Unactivated iPhone Internet access trick

Unlocking 1.1.2 otb internet

So I bought an iPhone this weekend. The sucky thing is that it's running the 1.1.2 software update and has the same bootloader as the UK phone that is giving the hackers some trouble. So for now I cannot jailbreak it or unlock the SIM. Booo!

Nevertheless I have found a loophole that allows me to use the internet through the emergency call service. I'm using the trick right now to post this. How do you do it? Simple.

1) Perform the *#307# trick.
2) create a contact with the url of prefs://11 to connect you with wifi.
3) Create a new contact and put google as the URL.
4) Save.
5) Then back in contacts select the new URL
6) Voilà! Have fun surfing checking your facebook, email, whatever.

One problem though, if you touch the green portion at the top you'll end the "call" and have to re-trick the phone back into contacts.

With a little help from my friends

Thumbs up!

Courtesy of Joel Telling

Wow! Tonight while at my local writing haunt I was talking to one of the only published authors I know about a concept I came up with for a book. It's an idea that I've had brewing in the cranium for a while now and I've recently started thinking about serving up. Anyway, he seemed really intrigued by it. So much so, that he actually felt compelled to drive back to his home and grab a book of his to loan me. He felt that there were many elements between this book and my idea and thought that I would benefit from reading it. I don't know about you, but to me, that's a pretty good endorsement. Thanks Mike!

I know that by posting this I am being slightly ironic but...

I couldn't help myself. It's just too damn funny... in the horribly poignant sense of the word.

Dopplr! on Mahalo Daily

We have a fairly well watched video podcast being produced at my company. We recently did a spoof infomercial for the website Dopplr.com. It's pretty funny. Watch it above or check out the Mahalo Daily page.

Mahalo Daily

Dopplr

Mahalo

We now interrupt your regularly scheduled broadcast...

I work for a brand new Web 2.0 startup these days. While sometimes the job can have tedious days I've found that I tend to enjoy my time at work. I spend most of my day surfing the internet researching subjects and my specialty happens to be the News. I love being up to date on current events and we definitely do that. In fact we're so up to date and ahead of things that we tend to find stories and news that most people don't even know about. To counteract this we've decided to begin producing short videos on certain topics that we feel are getting relatively low coverage in the traditional media. We'll also pepper in, here and there, some more light-hearted, yet topical pieces a la The Daily Show. Stay tuned!

Why the WGA Struck

I've been reading up a lot about the WGA strike and what it means to me. As many of you know, I've moved to LA to try and "make it" as a writer in the entertainment industry. Gaining membership to the exclusive club that is the Writers Guild of America is essential in the future of my career. So, while I may not be a guild member the strike still greatly affects me. Essentially the strike stops dead in its tracks any scripts or screenplays that I've written on spec and have sent in for consideration. In fact, the build up to the impending strike started affecting this aspect of my writing nearly a month ago. Producers basically stopped taking or reading any new screenplays since the strike would render any negotiation pointless.

On a different note, the strike means that hundreds of jobs held by guild writers will be empty while the strike is on. Nevertheless, It would be career suicide to try and take advantage of this. Were I to break the picket line and write as a "scab" I would eliminate my chance of ever getting into the Guild as I would be "Blacklisted" and denied entry. To be completely honest, I don't think that I could live with myself were I to write as a scab. Essentially I would be thumbing my nose at my colleagues. While I am not yet a WGA member, I have no doubt in my mind that I will soon be one. So any benefits I were to recieve from being a WGA member would be complete BS if I were to get away with scab writing. I wouldn't deserve any of the benefits gained by those writers who put their jobs and livelihoods on the line for what was right.

So through my research into the strike and the reasons behind it, I found this great video:

Kindergarten Dodgeball

In Kindergarten, real education began the instant our teacher let us out into the wet, cold Washington fall, our jackets providing armor against the elements of nature but not against the elements of childhood. The ball would drop and we would dash forward in mad hope. Reaching. Straining. No! Like ants escaping a drop of water we scattered away. Fleeing a fate worse than death… being out.

There is a form of dodge ball that kindergartners play that is like king-of-the-hill. Instead of being tossed down the hill however, the hill is thrown at you. One could avoid getting hit by the ball and thus being made out by either catching the ball, or evading the ball. The latter always led to a mad scramble of legs and arms and fists and teeth heading straight for the ball. One by one, kids are knocked out of the game until a winner emerges.

