Embittered Epstein trades Ramirez to 'Bodgers'

Boston, MA - In the final chapter of a long and turbulent punch-for-punch relationship with Manny Ramirez, the Boston Red Sox seem to have delivered the last hit. At 3:55 EST on the last day of July, only five minutes before the trade deadline, Red Sox GM Theo Epstein, the young executive who has made his name through last-minute blockbuster deals, orally finalized a three way deal with the Pittsburgh Pirates and the Bodgers.

"I was about to call up [Colleti] in LA" says Epstein at a press release. "but then I realized I finally have Manny where I wanted him. I just suddenly remembered that series last week when he wouldn't play and I started to get sooooo mad." The Red Sox GM, usually known for his cool demeanor, elaborated on his decision.

"How do you feel now Manny?" laughed Epstein wildly, "you never should have waived your 10-5 rights!"

There is still speculation on who owns Ramirez's contract, but several entities have stepped forward. A grocery chain in Oklahoma, Bodger's Grocers, claims that Manny would be a great asset to their staff, as long as the Red Sox fronted the majority of this remaining contract.

"I'll pay whatever it takes" says Epstein, "this is Manny being a bag boy." Jested the smirking 35-year old GM "I only had, like, five minutes left until the deadline, so I said the first thing that came to my head, luckily [Scott Boras] thought I said 'Dodgers.'"

Ramirez was unavailable for comment, but his agent, Scott Boras was vocal about the recent trade.

"I'll get you next time Epstein, next time!" after which, he slammed his fist onto his desk and escaped his lair via his Boras-submarine.

If picked up by Bodger's Grocers, Ramirez would be one of the highest paid grocers in the industry, second only to Ricky Henderson who was traded to Texas-based Piggly Wiggly in 2001.

With Great Power Comes Great Responsibility

I remember when Neo stopped the bullets mid-air. I remember when Harry talked to a snake at the zoo. I remember when Spiderman scaled his first wall.

As I join the ranks of the supernatural, all I can hope for is that the power doesn't go to my head. I must constantly remind myself that I was once a simple person, just like you, who was not able to swim super-fast and fly out of the water.

Spaced Out

Three words come to mind when you mention the TV series Spaced. Simon Pegg, funny, and low-budget.

Maybe that's more than three words, but I'm not sure if last names count. Or if hyphenated words count as two or not. POINT BEING, I like the show. It's witty, it's got a ton of hidden references, and it's already off the air, giving it that Arrested Development/Heath Ledger, only alive through the immortal DVD essence. Too soon? Whatever.

I learned about the show through Diablo Cody, the screenwriter and close (Myspace) friend, to whose blog I subscribe.

Excusa-tor: The One-A-Day Pill For Procrastinators!

Tomorrow is test run #2. It has been my suspicion for quite some time now, that I have been, and continue to be, afflicted with ADHD. The disorder that is undiagnosable. The disorder that is controversial. And best of all, the disorder that is a complete cop-out.

Test run #1 was last Wednesday. I got up late and took the 12-hour, time release Concerta pill at 11:00AM. I was pleasantly surprised that, while at Starbucks writing, I storyboarded my entire next episode. After that, I went to the bank and opened a checking account. Then I went to the RMV and renewed my license. No joke. That was the most productive day I have had since the great grocery shopping/clothes washing/paper writing Sunday of 2005. And those events only transpired because I was out of food/clean clothes/time to procrastinate. Last Wednesday marks a day of unprecedented and cyborg-like work ethic.

In addition to completing a months worth of to-do's, I also experienced a pleasantly entertaining light-headedness, along with a feeling that my hand was about to start shaking like a recovering alcoholic's tempting grasp at a brewery tour. Oh, I also couldn't go to sleep till 2:00AM.

So tomorrow is test run #2. Despite the sidled uncertainties of health complications, tomorrow brings with it endless possibilities. Who knows, I could write a whole novel, re-roof my house, and apply for law school before my lunch break. Or maybe I'll just act really weird around people and bright lights. Only time will tell.

So forge on pharmaceutical companies! Bring on more drugs to more solutions. Change my chemical make-up until I can focus with the strength of ten MIT honors students!
Or at least give me a placebo that gets me off my ass once in a while.

Snippit

INT. RECEPTION - DAY

JIM
So do you want to go out to grab some lunch today?

PAM
I brought a sandwich for both of us.

JIM
Yeah, maybe we can just get out of here and eat it.

PAM
Sure, sounds good. When do you want to go?

JIM
Ten minutes?

PAM
Okey dokey.

MICHAEL walks up wearing a baby bonnet.

MICHAEL
Waaaaa! Waaaaaa! Mommy!

