hellbent.. hellbent for leather

Funny how so many of life's great themes and moments often seem summed up by a Judas Priest song....

T'is another asstacularly bejumbled pile of competing events and obligations 'round Brett's Fascinating Life. One the one side of the ledger I am scrambling like mad, playing Producer Guy on the oft-mentioned never-fully-described "weird online thing" project, with all sorts of phone calls and emails and chats and such happening (often at the same time) as I continue to find what seem to be more cool pieces of a puzzle whose final shape and form seems not at all clear, but which (again, for reasons I shall for now elect to not describe or divulge) is pretty clearly seems A Very Cool Thing.

As part of that, I've already flown to LA once recently to hook up for a meeting, and it seems increasingly likely that a return trip shall become imperative at some date in the not overly distant future (within the next 4 or 5 weeks, most likely). Given all the OTHER stuff I am dealing with, that seems an absurd proposition.

But my faithful readers (both) know that we specialize in the absurd and excel at the impossible. Ordinary challenges are best left for ordinary men, while it takes a weird man to rise to the weird challenge.

And weird I rise often, me bruthers.

School is about to start again 'round here, which means the Four Children of the Apocalypse shall soon daily wave "good day, Father!" as they trudge onto their respective school busses ("bussi"?) and head off to have their tiny craniums filled with the inane blather that the local school district deems "educational." (Another rant for another day...) The upside to that daily pilgrimage is the promise (oh, the heavenly glorious surely hallucinated promise...) of A Quiet House In Which To Work. Summertime hereabouts often seems kinda like a barfight in that cantina in Mos Eisley: strange voices, unfathomable disagreements, weird music, and severed arms littering the floor as patrons sit casual and disinterested in their booths, sipping odd fluids and munching on God knows what.

The Wife still works nights, and I've spent this summer doing the usual boring at-home parent things: leading troops of 50 scouts on snorkeling trips to Pacific Islands... trekking to Hollywood to jam with producers... slow dancing with stingrays and bleeding into school of barracudas... wearing giant plumed pirate hats while exhorting other people's kids to blow boats down raingutters in a public park... designing and installing a new offensive scheme based upon single-wing principles but run from an offset-I formation... serving as drill sergeant for a boot camp for 10 year olds... driving pregnant strangers in a golf cart to get snowcones in a rainstorm... you know—the usual.

Somewhere in there I'm also trying to get three different screenplay projects rewritten, and I've also lately managed to get my epic war drama script in front of a few name talent reps and prodcos.

And, dammit, I did it while cooking pasta carbonara in under 20 minutes using no groceries and one skillet.

"Eat my ass, Martha Stuart."

This weekend? Football league opening ceremonies in two hours, two football scrimmages in the morning, a birthday party in the afternoon, Cub Scout meeting after that, then on Sunday we have a football team pre-season swim gathering and a post-season tournament baseball team party at the same time, The Wife goes to work, and I prep the kids for Day One of the new school year.

I've slept 9 hours in the past 3 days, my throwing elbow hurts, my backyard is a jungle, and I'm wearing a Viking helmet and sunglasses.

Hit it.
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Joliet B