Now I’m not sure how things work now, what with all of the focus on early development in children these days, but when I was in kindergarten class was pointless. Class was not a time to learn academics. Class was a truce. A temporary cease-fire, called in by a greater authority, so that we might not completely destroy each other.

So we’d wait, and think about the next recess. We’d strategize and dream about how, like Jordan or Griffey Jr., we’d pull off some amazing feat of athleticism to win the game that would be talked about for years. Perhaps we’d win the affections of the cute girl in class, and she’d want to kiss us for our valor. Everyone would be our friend because they would see how skilled we were in dodgeball. We’d think about every possibility but the likely one - getting knocked out first.

Cheap Ass Kitchen

The Park La Brea apartments are, for the most part, really great. They're clean and well maintained. Not all of the appliances are of the newest and greatest quality, but they do the trick. However, out of all these things, PLB has the shittiest water-pipes I've ever seen! Since I've been here (a little over a year now) my sink has clogged up over five times and the dishwasher has overflowed twice! Tonight just that happened and I thought I'd write a little post since I'm up waiting for the service man to come and unclog the drain. I guess if you're gonna have shitty plumbing, having a 24-hour serviceman helps!

Midlake at the Henry Fonda Theater

Van Occupanther

Here's my notes on the Midlake concert last week.

wanted to shoot myself for being there so early and also for not inviting anyone to come along.

wishing that I smoked so that I would have something to do while waiting for show to start.

Wild Youth: Awesome performance. Grade school age band, rocked the house and impressed everyone. Balsy too, played Roscoe. Amazing vocalist... she should stay within bluesy, rock style... perfect for her voice.

Maria Taylor: nothing too amazing. Pretty cute lead singer. Middle of the road chick rock. Wynonna Rider with a Cat Power twist. Apparently one half of Azure Ray. I wasn't terribly impressed.

Midlake: Awesome. So impressive live. Their previous album is so Radiohead it's scary. Tim Smith is America's Thom Yorke and as soon as people start understanding that they'll understand why Midlake is so fucking difficult to categorize. Very clear that every person in the band is a highly skilled musician. Eric Pulido is awesome to watch play... three different instruments in a single song??? Wall of Sound. Fills a venue like Henry Fonda Theater... built for amphitheaters. Refreshingly honest, well engineered, talented... good fucking music.

Giovanni Ribisi. Danny Masterson. Clarke Duke. Hipster central. I feel so in the know!

Coverage: Hobson's Choice

By Glenn Ficarra and John Requa

Chef

Log Line:

After managing the day-to-day business of her insufferably cruel, celebrity chef father’s restaurant for years without any personal satisfaction, Maggie Hobson decides to quit and start her own, rival, restaurant.

Comments:

First off, this is an incredibly entertaining script. The characters are extremely well drawn with believable motivations and incredibly individual voices. Perhaps the greatest strength of this script is the dialogue, which literally jumps off the page and demands attention from the readers. So much of this script is about how people treat and speak to each other it’s great that dialogue is given such precedence.

That is not to say that the action is any less interesting. Reading this script is all at once recipe book detailed and Food Network interesting. There were times when I found myself jumping onto Wikipedia to lookup some fanciful ingredient mentioned or salivating at the descriptions of meals. Anybody who is even slightly interested in the world of gourmet food and restaurants will be interested in this.

The character’s relationships are very well defined and believable. Maggie and her father’s exchanges are something to behold; underlining both their shared contempt for and undeniable influence on each other. At the same time, Will Mossop’s dim-witted, yet charming interactions with Maggie left me reeling with laughter.

Maggie’s character is quite the dichotomy. She presents, believably, two sides of the same coin. In her job she is smart, unflappable, and dominant – traits that have been learned through years of hard work, proving herself by sheer force of will, under an overbearing, egotistical father’s reign. In her personal life however, she is completely vulnerable. Having to take over the maternal role in the family at a young age Maggie was never given a chance to act her age. At the same time, her father’s distaste for her has rubbed off completely within the family unit. She’s at the complete bottom of the totem pole and although she does everything for her father and two sisters, she receives no respect for it. This has turned her into a veritable shrew – yet one who is completely self aware. Until she decides to stick up for her own dignity, Maggie is a woman who has completely given up on herself as anything but a restaurant manager.

