GuysterRules (guysterrules) wrote,

Plain wrap post

I’m not going to even try and write a coherent post today. There’s too much random shit going on, so fuck it.

I’m officially in escrow on this house, and while it’s a big pink adventure that weighs in at almost four thousand square feet, I find myself lost in chimney inspectors, seismic experts, and a nervous old lady who’s owned the place for eighteen years. Meanwhile, the realtors for Superba are pushing forward with open houses, trampling on my terra firma. If I’m lucky, everything will wrap up and I’ll move by the end of the month, just in time for my thirteenth anniversary.

I went to a B-star studded awards dinner for the Clare Foundation on Thursday night. They were honoring Dr. Drew Pinsky for his work in addictionology (yes, it’s apparently a word now). I sat with Drew outlining my plans for Billy’s foundation, one that would focus on crystal meth addiction, and he introduced me to some very resourceful people. The simple and graceful front page that Joe (fabulist) built for it will begin to have some direction and purpose, I hope.

Last night, I saw Uphill Both Ways, a sketch group from SF that was in LA for an HBO audition. I’ve been following their progress through Dave’s LJ (backawayslowly) for years, and the show was hysterical. Dave was definitely the star of the troupe, but the writing was sharp, as well. I’ve always found it ironic that the woman who controls HBO’s programming is an angry lesbian who wouldn’t know comedy if it licked her. I hope her stringers have better taste than she does.

I’m told she’s tall, fine-boned with long hair, and that she’s beautiful. I only know her sprightly voice from our long phone conversations. She’s a literary agent at ICM in New York who’s read several of my pieces, and continues to encourage me to send her something to shop. I know the book I want to write. You’ve all seen dribbles of it on here. My problem is capturing Billy with more than two dimensions. I try and try and each time, he comes off as a simpleton, someone immature. I’ve even been asked if he was disabled. He certainly was immature, and that was one of the things I loved most. He was also amazingly complex, and that part I’ve yet to successfully write.

I’m flying through the air, soaring as if I were Superman even before I knew who Superman was, and landed on top of my mother. She shoved me to the floor. I was five and that’s my first memory.

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