Thursday, May 13, 2010

When Jerry Springer folks gets in the way of writing and life

No way did I ever believe that the Jerry Springer lifestyle would affect me so much. The bad part is that I cannot tell the details of the repulsive slice of the Jerry Springer show lifestyle that has affected me enough to not write. The truth is indeed stranger than fiction. I always laughed at the contestants or whatever the folks are called on the Jerry Springer show. Now I've got a strong dose of that trailer park madness.

Because of embarrassment and shame, I can't even give any of the juicy details. And there definitely are juicy, slimy details. I guess since I was born in a trailer, it'll be impossible to escape the white trash lifestyle. Not much I've ever done has lifted me from the lower middle class into a respectable lifestyle. Oh well, it's just the way things are and it might be time to give up on much changing for me.

Another big problem for me is a right "club foot" that was never corrected as a child. It definitely could have been easily corrected at any time before puberty. That's another white trash story that I can tell. Evidently two year old kids get to decide whether to wear leg braces to straighten their (my) legs. So I finally got a shot at straightening it at 40 yo. The result just caused more problems.

Yesterday I had to go to an occupational therapist for disability. The therapist did some very minor tests of my legs and body. It was nothing more than pulling up each leg and twisting them around a bit. The pain that it caused for me was truly frightening. Just a small amount of activity caused excruciating pain. It was painful enough to scare the hell out of me.

The cause of the pain is something about sacroiliac joints on both sides of my pelvis that aren't working correctly. It was the type of pain that stuns a person. Driving home, I'm not ashamed to say that I shed a few tears over the pain and the hopelessness of my situation. I've got my Jerry Springer upbringing that trashed my legs and pelvis. And then at home I've got a whole new Jerry Springer situation to deal with.

I'm starting to think of an escape plan. Mostly a move to anywhere but here. If I do make a move, I'll start a new blog to talk about the moving on from my Jerry Springer existence. Since I have no real followers to this blog, it won't really matter though. I still want to chronicle what I'm going to do to escape the clutches of Jerry's folks. Jerry, Jerry, Jerry, Jerry! What a fucking joke.

Saturday, May 1, 2010

Stop bitching about amateur screenwriters in your fucking blog

Stop your fucking bitching. That's right, you...Sparky. All you uptight dorks who get all bent out of shape about amateur screenwriters and screenwriting groups on the internets. I get this image in my mind of some 30 yr old, trust fund baby. Sparky with an MFA who has never worked a real day in his fucking life. The kind of dork who can only write about being an uptight (yuppie) character with other uptight and privileged characters. Instead of being concerned with your own limited life experience and inability to build a screenplay of surpassing quality, some uptight wannabe screenwriters get all kinds of self-deluded joy from bitching about aspiring screenwriters imagined to be down the food chain.

I'm sure there was some uptight caveman dork whining and bitching about some creative caveman sneaking into a cave with red crap to draw stuff on the cave walls. I'm sure that the uptight, dorky caveman also was from an imagined privileged elite background with some caveman degree in drawing on stuff. So the poor caveman/cavewoman without the ability to sell his drawing and win the love of the cavewoman/caveman had to crawl into some fucking cave to draw his animal pictures. The caveman (or should that be caveperson) crawled way back in a fucking cave to create something in peace. I have some idea why that was. Because the caveperson was bored and just needed something extra to get by in his/her caveperson existence.

For all you uptight Sparky's who label yourselves in some superior fashion in order to look down your nose at amateur screenwriters, just fucking stop your whining. I kind of enjoy ridiculing your sniveling, shrill bitching and calling you out as uptight Sparky's. There are plenty of people out in the real world who live ordinary lives and take great joy in having some distraction from that ordinary life in the form of creative expression. It isn't just about receiving checks in the mail from Hollywood for that creative endeavor for the vast majority of these people and even for you uptight, wannabe Sparkys.

When you uptight Sparky dorks are schooled in how to actually create a screenplay of surpassing quality by some ordinary person in flyover country, please stop your shrill, pathetic criticisms of their screenplays. When someone like Diablo Cody works in an office or even as a stripper and finds time to create too, please don't fucking piss and moan that she wrote something not about uptight, privileged people. When Nick Schenk spends his days working at some shitty job and his nights writing a screenplay in a Minnesota bar, don't throw your fucking hissy fits over his screenplay not being about people like you uptight dorks. Both Diablo & Nick did something you'll most likely never come close to achieving.

Some of you uptight dorks want to believe that you exist in an exclusive group of individuals qualified to create screenplays for film. I had some Sparky wannabe screenwriter dork make a disparaging comment about my dream of betting the ponies at Santa Anita while occasionally tapping on the keys of my laptop. The dork had to insinuate that Josh Olson of I Will Not Read Your Fucking Script fame also would be hanging out at Santa Anita betting the ponies. The Sparky dork was mostly offended that I have no desire in a million fucking years to sit at a Starbucks, drinking overpriced coffee and being too whacked on caffeine to create a fucking thing. The dork who prompted Josh Olson's rant must be at a Starbucks somewhere, sipping a latte and showing off his electronic devices. Those electronic gadgets that are the 21st century phallic equivalent of a big gun.

And quit your fucking shrill ass bitching about screenwriting groups on the internets and elsewhere. Whether it is Triggerstreet, DoneDealPro or anywhere else, PLEASE quit your fucking bitching and whining about these communities. I can't go an entire month without some uptight dork posting some uptight blog that insults a screenwriting group or the people who participate. These people are just looking for somewhere to express their creativity that is stifled so efficiently in the life of a modern adult. Trying to feel superior to them only makes you look like a dickhead.

For all you Sparky's & Sparkettes sitting at a Starbucks or its unfranchised equivalent with your fucking laptop, coffee and trendy electronic gadgets, FUCK YOU TOO! (Love that Al Pacino line!) There is a reason that you aren't creating screenplays of surpassing quality. Realize that you have advantages and tremendous disadvantages in what it takes to create a screenplay of surpassing quality. Tremendous disadvantages? Hell yes, like conforming to laughable standards like sitting at a Starbucks with your coffee, laptop and Apple product that somehow compensates for your baby carrot dick.

Who am I to mock those self-described screenwriter pros? Just some 47 year old guy from Kalamazoo who is tired of hearing your bitching, pissing & moaning and whining about people just like me. I'm just another amateur out there trying to express my creative side. What have I accomplished? There is a first draft of one of my screenplays over at Triggerstreet titled Somebody is Watching. It's about a guy who builds a fake UFO and flies it around at night. Look it up on that Apple product you stood in line to get...pindick. I almost feel obliged to apologize for not creating something about yuppies and/or uptight dork Sparky screenwriters. And if you don't like it or me or amateur screenwriters or screenwriting groups? Up yours, Sparky! All the way up with a red hot poker. (That one was from Robbie Benson!)