This is why Maggie’s success is so fulfilling. The central conflict in the script is well defined and also, well handled by the writers. This doesn’t mean that the script is without its faults:

I think that perhaps the biggest fault of the screenplay is Henry’s hatred of his daughter. We’re never given a reason as to why he hates Maggie so much. Perhaps he projects his anger over the loss of his wife onto the person who took over her maternal responsibilities. Perhaps he feels that abusing Maggie and cutting her down keeps her under his influence. I don’t know why… and while it does make his abuse that much more monstrous, it also makes it more cartoonish and unbelievable. Even a small rationalization would be enough… I just find it hard to believe that anybody becomes a Grinch from a vacuum… especially when everyone else’s character traits are given realistic sources.

Will Mossop is such a funny character in the beginning. He’s a dolt with a heart of gold and an incredible gift. This makes for a really interesting contrast when Maggie finds herself attracted to him, despite his mental shortcomings. Something happens to Will though halfway through the story. He starts to get smarter. Sure, some of his dimwittedness remains, but he’s quicker and less prone to stupid, absentminded remarks, which led to such funny exchanges early on.

The whole green card issue at the end of the script feels very forced. I understand why it is there, but it feels like the issue could be dealt with in a more tactful manner. Mostly I just didn’t believe the whole “it’s too late for me” argument. I don’t know… it could be handled better I feel.

Overall thought there really isn’t a lot to fix. The script would make a great movie and is fun to read. In fact, I can’t wait to read it again.

Recommend

ketchup

write by the trial

Been a while. I've gotten a new job. I work here now. It's a lot of fun and I really enjoy my job for probably the first time in a long time. More to come soon, but now I must sleep.

Yes I am in a commercial

If you are in the states and have thought that you saw me in a commerical for Quiznos, you'd be correct. It looks as though I need to start working out more and stop eating so many Prime Rib on Garlic Bread sandwiches though... and I should get a haircut. yikes.

The picture links you to the page with the commercial. Choose the apporpriate media player to see it.

Thoughts for the day

"Park La Brea at night"

It’s been a little too long since my last posting and I felt I should update. I wish I was a better journalist, but I feel that if you don’t grow up doing it, you never get into the grove later on in life. Maybe I’ll prove myself wrong though. We’ll see…

Actually I think that it’s a common theme for me to apologize for not posting very often. I wonder why I can’t seem to keep up on my journaling? “Perhaps I’m not really cut out for this writing thing.” I worry. Nothing’s ever felt so correct though in my life… I just wish I had figured it out sooner that I was in love with story and writing and that I wanted to create it for a living. Maybe then I could have focused my efforts in college on that instead of International Studies. I think about wasted time a lot. I feel like I’ve wasted time. I feel like I’ve missed opportunities. I feel like I haven’t really prepared myself for the real world and for supporting myself in it. I’ve been job hunting ever since I got here in Los Angeles and every listing just tells me how unqualified for anything I really am. If that’s the case then, what the hell did I spend all that money going to college for then? Why did I waste 4 years of my life getting a degree that isn’t even going to get me into the goddamn interview? It’s depressing is what it is.

I’m depressed a lot these days actually. My life consists of getting up, going to work and coming home. I’m so tired usually that I can’t be bothered to write anything with Josh and I know that really bothers him too. Let’s see him go work for 8 hours and then come home and be creative though. He hasn’t had to work since we’ve gotten in here. That would be nice. Not having to work. Sitting around, reading books and thinking up new and exciting things. FUCK FOOD SERVICE! I knew, as soon as I got my job, I was going to hate it. Why did my boss have to be a Kappa Sig? Why’d he have to be a coke-addicted, bi-polar freak!? As soon as the new year hits, I’m going to quit. That’s final.

Orkin Road - Preamble

You really couldn't believe it could you? When you woke up, your nose bent and throbbing in your temples. You puckered your lips and tried to open your mouth to let out a pained moan but the dried, crusted blood caused them to peel apart like pink-eyed lids and you screamed instead. The bag had busted open and fallen down in the backseat, large bill rolls spilled out onto the floor like fruit from a cornucopia.

Where were you? What happened?

As you slowly came to your senses your eyes strained out through the cracked windshield and across the buckled hood of the Grand Marquis. An accident? You can't remember getting into this car.

The still road lay dark, with only pale shafts of moon spilling in through the canopy providing light to see by. Beyond the area containing the scene of your broken vehicle lay - nothing. To what this road you were on led was as much a mystery to you as the reason you were on it in the first place. A slight breeze sent the leaves shivering, as though the crisp winter air that revealed your breath pierced into their waxy skin as well.

