13-Dec-2006
I am watching syndicated That 70s Show on FX while eating my dinner of crackers and... crackers. And I'm getting a lot of crumbs on my pants, as per usual. The phone RINGS. I check the Caller ID. Cliffhanger. I pick up.
Cliffhanger: I'm calling for a page count.*
*Note: I started writing the actual pilot script yesterday. Finally...
Me: Three.
Cliffhanger: Really? Cause I was hoping for five.
Me: (spilling more crackers) I'm working on it right now. (I'm not).
Cliffhanger: Uh-huh... so... nine pages by Friday?
Me: Twelve. But you're not reading any of them.
Cliffhanger: Fine. I'm just pretending to be interested anyway.
Faux interest and the inferiority complex she gave me aside, I do appreciate her checking in. One of the worst feelings, when you're writing, is that no one cares (they don't), no one gives a shit if what you're doing turns out well. I work best under pressure, so I enjoy the heckling. And even if she doesn't care, she does a stellar job pretending she does. So if you see Cliffhanger, give her a pat on the back for a job well done.
M.A. here's some pressure. You know you're going to be working on it when your home next week or whenever. I wanna read it. You realize I have no idea how the crap works so this is like faux pressure.
WHY ARE YOU ONLY HAVING CRACKERS FOR DINNER?!
0 ePROPS FOR YOU, AND I'M CALLING THE HOSPITAL.
If the interest was faux, why would one bother wasting precious cell minutes? Oh wait...free minutes start at...well...I for one DO NOT KNOW. Cell phone service providers love me.
You know who else loves me? Yeah, me neither. But I know there are a few people who give a shit.