just to see what the full version is really like. Julie says they have a pc lab there with the software on it.
God, what else? Damned allergies are in full swing right now, which makes me totally miserable. I went to see my kineseologist/homeopathic doctor today and he said he was going to try to up my immune system more so my histamine reaction wouldn't be so bad. I don't think it's working, but all the other stuff he's treated me for has been great.
God, I hate my allergies. I think I'm going back to taking the powder form of aloe vera, which is totally expensive, but so worth it because when I was taking it, my allergic reactions were very minor even in pollen season. I keep wondering when the company that makes the powder form of the aloe vera is going lose their exclusive patent on this product, so I can buy it generically from someone else. I haven't seen it on the Net or in any of the health food stores, so I guess they still own the patent. The stuff is so expensive, but I'm thinking it would so worth it right now if I didn't have to go around with my nose stuffed and snot dripping down my upper lip.
I went to Casual Fridays at the SF Ballet last night and saw program 5. The featured drink was a naked cosmopolitan, which was vodka and white cranberry juice with a lime twist. My friend and I drank three of these and didn't even get a buzz. I guess they forgot to put the vodka in. Next time, I'll get wine. Should have known to get wine, since all the staff was drinking it,
We chatted in line with Evelyn Cisneros, who used to be the premier ballerina with the SF Ballet, before she retired. I loved her in Swan Lake, which I saw a few years ago. She's very pretty and very, very thin. She was so friendly and nice and she chatted to us happily about her 18 month old son. My friend said "ballet tickets $46, chatting with Evelyn Cisneros PRICELSS". Gotta love that mastercard ad!
Went through a thing about my mother on Friday. Just when you think you're over your parents, they come back to haunt you in the most unexpected ways. I was remembering the way my mother was when I was about 5 years old. She was this always on the go passionate woman, totally dedicated to her job and workaholic, perfectionist freak in heels and makeup and hairsprayed hair, who wore her emotions on her sleeve and was totally quick tempered with a sharp tongue that could slice you to ribbons in a minute flat. And me? I was her totally hyperactive child, who was always falling down, getting into scrapes and who was constantly getting into her way and making her late for work. My poor mother though. I think if they had Ridalin in those days and I was on it, my early childhood would have been alot happier, but the term "hyperactive child" didn't even exist yet.
I used to be so afraid of my mom. Being around her was like a stepping into a mine field. I never knew what action of mine would piss her off and it seemed like back then, everything I did made her really angry. I learned to be very careful of what I did and what I said to her, just to have her not yell at me. It's an odd way to live, but as a child I think you easily adapt to all kinds of weird situations and they become normal after awhile.
The thing about my mom came up because I now have three friends in my life who subconsciously reminded me of my early childhood experiences with my mom. All three of them are like her in their own way. I seem to make make them mad by the majority of things I do and say. What's so interetesting though is I don't want what it is I do to piss them off. It's just like it was when I was a child and I couldn't figure my mother's reasons back then either. They're my friends and I love them so dearly, but my relationships with them are sort of strained right now, because I was very resentful of them being agree with me all the time, for seemingly silly things.
But yesterday, I figured out that they were all reminding me of my mother and once I figured that out, the resentments inside me all went away. I think I was subconsciously thinking of my friends as my mom. Strange huh? I was surprised because they're nothing like my mom, but it's the minefield effect that was confusing me. But what' s so cool is that now the strain of the relationship, at least for one of my friends, is gone. At the ballet last night, we had the best time. It was like in the old days, when my friend and I used to do everything together and we just loved being in each other's company. All the strain is gone. I hope with my other two friends, I get the same results.
