an olive branch, with strings attached

so i'm extending a healthy 'how do you do, thanks for coming back to the blog after all this time with nothing new posted in so long'. and i ask a favour - to anyone who knows anyone who knows anyone who is able to hire someone, tell them to hire me. yes, it's come to this folks. begging (disclaimer - must know shakespeare to get the joke in the link). i've already sent out a mass email to everyone i know who works in the film biz, to no avail so far.

A friend here in toronto has recently become a general manager at The Pour House Irish Pub, and I've put in the call to be an 'anything that gets paid'. Here's hoping.

Also, i said i wouldn't post until i had something positive to say - well, here it is - day 11 of quitting smoking. I am on the patch, but still, 11 days is better than 0. it's going to work this time because i have this voice in my head that is mad at myself for smoking for so long. that gets mad whenever i feel sorry for myself that i'm not able to smoke (i know, it sound stupid to the non-smokers, but the brain gets up to some unusual tricks to make you smoke). this time, i'm going rambo. which is cool.

just got a picture from an old friend, and university room mate (kam singh to those who know), and he had a baby. i hear he also owns a chain of subway restaurants, which is hilarious if you know the guy. in fact, everything about the man is hilarious, especially if it has to do with him being serious. but good on him. the last i heard of him, he was dating a white girl and keeping it a secret from his mom. so far so good, i guess, as the baby looks dark as night, his mom will never know.

i haven't written anything in a month when i finished up my telefilm application and finished that second draft on Screech. As good as it feels to accomplish something, anything, especially if you deem yourself a writer and you finish writing something, writing is not something that is inherent to your soul, as so many aspiring writers like to believe. I think there are a million backscratchers for whatever itch it is that writing cures. right now, my itch is cured with video games.

you've heard it before, an artist says this is the only thing in the world they can do to ease the burden on their soul, etc. When i hear this, i vomit on them immediately. we are too multifaceted, too talented, too malleable to be only built for one thing.

I heard a saying once that said 'it's always the second passion that you excel at'. it only stuck with me because at the time i had fashioned myself a singer in my earlier days, and at the time i had heard this was moving into writing. hearing this made it easier to move on. it gave my ego/pride/self a bridge to cross to let go of music. if i heard something like "the first passion fades, the second passion pays for a while, but the third passion sticks" i'd remember it too. basketball is beyond passion, it's obssession, so it doesn't count. Searching for passion number 3.


i've got lots to say, and my fingers are blaring, but i haven't put my nicotine patch on yet, and it's 11:30, and i'm getting antsy. i can tell because my writing starts to get bitter and i go off on a tangent about something stupid (insert 'your whole blog is like that' joke here). i have sent emails out like this, i have left phone messages that trend towards seething. it's not pretty. i must eject.

smoking is evil - this is my brain right now, blowing up.

can't type....

must.... force... myself...

to... move.....