Ever since I delivered the final draft of our screenplay at the end of May, each week has been largely spent sending emails and leaving voicemails politely checking to see if it had been read by the producer.
I felt this showed a sizable amount of restraint because what I really wanted to write/say was "get off your lazy ass and spend a few hours reading the damn thing - jerk-off." 
But I didn't. This turned out to be a smart move as the mark-ups were finally given back to us yesterday, and my brother and I spent last night pouring over them.
Luckily, the script wasn't gutted, and in fact, it remained largely intact from the copy that we sent his way last month. At his suggestion, we had already upped some of the vulgarity to ensure an 'R' rating, which may or may not remain as we move forward. However, it did lead to my writing lines such as:
"Now fuck me like a farm animal on my father's front porch." 
I liked the imagery and attempted alliteration. The producer seemed to enjoy it as well.
He still wants to add a half dozen elements to the script, but most of them are fine by us. There are a few questionable ones that we plan to push back on to show some backbone.
The next step is to try to set a face-to-face meeting to go over details like registering the script with the Writer's Guild, options and who we're going to pitch the script to as National Lampoon's has come into the conversation recently since they are beginning to make their own movies again versus licensing their name to straight-to-DVD flicks. We'll see.
So after spending a month stuck in neutral, we seem to be inching forward again and I'll take minimal progress versus a black hole of information any day of the week and twice on Sunday.
-BDS
It was 1:30 a.m. and my brother and I were driving west on I-10 out of Houston when I began to seriously regret eating the sirloin burger from Jack in the Box. 
We had taken a road trip from Austin to Houston and back again to see Tom Waits in concert. The show was easily worth it as Waits wasn't touring in Austin, and it had been more than decade since he'd been anywhere in Texas that was vaguely close to where I was living at the time. 
But as the sirloin burger sat in my stomach like a lead balloon coated in six different kinds of cheese and the darkness felt oppressive, I began to wonder if I could survive work the next day. The six Heinekens which were consumed at the concert weren't helping matters either.
This is the problem with road trips - the coming home is lousy.
On the drive down, optimism reigned supreme as my brother and I discussed new script ideas, plotted other concerts to attend, and espoused the collective merits of Marissa Miller. 
The return trip was bleak.
Three hours of darkness. Three hours of halting conversation punctuated by long silences of evil contemplation, which would be followed by complete conversational non-sequitors. I recall snapping out of a daze near Lulling to bitterly wonder:
Who the fuck eats turnips anyway? 
There was no answer. At least none offered.
Whereas the ride to Houston was generally filled with a positive view of the universe, the world had suddenly turned against us. It took 30 minutes at Jack in the Box for unknown reasons of sloth. There was nothing on the radio. Construction zones were abundant.
It's also a peculiar breed of person who is out that early on a weekday. When we stopped at a gas station for a bathroom break, there was an older man in the bathroom who was chanting or muttering to himself - loudly - in the stalls and it gave me the Fear.
Inside the store itself, a bleached blonde hovered with glazed eyes around a box of Nilla Wafers. She was staring in the direction of the box when I entered restroom, when I left the restroom and for all I know, she might still be looking for any shred of wisdom that could be found on the box of such snack treats.
We finally hit the Austin city limits around 2:15 a.m., and I got to bed around 3 a.m. before getting up at 6 a.m. to make the gym as a punishment for my hubris. Ugly.
My head hurts, my eyes look like cracked walnuts covered in red jell-o and I'm strongly considering pulling a George Costanza and trying to sleep under my desk today. But it was worth it. I think.
-BDS
Worth Full-Price, Matinee or Rental: Matinee or rental. If you're starved for comedy, then you could justify a matinee of 'Zohan,' however, it will lose nothing by waiting until it transitions to DVD.
Will I Own It On DVD: No. At this point, I don't own any Adam Sandler movies on DVD. 
1) The summer movie crop has been fairly unappealing so far, which has caused a multi-week absence from the theater that ended when the 100 degree weather in Austin pushed me to see "You Don't Mess With The Zohan" this past weekend. I went in with low expectations, and wasn't disappointed as the film had solid laughs and its overall good-natured approach also helped make it a worthwhile experience.
2) As a general rule, I don't like Adam Sandler movies that much. I don't loathe his material, but I am also not rolling in the aisles when he talks in a little boy voice or morphs into pure rage. I liked "Happy Gilmore" and "The Wedding Singer" and never saw "Little Nicky" or "I Now Pronounce You Chuck and Larry" because they looked so horrible. I would place 'Zohan' closer to the top of Sandler's work. 
3) Sandler must have been working out as he spends a decent amount of the movie shirtless or in sleeveless attire. Personally, I would have preferred to see more of his love interest - Emmanuell Chriqui - baring the same amount in the name of equality, but I think the ratio was heavily tipped in Sandler's favor. Chriqui plays a salon owner who eventually falls for Sandler despite hearing him pleasure at least 40 geriatric women in her place of business. She has a fine attitude, which obviously includes not sweating the small things like STDs.
4) There are lot of cameos in the movie with everyone from Chris Rock to Mariah Carey to Dave Matthews showing up during the running time. Matthews was the best of the bunch as his turn as a redneck leader trying to incite a Israeli-Palenstenian fight was pretty funny and he also got to sport a fine mustache in the process.
5) Since Judd Apatow co-wrote 'Zohan,' it's about 15 - 20 minutes too long as the story of an ex-Israeli soldier who comes to New York City to become a hairdresser just doesn't justify more than 90 minutes.