Upon further inspection of the car you'd clearly been in a head on collision, but the offending vehicle was nowhere to be found. No skid marks lay on the ground corresponding to the ones that indicated your car's right, then left slide. No blood or fur stuck to your car from an unsuspecting, four-legged victim. What had hit you that could cause such damage and leave not a trace behind?

That's when you saw him.

On the side of the road, no farther than three feet from the passenger side of the car, laying face down. A little boy, almost seven. Blood trailed from the passenger door which had only barely latched closed. Not yours. You had no children - that you could remember...

The car wouldn't start would it? Why did you even try? Any idiot could see it was a total, but like an ape you tried it anyways. Without much thought other than getting the fuck out of this situation, you started to gather what you assumed to be your things. The bag of cash, the wool coat next to it, the handgun... You don't remember ever shooting a gun, let alone carrying one.

The trunk groaned as you lifted it up and saw the womanbags laying in there. Two, large, black, thick lawn garbage bags. But they weren't filled with leaves, were they? They were filled with parts. Body parts. A finger, a femur, a jaw bone with flesh still hanging off of it. Chunked pieces of human chum.

You really couldn't believe it, could you? When you threw up in the trunk after you snuffed the stench of rotting flesh up in through your nostrils, sending a convulsion through your brain and down in the pit of your stomach. The acids from your bowels burned your throat. Heaving and pacing and pushing cool air through your fiberous nose hairs, you racked your brain to percolate a memory from the pit gigantic black dot in your mind. You created storm clouds in front of your face, they gathered, rose and stormed into your vision and then he moaned.

The kid moaned - and before you knew what you were doing, you'd slammed the lid on your thoughts and the trunk and knelt beside him.

"It's okay... where are you hurt?" You consoled.

You didn't know where or why this sense of concern puckered in your chest when you heard him, but it was there and you reacted. When he looked up at you, wild-eyed and confused. You saw nothing you knew, but the same fear that had creeped slowly over your shoulders ever since you'd awoke.

Where's my Mom?" He asked. And then, finally, you knew something. It wasn't much, nothing really, just a glimmer of comprehension - but you knew.

You lied and told him you didn't know, but that we needed to find help. And before you left, you made sure to push your gateway back into consiousness off into the brush alongside the road. Sweating and straining, the throb in your brain tore at your thoughts. Tt was all you could do not to break down right there, collapse to the ground, and cease before you'd even began. Finally the car edged and leaned over the road's edge. It trailed off into the forest, crashing and clawing through brush until it came to rest.

You don't know why you came back do you? Why, with such obvious misgivings you went from which you came than from which you went. Who could blame you though? You couldn't remember anything. Right, left, up down, you couldn't even see outside a 6 foot radius on that damn, dark road. Maybe you thought the road from Orkin might lead you back to an answer.

Well you know now, don't you?

Kibitz Room

Connected to the famous Canters Deli, The Kibitz Room exists in a narrow corridor with round leather boothes flanking the left-hand side. It has all the makings of a seedy rock bar so I love it. The drinks are stiff and cheap - which is a rarity in a place where I typically can't find a beer for under five dollars. Improving upon this already satisfectalent combination, it's right down the block from my apartment. If I had to, I could walk there and stumble home, blacked-out, without any difficulties.

Upon entrance to the bar C-squared, myself and our new friend Cat, were greeted with wailing feedback and pounding tom-toms. Squashed into the front of the already crowded room, the stage feels and looks like an after thought. This set-up causes your senses to snap into immediate shock, which blanks your mind as you find a seat or order a drink from the bar. After you've recovered from rock and roll shell shock the freakish collection of patrons sends your mind whirling once again as you attempt to decipher the crowd the bar usually caters to. Don't try though, as you'll soon realize that every walk of life finds solace in Kibitz.

For the most part though, they are a motley crew of skid row riff-raff. From the haggard old drunk who chases sips of cheap whiskey with gulps of creamed-coffee - his hands, wrists and neck laden with jewelry. To the raven-haired hipsters posturing while rocking out and slamming domestics down by the glass. No strangers to the night, the crowd's faces hold a palette of years painted by booze, tobacco, drug use and hard living.

Into this biosphere of the Los Angeles night-life we step, three fledglings to the herd. Cat's roommate is in a band that's set to play the last act. They're called "Jade Banger", and they're an all girl band. We'd only jut met Cat on halloween, but she's from Bend, Oregon so our Northwest personalities click. Cat's down in LA to be an actress- a novel concept.

