New Old things

Things have normalized in quite a few ways, for the time being, in my life. My mom got released from the nursing home on Sunday. My sister's husband had a surprise 40th birthday party on Saturday night thrown by my sister. She had called me earlier in the week because she anticipated being hungover from the party, she asked me to drive mom from the home to our grandma's, but I couldn't because I had to work. I felt a little guilty for not volunteering to wake up early and do it and then go to work. That night when I went to sleep I had some difficulty because I was having visions of my mother struggling up the stairs of my grandma's house. Back before my mom had the surgery, she had struggled in front of me to get down three small stairs and started crying when her legs failed her, so it's pretty obvious where my anxiety came from.

Saturday night I was supposed to have gone to see a play way out on the West Side called Short Eyes. It was written by an hispanic writer named Miguel Pinero (don't know how to make the tilde over the n, sorry). On the way there, I went through some pretty sketchy neighborhoods and I thought for sure we were gonna be the only white people there. Ultimately, the landscape went from predominately African-American, to hispanic to relatively white by the time we got there. Anyway, we get there and it's sold out. I've subsequently found out that this play features a masturbation scene to climax, so if anyone's interested, we bought tickets for this coming saturday and I don't think it's sold out yet. It would be fun to have a group go. The whole reason I was going was a friend of mine, Andrew Kain (AK) Miller handed me a flyer about a month ago and said "come see my play." I'm one of those people who usually tries to follow through when someone has something artistic going on. Unless you're in a sucky band and you want me to come. Then I sometimes skip it.

So, instead of Short Eyes, John and I went to see War of the Worlds. Despite Tom Cruise being an absolute douche in real life, he's pretty good at his character. You know, the one character he plays? Anyway, he plays that one pretty well. Spielberg is just amazing. I didn't particularly like A.I.; this was better. There were moments when I was reminded of Close Encounters and some of the others. Either way, I recommend it, once again, despite Mr. cruise's douchebaggieness.

Right now, I am writing a 6-issue limited series comic book called Taag. It's sort of a fast-paced action story with a little sci-fi. There're lots of chase scenes and fight scenes and humor. A little tragedy, too. And love. I am about half way through the fifth issue's script. I already know how the series is going to end (unless I change my mind and give it more of a hollywood ending) and I already know the plot of the sequel story. I also have a concept for a script for another, probably longer series. Most likely 12 issues. For whatever reason, the comic book medium has been mostly what I'm interested in lately. These stories could translate into short stories, or even better, film, or whatever, but I'm just not feeling it that way. The worst thing about writing comic books is that you need someone to draw them. And unless you've got money or a job with a major comics house, nobody's gonna draw it for you for free. So, I dunno, maybe one day I'll find someone who likes it enough to draw it or, you know, a house will put it out.

I got a raise at work because I passed the board certification for being an optician, which is nice. Unfortunately, I've taken over car payments for my mom's car, which are about equal to my raise, so it doesn't really result in me having more money. I do suddenly have a car, though, which was not anticipated, and now I realize that I do like having one. I could basically adapt to either situation. If I didn't have a car, I'm not saying I wouldn't miss it, but I also wouldn't complain.