The things with your parents is funny. When you grow up, you either start to emulate them or if you had teenage rebellion like me, you do everything in opposite to them. Like take my mother for example. She's this passionate, wears her heart on her sleeve, girly type woman who dresses to the nines in ruffles and lace. I'm this buttoned up, closed down, stiff upper lip with a glacier reserve type who wishes she could wear shorts and tshirts for the rest of her life. But then what's totally trippy is that even though I've tried to do everything to rebel against my mom's teachings, at work, not in this job, but in other jobs, I was this on the go, well-dressed, always in heels, makeup and perfume and suits with pearls, workaholic bitch. I became my mother at work! So scary!!!
But when I got this insight yesterday about my mom and me, I realized that I didn't have to rebel against her anymore or freak out because I became her at work. I could pick and choose the best of my mother's traits and get rid of all the crap that I didn't want. When I first realized this however, I freaked out.
Part of my identity was so wrapped around being rebellion against my mom and her teachings and praying to god and every other diety I could think of, that I wouldn't become like her. Losing this mom part of my identity made me feel like I didn't know who I was anymore, and that's not a great feeling to have.
I had similar feelings when I let go pf my resentment about my dad and my relationship with him and his untimely death. I felt the "I don't know who the hell I am feeling" back then too. And it was even scarier the first time, because I distinctly remember feeling like I was in a foreign world for a couple of minutes and the sidewalk was going to open up and swallow me. Losing a big part of your identity is not a pleasant feeling. I had so identified myself as someone who hated her dad, that letting go of the hatred and resentment was like losing this enormous part of myself. I lost my m.o., I guess you could say.
But you know what, that "I don't know the hell I am feeling" passed and was replaced by the joy of realizing I could reinvent myself over again. A brighter, better, happier Brenda!!! What a concept!!!
So, I'm in reinvention mode right now. I want to take the best of what my mother taught me, throw the crap out that I hated and reinvent yet another "brighter, better, happier Brenda". God, my mom was amazing. Everybody loved her, well, everybody loved or totally hated her. There was no inbetween reaction from anybody including the family. My mother was so smart, so determined and such a damned good cook and hostess. That woman knew her jewels too and could spot a fake a mile away. I think I'll get rid of mother quick temperedness, impatience and mine field personality but leave all the fun stuff like her sense of humor, her ability to turn any bad situation around to her own advantage and maybe her ability to deal with men. My mother was a determined flirt, a real southern belle even though she wasn't from the south. Growing up, I watched my mom flirt and charm men and have them eating of her hand in 10 minutes or less. That skill set will come in handy for a few things, I think.
What's definitely so great though, is I think I finally left home and I can now be my own person. I can now be the person, I've always wanted to be because I'm not living my life out of hating my father and my mother and I"m not also not rebelling against either of them either. This is such a weird concept, don't you think?
Monday, April 01, 2002
I'm starting to freak out about writing my screenplay. I'm writing a story from a guy's viewpoint and I'm like, I don't the first thing about being a guy. I finished the outline for my screenplay and handed it to my screenwriting teacher tonight. She's supposed to call me tomorrow night to discuss. YUK! I am so not looking forward to it.
I like my screenplay but I think I have very weird taste in stuff. Nobody likes the stuff I like.
The enormity of my project is really getting to me. 200 pages of a dysfunctional father/son relationship from the son's pont of view. What a trip!!! I don't even know why this story is so important to me. It's not my story. I'm not a son, I'm a daughter. All my friends think I'm trying to therapy out my own father dying and me not being there to say goodbye or make my peace before he died. I made my peace years later, but I guess a part of me thinks would I be any different if had made my peace. This story is my way to find out.
God, I blame my friend Kim for all this. She took me to her company's tailgate party to see the Oakland A's play the SF Giants in Oakland. I was a baseball fan but only because I liked going to Candlestick and sitting in the bleachers on a sunny day and watching a good game of baseball with a bunch of friends and eating lots of hotdogs.
It was Kim who told me about the hot young players on the A's team. How they're all under age 25 and totally cute. They had those great commercials in Oakland, showing the A's jumping up and down on some bed. She was right. There were so cute. And compared to an older team, they looked ever more like little boys playing a grown up game. I kept seeing little boys in little league, which then became very little boys learning to play catch with their fathers.
