Death Strikes the 1st of August

Yesterday, a Window Cleaner was cleaning the glass shaft of an elevator at a building in Chinatown. He died of massive head inujuries after the elevator crushed him while he cleaned.

It happened in the afternoon on North Hill Street.

At the time I was in a production meeting, drinking a coke zero. My boss was explaining the importance of his not having to repeat things. Then I gave a briefing on how our Vonage phone system was a failure because every time we picked up the phone it sounded like we were talking to Twiki from Buck Rogers in the 25th Century.

Meanwhile, over the hill, a man's head was being crushed by an elevator in Chinatown.

This is how I started a blog

Something incredible happened.

Every morning I get up at 5:30am and put the tea kettle on and go to the bathroom and pour fresh mate leaves into my mate glass- a thick shrimp cocktail server. I usually wait for like 5 minutes until the water boils. I pass this time by running my hand over my head or scratching myself while yawning.

When the mate water is ready, I move to my desk and start writing. Usually the first things I write don't make too much sense. Like: "After having searched around an old house in New York, where underaged girls were coming onto me, A_ and I climbed into a small, wind-powered flying machine."

I wrote that on the 30th. It was a dream I had the night before.

On the 15th of June I wrote: "Today I woke up at 5:30am and I am beginning my writing day. The way I see it, I need to be ready to get into my car by 9am in order to ensure I arrive at work by 10am."

I wonder how many times I've written about waking up at 5:30am?

This is my first blog. I want to start at the beginning-

Something incredible happened.

I wrote a blog about my life in Hollywood and how I went from a small time development assistant to writing and directing feature films. I also wrote about all the crime and death and sex I had to wade through on my way there. It was mostly on the way to my car.

But I also wrote about blogging because blogging is essential to understanding how to write and direct feature films in Hollywood. I learned that as I wrote the blog and wrote about blogging and waded through the sex and crime and death on the way to my car, on the way to my job.

It was something incredible.

It was a cold day at work

The air conditioner is on and while outside I'm sure it must be 82 degrees, inside I think I might get frostbite. It's the way he set up the office after we moved in, and after everyone who saw the place let him know in one indirect way or other that the way he set up the office is terrible. He can't help himself. He has bad taste. He wants the air conditioner on all the time. Half of the office, the half with both windows (as opposed to my half, the one with no view of the outside world), gets hot from all of that afternoon sun.

It's so cold in here. I'm having trouble typing and my skin is purple- but that might just be the way these GODDAMN fluorescent lights reflect on anything living. They make alive things look dead. I heard they cause cancer.

He wants me to process his speeding tickets over the phone today. I'm drinking a coke zero. I'm being paid less than $8 an hour.

This is wednesday in the life of a guy who wants to write and direct movies in Hollywood.

It's so cold in here.