Fancy Free

I wrote a two-page play last night called, "The Bread King." This is newsworthy because 1) It's the first thing I've written in several months, and 2) It's the first thing I've submitted to a contest since last year.

I figured that if I couldn't be bothered to write two pages, there wasn't much hope in maintaining the fiction I could ever be a writer. Although my current job title has the word writer in it -- capitalized even -- it's not quite the same. For one, it's not nearly lonely enough. I picture the writer's life as being conducted in solitude, half-deranged from lack of human contact, unwashed, and malnourished. The best writers probably suffer from horrible skin rashes, eczema, and the like. I bet they even eschew showering on moral grounds. I mean, why bother, right? It's not like they ever go outside or anything.

I'd give my left nut for that kind of freedom. But hey, that's just me, glorifying the lifestyle again.

Jer and I'll be seeing the musical version of "Wicked" this weekend at the Pantages Theater in LA. It's one of those things that sounded like a much better idea a month ago... along with, isn't it about time we take advantage of our excellent credit rating and buy a rear-projection television?

P.S. After all the pomp, I found a shade of lipstick that no longer makes me doubt the pure intentions of the cosmetics industry. Three cheers for Revlon ColorStay!