The environment makes small talk impossible, so I make do with a few witty comments and knowing looks interjected here and there. Once, when I go to the bathroom I pass by a tall blonde with her hair done up in a faux '80s swoop. She's cute, but I notice a dribble of blood coagulating in her left nostril. Halloween being only two nights ago I assume that it's stage makeup- but this is Los Angeles- and she was very excited.

The First Steps

The story of my current situation goes back much farther than this past weekend. When I examine things, I realize now that my compass has pointed me towards the City of Angels for several years now. Although at what time and in what capacity had always remained ambiguous.

In the winter of my freshman year at college, I auditioned for and was cast in a play for which I had no desire to be in. I still held onto the vague belief that I was an actor and was going to make my living as one. By the second rehearsal I already knew that acting was, for now at least, not what I truly wanted to do and I quit the show.

Resigning myself to a normal career, outside of the creative community, I was unexpectedly cast in a short film for a local filmmaker whom I had connected up with before in High School. His name was Vince, and he was the only person I knew at the time who was making movies. It suddenly became clear to me. I didn’t want to merely act. I wanted to create.

Throughout High School I had worked at a video store and I had seen and analyzed countless films. I have distinct memories reviewing movies even as young as the age of six! My best memory from High School was when I single-handedly put on a one act of my own version of Romeo and Juliet. I wanted to make movies and I wanted to be deeply involved in the creative process.

So I asked Vince, “How can I make a movie?”

“Write a script first.” Was his reply.

I set to it. In a little over a week I had written a 30-page piece of crap. But I was extremely proud of it and I showed it off to Vince. He liked the concept but felt that there was more to it.

“Why stop at a short?” He asked.

Since I couldn’t give him an answer I set out again and in a little over a month, I had finished my very first 120-page monstrosity of a screenplay. Keep in mind I had absolutely no concept of structure, format, character development, what have you. I just had the idea in my mind that a story set in the future, about a boy living in a ghetto who was setting out to commit a suicide bombing of massive proportions was both topical and entertaining. I showed my script to Vince and he told me to re-format it and toy around with the descriptions, which were detailed and novelistic in length. This very first foray into screenwriting was the first step on the long road that has led me to the wonderland in which I now live.

The Drive to LA

Leaving Washington

As dawn rose up over the cascades in the East, my cell phone broke forth with its alarm, awaking me from a tumultuous sleep. Having been eager for the next day, and knowing that my capacity for achieving proper rest before such excitement was little, I assisted myself with generous libations the evening prior. My plan however, had backfired on me and I awoke to the usual after effects that follow such actions. Stumbling into my clothes, I lumbered outside in a daze and fastened the bicycles onto the back of my Volkswagen Golf - the final pieces to an already over packed vehicle. The morning was crisp and dew clung to every surface. Fall had long since crept back into the Evergreen State though changing leaves were never the signal of its arrival. The day was unseasonably dry however and I thanked my lucky stars that I would be leaving home unescorted by the famous Washington rain.

I walked back inside and finished my preparations for the trip, bidding a farewell to my heart-broken father. I was struck by his outpouring of love and grief at my leaving (an event which I had been witness to no less than four years ago upon my entering college) and felt wretched and sorry for not reflecting the same sentiments towards him. I love my father and was sorry to leave him behind, but I find it hard these days to show emotions or even feel the proper ones at times. It is upon such occasions mostly that I fear I may be a sociopath and am completely unable to experience true human emotion. It is also these same thoughts that remind me a sociopath does not ruminate on such things, so I put my worries behind me and puttered off down the road.

After a short breakfast, JC and I got on the 405 and pushed on south, leaving behind the eternal grey cloud that would hang over western Washington for most of the remaining year and on through spring. The familiarity and safety of my young life was in that cloud. I felt as though it drew its color, shape and form from the memories and experiences of my entire life leading up to this point. I left behind that cloud as I left behind that life - carrying only with me my dreams, and the support of those who loved me in the place of my youth.

South Korean Scientists Discover Cancer-Killing Virus

Yet another reason for the world to stop Il Kim from going ape shit with his new toys.

The Adenovirus

SEOUL (AFP)—South Korean scientists have said they have developed a new genetically altered strain of virus which is highly efficient in targeting and killing cancer cells.

The new therapy developed by the team from Yonsei University uses a genetically-engineered form of the adenovirus, which normally causes colds.

The adenovirus was implanted with a human gene that is related to the production of relaxin, a hormone associated with pregnancy.

