Toad the Wet Sprocket: Pale

Song: “Torn

If you had walked into my bedroom any night of my high school years, there was a 85% chance you were going to hear this album playing. I would often turn it on to mask the fact that I was on the phone, hiding under the covers, in the dark. The opening notes of this song still remind me of staring at the ceiling of my bedroom, tears in my eyes, my fingers tangled in phone cord, as I yearned to be wherever it was the person holding the other end of the line was standing.

Continue reading

written by…

Last Friday was a big day.

I arrived at the office early to write email. My phone rang. “Pam, you have a delivery.”

At the front desk, there’s a delivery of roses in all different colors. It’s beautiful. Suzanne says, “Now, I’ve had some experience with this. I really want these to be from your husband, but I know they’re from your agent.”

She’s right. Continue reading

Dear Microsoft Word,

Please stop crashing. Why do you hate these five pages I keep trying to write? I’m so close to finishing this draft of the manuscript and I really need to send it to my editor and I’d really like for you to stop having to “unexpectedly shut down.” Because it makes me cry, Microsoft Word.

“It looks like you’re trying to write a letter!”

No. It looks like I’m fixing to have a breakdown. Please stop crashing. Continue reading

I Fold.

I had a dream about Dad the other night.

He had this basement installed in the house, which — whatever — and he wanted to show me all of the antiques he had started collecting. It was a bizarre collection of ugly statues and souvenirs from places he’d never been. Some he bragged about scoring off eBay. Some still had tags from garage sales.

My father, as far as I know, never stepped foot in an actual garage sale. Continue reading

“So I lit a firecracker, went off in my eye.”

[readermail]
to: pamie@pamie.com
date: August 2, 2005 10:59:24 AM PDT
subject: (no subject)

I had A dream that I was At My House And I was Crying for mys sister that I haven’t seen in a long time.

WHAT DOES IT MEAN?

-MEAGAN
[/readermail]

I don’t know why Meagan thinks I can interpret her dreams. I’ve never met Meagan, so I’m not sure what led her to sending me an email about her REM memories.

Just taking a shot here, Meagan, but I’m guessing you miss your sister. I know how that feels. I haven’t seen my sister in a long time. I love her very much, and whenever I stop to think about how little I’ve seen her since I left for college, it is heartbreaking. If you count up all the hours and lined them up consecutively, perhaps we’ve seen each other for about a month in the past twelve years. It’s not enough time. I constantly feel like I’m missing out on her life, and there’s nothing we can really do about it. I want her to succeed, she wants me to succeed, and we don’t want to live the same kind of life. We never have. From when we were little, as much as we loved each other, we never wanted to be all that much alike. It makes sense that we shot out in wildly different paths. Both of us would accuse the other one of taking the harder road. Continue reading

closure.

I had only driven through Palm Springs once, since I left it twenty years ago, and that was when I was moving to Los Angeles, the Meat of Cheese sitting by my side. I remember feeling nervous as I drove through it, and I called home to tell Dad I was driving though the place that changed my family for good. Continue reading

Drop It Like It’s — ow.

If there was any wonder how much fun I had at my own wedding, the proof was in today’s doctor bill.

I danced so much in those shoes that I have this.

The day after the wedding the arch of my foot had shooting pains whenever I went on my tiptoes. I knew I had overdone it, particularly during that part seconds after midnight when Everlast commanded that I jump, jump, jump, jump, everybody jump. Continue reading

The good, the bad and the unknown.

Working on this television show is teaching me how to add more specifics to my writing. When I write here, or a recap, or even a script Liz and I will eventually perform, there’s a tendency to write in shorthand, to deliver enough information that someone “gets it,” and then move on. Here I’m learning what happens if you leave things up to interpretation, the confusion that can happen when a script goes through ten different hands before it’s heard out loud again. There’s no room for imagination. Everything will actually exist and there are a thousand decisions to make. If the writer doesn’t specify, there will be notes, questions, and the possibility of something getting cut because it’ll take too long to interpret.

[scripty]
Liz is in the kitchen. She stands by a table, eating food.

LIZ
Chinese food is so messy.
[/scripty]

Is the kitchen in a house, apartment or office? What kind of table? Can it be a counter? Is the food in a bowl, on a plate, in a container? Is she eating Chinese food, or just talking about it because she can’t eat it because it’s too messy? Continue reading