Then came the 2000 world series. The A's versus the Yankees. Those A's really gave New York a run for their money in that short series. New York would breeze through their games with the Mariners, but with the A's, they had to fight for every game. There were such different teams too. The A's played new metal and new hard rock music in their stadium, music I really like. The Yankees played 70's and 80's music. The A's barely looked like they could shave, while the Yankees, except for Derek Jeter looked positively geriactric.
Nowhere was this age disparity more evident than in game 4 of that series. Barry Zito, the funky and cool pitcher originally from LA, you know the original incense surfer dude, pitched in that game and whacked Yankees by a huge score. During the game, the A's looked like a team right out of the college ranks and the Yankees looked like a team full of fat but professionals athletes biding their time.
Then came the actual world series with the Yankees and the Mets and all the stories of hometown boys finally playing on the team of their childhood or not, as the case often is. I loved the profile of Al Lighter from the Mets He was the good, true and humble baseball player who just always wanted to play for his home team.
Somehow between my crush on all things Oakland A's and hearing all those stories about famous baseball players talking about their father, Playing Catch with Dad.
Even the title is new. I originally called my story "Little League Baseball Dreams" The idea sat on my writing shelf for the longest time and I never finished it. But now in my screenwriting class, the baseball story has morphed into screenplay I'm trying to go wtith the flow and be relaxed about it, but its hard, very hard.
I like my screenplay but I think I have very weird taste in stuff. Nobody likes the stuff I like.
The enormity of my project is really getting to me. 200 pages of a dysfunctional father/son relationship from the son's pont of view. What a trip!!! I don't even know why this story is so important to me. It's not my story. I'm not a son, I'm a daughter. All my friends think I'm trying to therapy out my own father dying and me not being there to say goodbye or make my peace before he died. I made my peace years later, but I guess a part of me thinks would I be any different if had made my peace. This story is my way to find out.
God, I blame my friend Kim for all this. She took me to her company's tailgate party to see the Oakland A's play the SF Giants in Oakland. I was a baseball fan but only because I liked going to Candlestick and sitting in the bleachers on a sunny day and watching a good game of baseball with a bunch of friends and eating lots of hotdogs.
It was Kim who told me about the hot young players on the A's team. How they're all under age 25 and totally cute. They had those great commercials in Oakland, showing the A's jumping up and down on some bed. She was right. There were so cute. And compared to an older team, they looked ever more like little boys playing a grown up game. I kept seeing little boys in little league, which then became very little boys learning to play catch with their fathers.
Then came the 2000 world series. The A's versus the Yankees. Those A's really gave New York a run for their money in that short series. New York would breeze through their games with the Mariners, but with the A's, they had to fight for every game. There were such different teams too. The A's played new metal and new hard rock music in their stadium, music I really like. The Yankees played 70's and 80's music. The A's barely looked like they could shave, while the Yankees, except for Derek Jeter looked positively geriactric.
Nowhere was this age disparity more evident than in game 4 of that series. Barry Zito, the funky and cool pitcher originally from LA, you know the original incense surfer dude, pitched in that game and whacked Yankees by a huge score. During the game, the A's looked like a team right out of the college ranks and the Yankees looked like a team full of fat but professionals athletes biding their time.
Then came the actual world series with the Yankees and the Mets and all the stories of hometown boys finally playing on the team of their childhood or not, as the case often is. I loved the profile of Al Lighter from the Mets He was the good, true and humble baseball player who just always wanted to play for his home team.
Somehow between my crush on all things Oakland A's and hearing all those stories about famous baseball players talking about their father, Playing Catch with Dad.
Even the title is new. I originally called my story "Little League Baseball Dreams" The idea sat on my writing shelf for the longest time and I never finished it. But now in my screenwriting class, the baseball story has morphed into screenplay I'm trying to go wtith the flow and be relaxed about it, but its hard, very hard.
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