Thanks
Thanks to everybody who e-mailed today. I am doing fine and am having a great time with family visiting. Today my mom, sister and I went to Venice Beach. My dad always liked the crazy assholes out there, and was fascinated by the people and the stores and the whole bizarre culture of the place. He was a quiet guy, but always observant of and interested in people. I liked that. My sister got a henna tattoo of the Chinese character for "Father".
I think Dad would've had a great time at Venice Beach today. Every few minutes we'd see crazy, freak show shit that would've caught his attention. The sort of things I immediately wanted to write down or videotape for my own creative exploitation. How often do you get to see a legless midget on a skateboard cuss out a homeless man?
At one point, we passed a couple of poor stoner guys who were asking for money so they could buy marijuana. As I rolled by in my wheelchair they informed me that "Nine out of ten wheelchair users smoke marijuana", then asked if I was one of the nine. I'm not, but I'm not too confident in those statistics.
We also had dinner at The Rusty Pelican, a really great restaurant Dad found years ago in Newport Beach. And our drive back to Westwood tonight was unlike anything I've ever experienced before. It was like trying to make it to the end of a video game -- every few minutes I had to swerve to avoid fire engines, police tape, or prostitutes standing in the middle of the street. My sister was laughing so hard she was crying. Never drive through Lynnwood at 10:00 p.m. if you can help it. We were more than a little concerned for our safety.
And I got home to discover that the screenwriting faculty here has named me a recipient of the Jack Nicholson Screenwriting Award, which is $1,050. It's sort of a high-profile award for this program, and I think I also get to meet Jack himself. So that's cool. I can finally ask him why he made "Wolf".
Altogether I guess it was a pretty positive day, especially relative to where we all were emotionally exactly a year ago. But I really appreciate everybody's good thoughts. They do help. We are really just making this up as we go along, but with year one behind us now I guess I can feel a little bit more secure in my own dadless future. It's hard, and it feels weird and wrong and abnormal to have an empty seat at the table when the three of us are together, but I guess that's the way it is from here on out, unfair as it is. We deal.
I get bogged down by anger if I sit and think on it. And my practical side knows that's a waste of energy. But my other side wins out a lot and that frustrates me. I guess I should just be really glad Dad survived to see me grow up, and that he died with the knowledge that he had such a huge, huge influence on who I am and what I believe and where I plan to go. That's what dads usually are meant to do, I guess. So good work, Dad. Maybeou crammed a lifetime of dad work into a shortened tenure.
I sort of just wish we could talk to each other again. Maybe it sounds stupid, but that's really all I want. And I find myself wanting to believe in an afterlife if only to make it true.
I think Dad would've had a great time at Venice Beach today. Every few minutes we'd see crazy, freak show shit that would've caught his attention. The sort of things I immediately wanted to write down or videotape for my own creative exploitation. How often do you get to see a legless midget on a skateboard cuss out a homeless man?
At one point, we passed a couple of poor stoner guys who were asking for money so they could buy marijuana. As I rolled by in my wheelchair they informed me that "Nine out of ten wheelchair users smoke marijuana", then asked if I was one of the nine. I'm not, but I'm not too confident in those statistics.
We also had dinner at The Rusty Pelican, a really great restaurant Dad found years ago in Newport Beach. And our drive back to Westwood tonight was unlike anything I've ever experienced before. It was like trying to make it to the end of a video game -- every few minutes I had to swerve to avoid fire engines, police tape, or prostitutes standing in the middle of the street. My sister was laughing so hard she was crying. Never drive through Lynnwood at 10:00 p.m. if you can help it. We were more than a little concerned for our safety.
And I got home to discover that the screenwriting faculty here has named me a recipient of the Jack Nicholson Screenwriting Award, which is $1,050. It's sort of a high-profile award for this program, and I think I also get to meet Jack himself. So that's cool. I can finally ask him why he made "Wolf".
Altogether I guess it was a pretty positive day, especially relative to where we all were emotionally exactly a year ago. But I really appreciate everybody's good thoughts. They do help. We are really just making this up as we go along, but with year one behind us now I guess I can feel a little bit more secure in my own dadless future. It's hard, and it feels weird and wrong and abnormal to have an empty seat at the table when the three of us are together, but I guess that's the way it is from here on out, unfair as it is. We deal.
I get bogged down by anger if I sit and think on it. And my practical side knows that's a waste of energy. But my other side wins out a lot and that frustrates me. I guess I should just be really glad Dad survived to see me grow up, and that he died with the knowledge that he had such a huge, huge influence on who I am and what I believe and where I plan to go. That's what dads usually are meant to do, I guess. So good work, Dad. Maybeou crammed a lifetime of dad work into a shortened tenure.
I sort of just wish we could talk to each other again. Maybe it sounds stupid, but that's really all I want. And I find myself wanting to believe in an afterlife if only to make it true.