When injected into cancerous tumors, the virus quickly multiplies in the cancer cells and kills them, the team said.

The new adenovirus can target only cancer cells and does not harm normal cells, the team said.

Existing viral treatments fail to kill off all the cancerous cells.

“I believe we have found a way to overcome one of the great obstacles to finding a genetically altered viral cure for cancer,” Yun Chae-Ok, one of the researchers, told AFP on Thursday.

Following three rounds of injections, more than 90 percent of cancer cells in the brains, liver, lungs and womb of mice disappeared within 60 days, the team said.

Clinical tests will be carried out early next year and last 18 months, Yun said.

The research results were published in the October 18 edition of the prestigious bimonthly Journal of the National Cancer Institute in the United States.

Of course this has nothing to do with my trip to Los Angeles, but I think this kind of news is far more worthy of your time than the other fear-driven crap found in the news today.

And So It Begins... kinda

My final move preparations are all through for the most part. I've gotten everything that I own into a space that covers roughly 15 square feet. It's crazy to imagine that my life in terms of material possessions is only that large. Of course I'm leaving a few furniture items behind, but otherwise it's all there. Ridiculous.

Tomorrow I clean off my desk at the office and then I'll be celebrating my last night in Seattle as a Seattlite. Wohoo! I'll truly miss this town. The people in it and the energy is the what I've known my entire life. It's going to be scary to start out in a totally new place.

JC

At least I won't be on my own. Csquared and JC are my roommates. Two ambitious young guys just like me. JC's an accomplished film director as well as my writing partner. He and I are on the exact same wave length as writers and make the perfect duo. The scary part is that it's difficult to differentiate our voices from each other. To have that is truly rare, and probably the main reason that I am moving at this time. JC recently won an MTV Movie Award for his Student Film The Beautiful Lie - No small feat. It's really helped get his foot into the Hollywood door and I'm very grateful that he's confident enough in my writing talent to take me along for the ride. JC's probably got the most potential to be making big things happen in the upcoming year. The guy's ambitious as all hell and really goal oriented. That being said, sometimes his director's mentality can be difficult for me to handle as both he and I have no qualms sticking up for what we believe. We always seem to figure out a solution very quickly though, mostly due to JC's quick thinking and natural leadership qualities.side note: JC's set to get married at the end of this year so don't expect any wild club stories from him - Csquared and I'll try to hold up that end.

Csquared

Unlike JC and I, who met in Elementary School and then lost touch (more on that in later posts), Csquared and I are pretty new acquaintances. As of right now, I couldn't throw him under my friend list yet, but I'm sure that within a few month's that won't be the case. He's coming down to LA along with JC and I in order to start out in the business side of the film equation. Of the three, Csquared has the least connections in LA and I'm more than slightly worried he's going to have a hard time finding an industry job. From my view though, the guy's more than capable of holding his own and I think any prodco would be lucky to have him working for them. In addition, Csquared's a real can do guy, meaning he feels he can do just about anything he sets his mind to. My favorite personal tick of his is that he'll play "devil's advocate" even when he's unaware of it. Oh yeah, Csquared is ridiculously committed to healthy eating and working out so I'm relying on him to get me motivated in that area.

Tonight was "Cigar Club". It's a tradition started by JC, Csquared and AJ - their friend from HS. I was recently let into the club and I'd elaborate about our discussions but the cigar Club's like Vegas - what ever happens in Cigar Club, Stays in Cigar Club. Besides most of it's banal guy talk and truly uninteresting. I will say JC and AJ baked a scrumptious chicken and we had a great time smoking and drinking The Glenlivet. Guy's night rules.

Starting Over

time for a...

As of late my blogs have become unfocused. I have been trying desperately to determine what the subject of this blog should be. As my life will be going through a major transformation upon my relocation to Los Angeles, CA - I thought it appropriate to start completely over. From the beginning of my life as a independent adult. From now on this blog chronicles my life as I attempt to make it as a screenwriter and producer in the gigantic machine known as Hollywood.

"We Americans have always considered Hollywood, at best, a sinkhole of depraved venality. And, of course, it is. It is not a Protective Monastery of Aesthetic Truth. It is a place where everything is incredibly expensive."
-David Mamet

I will hold nothing back, and will give you every detail. Be it embarassing or exciting, serious or strange. My view of the land of broken dreams is wry and cynical but ultimately romantic. I have nothing but good prospects waiting for me to either take hold of or destroy. Wish me luck because come Saturday, there's no looking back!