So much work to do and none of that I want to do

Three scripts to read. Clean the house. Emails, emails, emails. So I’m not doing any of that. I’m sitting on the patio, breathing pollen and listening to Spotify. Nerd Alert: I have two BLAST speakers paired via bluetooth for actual stereo sound, suspended from the pergola, connected to solar chargers. My turtles are swimming. I’m done pitching. It’s a lovely 27 degrees C in LA and I don’t have any interest in doing my chores.

Reading the news every day is tedious. We’re going to hell. Pick your own version of hell. We’re going to be an authoritarian hellscape run by the fascist GOP, where enemies are publicly humiliated before being executed by firing squad or we’re going to be a liberal hellscape run by the AOC where your burgers are confiscated and your children are forced to have sex change operations at the age of five. Either the doomsday glacier will collapse and trigger a chain reaction of environmental catastrophes or the angry Sky Wizard will destroy us for being insufficiently obedient to his whims.  Science versus violence. Reason versus superstition. Only one can survive, don’t bet on the better angels. That’s all I’m saying. We, as a species, don’t seem to do well with complex long range planning and cooperative coordination.

We finished the last of the last of the last of our pitches and now our fate is in the hands of development executives. I feel fatalistic. The pitches went well, we get good feedback but it seems like maybe the studios aren’t buying much these days. My producer said that he was on another project with Bradley Cooper attached, but because it was an original piece of material instead of a preexisting piece of I.P. all the networks passed. There once was a time when all you had to say was Bradley Cooper, bang bang, run and look mean = $. Those days appear to be over. The only thing selling right now is something that’s sold before. No risks, no chances, no uncertainties. You have a better chance selling a reboot of the worst show than the best version of a new show. How much you want to bet that in the next two years the hit show in the US will be a reboot of Small Wonder or She’s the Sheriff?  I don’t watch reboots. Like, not any of them. I could not be less interested in them. They’re like the Olive Garden of entertainment options. Mediocre, predictable, ubiquitous. Maybe these are all just sour grapes. An endless salad and bread sticks but consisting only of sour grapes. Mama’s Family is back but this time it’s a gritty re-boot. Her eldest son Vinton is addicted to fentanyl and Mama has to make ends meet via Only Fans – when a born again Eunice launches a campaign to have her own mama run out of the town of Rayton for being a bad influence on the precious, precious children. It worked for fucking Archie, where’s my million doll hairs?

On Duolingo I added German to my daily language lessons. So now I’m re-learning Spanish and re-learning German. I thought it would be confusing to switch between two languages but it hasn’t been at all. They say studying a foreign language helps ward off dementia. But then again, sugar cravings are a sign of dementia and I’m 90% sugar cravings. I don’t think there are enough languages to overpower my sugar cravings. In short, I’m going to experience dementia, no matter what language you say it in. My mom appears to be sliding down that slope. It’s hit all the women in my family on my mom’s side. My dad’s side of the family all died young from freak accidents and self destructive behavior. So either dementia or I’ll, I don’t know, electrocute myself while installing a garbage disposal in the shower?

Okay, I’ve dilly dallied enough.