PAM
What are you doing?

MICHAEL
I’m little Jim Jr.

STANLEY walks by and shakes his head on his way out.

JIM
Inappropriate.

PAM
(In a hushed tone)
Michael, I am not pregnant, and even
if I were, that’s a very private matter.
I am sure whoever it is will appreciate
your discretion.

MICHAEL
Well, it is my business if one of my
workers has a baby in the oven.

JIM
Baby in the oven? That doesn’t sound right.

MICHAEL
OK. Fine. Cry babies. I’ll stop making
this place a more funnier place to work.
ABORT! ABORT!
(this garners attention)
NO, no, never mind.

KEVIN takes a picture of MICHAEL on his cell phone.

MICHAEL TALKING HEAD

MICHAEL (CONT'D)
(taking off bonnet)
I’m not really sure why I had this in my room.
(thinks about it)
No, I really have no idea.

An Exact Man?

Research is finished. The easiest part of the job. After spending the past week in front of the computer, I can say that I have seen every episode of 30 Rock, NBC.com commercials included. Every one of Jack Donaghy's snappy conservative quips, Liz Lemon's self depreciating food jokes, Jenna's back door self-compliments, Tracy Jordan's insane soliloquies, Kenneth Parcell's holier-than-though-art lectures, and Frank's "we need a character to just be dumb" moments.

It's been real. It's been fun. It's been real fun. But I haven't worked out in a week, and I think I need a shower. So after that shower, what is the next step you say? How does a writer take what he has learned from watching, and transform himself into an integral part of the creative process?

Reading maketh a full man, conference a ready man, and writing an exact man.

I read that somewhere in the library of congress above a door frame in the marble adorned corpulence that was the building. A quote, that with a little grammar help, makes a very valid point. To watch something or read something is to get an idea. But to write something, or create something, that is to fully understand it. But that shit is hard!

So I'll sleep tonight with the 30 Rock DVD case under my pillow and let osmosis take its effect (it's science, you can't argue with it). I'll get up tomorrow, see if my brothers ADD medication will work for me, go to Starbucks, and see what ideas I can crank out while pretending I'm not checking out that cute girl in the corner that I don't have the balls to talk to. Damn, I'm not going to get anything done.

Life In The Burbs

I think Jerry Seinfeld was right when he said that New York was the perfect place for a comedian. Most people are at their funniest when they are complaining.

There are a number of categories for humor though. There is the slapstick/self-depreciating humor. There is the clever, twist of logic humor. But most predominantly, and maybe because of Seinfeld, there is the neurotic, complaining observational humor. Humor that points out what is wrong in the world, so that you can at least laugh at it instead of having it drive you crazy.

The problem with living in Boxborough, is that there are no real annoyances. No thorns in my side to speak of. And the only reason I am writing this, is because I am annoyed that I have not been more annoyed, if you follow me. I no longer have to get up for a job that bores me, I don't have a car that looks like its about to fall over, and I am perfectly happy with my relationship with Heidi Klum. Life's a peach.

An unfunny, unbothersome peach. Some say happiness is defined by misery, or that humanity itself may be defined by suffering. Either way, It's harder and harder for me to come up with entries on this thing without a reason to vent... I'm sure I'll whip something up.

Captivating Reading Material

There is nothing really for me to write about today, but I am sitting here doing nothing anyway, so I might as well practice. I just read "Sit Ubu Sit" by Gary David Goldberg, the writer and creator of Family Ties, who also wrote this and that and blah blah blah.

After reading his numerous credits I started to get intimidated, and was wondering how hard it would be to create so many successful ideas. But the number of his publications didn't nearly scare me much as how fast he could write them. He explained that, after a while, he was pumping out at least one episode per week. Damn. I'm hoping that after the first couple, I will fall into a cadence, and be able to follow a pattern that simplifies and streamlines the process.

While I was at the library yesterday, I was glancing at the rows of mystery books in front of me. I was supposed to be writing, but its to hard to concentrate when there are so many exciting and wondrous things going on all around me. Like bookshelves.

So I get up and start looking at the book bindings, and I notice that there is this guy Peters, who has written a whole shelf, a whole shelf. Jesus. This is the moment that I realized some people can just crank out story after story after story.

This was also the moment I realized that I wasn't writing anymore, but standing up, looking at books.

Sign #1 you have ADHD: you don't realize you have digressed from your task for at least five minutes. I'm surprised I lasted through the SATs without walking over to the window, all glassy-eyed, and started mumbling 'pretty birds, pretty birds'.

Maybe If I get myself some Adderall, I could have a shelf too, or at least finish this spec script...