-BDS
"Don't condescend me, man. I'll fuckin' kill ya, man. " - Brad Pitt, "True Romance"
This will be brief today as I've been living in a suspended state of reality due to the fact that time and news don't exist in Las Vegas. But before I collapse and start hiding from casino henchmen looking for their money, let's discuss:
Soul singer Amy Winehouse remained in hospital on Tuesday for more tests after fainting at home on Monday and being rushed to a clinic by her father, a spokesman said.
"She's staying there for the time being," the spokesman said. "They are still not quite sure what happened and the tests were inconclusive."
I'm no doctor, but I would wager that she fainted from taking too many drugs and not eating anything except a crack pipe - you don't need a degree in medicine to figure out that mystery.
Officials said on Monday they will not file charges against pop star Britney Spears over a photographer's claim she ran over his foot as she backed up her car in a crush of paparazzi.
Joseph Shidler, deputy district attorney, said:
"We have no evidence to prove beyond a reasonable doubt that the suspect was aware that the victim's foot had been struck by the car," Shidler wrote. "There was much commotion and noise at the time and there is no proof that the suspect was aware of what had happened."
He also added that "unfortunately, Miss Spears is rarely aware of what has just happened so this might set a dangerous precedent for the future."
Britney Spears' 17-year-old sister Jamie Lynn, star of Nickelodeon's popular TV show "Zoey 101," has given birth to a baby girl, People magazine reported on Thursday.
Jamie Lynn Spears gave birth to Maddie Briann on Thursday morning at a hospital in Mississippi, the magazine said.
The baby girl's name was changed from the original choice of "Hope" when the parents realized their wasn't any.
Naomi Campbell pleaded guilty Friday to assaulting two police officers during an "air rage" incident at Heathrow Airport. She has not been sentenced yet.
Prosecutor Melanie Parrish told the court that Campbell had taken a first class seat on a British Airways flight from London to Los Angeles when she was told one of her bags, along with other passengers' luggage, had not been loaded onto the plane.
She said the captain came out to explain the situation to Campbell, but that she became abusive and refused to listen and used to her mobile phone to yell:
"Get me another flight, get the press, get me my lawyer," the model said, according to prosecutors.
Get Campbell a nice, big jail cell too - just don't leave anything lying around for her to throw at the guards.
Charlie Sheen has issued an apology after expletive-laden answer machine messages he left for his ex-wife Denise Richards two years ago were made public online.
In the 2005 voicemails, which have been circulating on the Internet for the past two days, an angry Sheen rages about what he calls his former wife's "lawyer bull [bleep]" in the midst of their divorce proceedings.
He rants, "I guess I should just get used to the fact that ... you fire off your nonsense and your lawyer bull [bleep] and your [bleep] e-mails and then you don't answer the phone.
"I'm just really [bleep] mad and you owe me a phone call. ... If I did the same [bleep] to you, you'd be [bleep] furious."
And in a follow-up voicemail, from April 19 of the same year, Sheen goes ballistic, shouting, "I hope you rot in [bleep] hell. You're a piece of [bleep], [bleep] liar. ... I hope I never [bleep] talk to you again you [bleep] [bleep].
Personally, I felt the messages were a bit ambigious, and that Sheen should have aplogized for not making his feelings clear.
But let's not end with ugly fights and nastiness and instead go with a gold image such as: 
This picture makes me feel guilty for neglecting my fruit intake. So, get some Vitamin C today, squeeze a few oranges to make sure they're ripe and . . . Happy Friday!
-BDS
"This old town is filled with sin, it will swallow you in
If you've got some money to burn," Gram Parsons, "Sin City"
I'm flying to Las Vegas tomorrow morning, and unless something strange happens, I won't return until Friday. If I'm not back by Monday, alert the authorities and begin the search at the Spearmint Rhino. 
This is not a leisure trip, however, as I was drafted by my company's marketing department to attend a large trade show because I had a "a positive look for it" and I would "represent (insert company name here) well." We'll see.
I tried several excuses to get out of this gig, but none of them worked. The only times I've been to Vegas were for bachelor parties, which happened to coincide with college football season, so my time there has been largely spent betting on games, playing low-limit Blackjack downtown and scheduling quality time at the aforementioned Rhino.
But I doubt that I will indulge myself in the same manner this time.
Instead, I have to spend half my days working at our booth, and then the nights going out with clients and co-workers and making the kind of annoying small talk that leaves my stomach full of battery acid and a semi-permanent smirk on my face. This is an ugly combination that I dread like the plague.
The only way to combat the horror is to pour booze down your neck, but that has its own pitfalls because my body deals with hangovers by utterly rebelling on me and that would make the next day's booth duties nearly untenable. I simply cannot talk about our product suite if my stomach is churning with electric eels and my mouth tastes like a dead raccoon died inside of it. 
I cannot rally like I could when I was 20 years old, which burns on multiple levels.
At least the hotel I'm staying at looks solid, and with any luck at all, I can cover my gambling debts by expensing client dinners to the company. I just hope our payroll department doesn't object to Rhino on the menu. 
Everybody have a hell of a good week.
-BDS
"First learn how to heal people to be great, to hurt people is easy." - Steven Seagal, "Hard to Kill"
Seagal is a man who understands the virtues around striving for greatness, and so do I. I doubt I will find a direct path to that fabled land at work today, however, it might happen later at a concert that I plan to attend in downtown Austin. But for now, let's focus on the tough stories of the week such as:
Jessica Alba gave birth to a baby girl - Honor Marie Warren - this week in Los Angeles and her husband, Cash Warren, was also at her side. 
It was reported that Mr. Warren chose the baby's name in recognition that it's "an Honor that Jessica hasn't divorced me." Yet.
The New York City Opera has commissioned American composer Charles Wuorinen to write an opera based on "Brokeback Mountain," a love story about two U.S. ranch-hands that won three Oscars when it was turned into a movie.
The opera house's spokesman Gerard Mortier said in a statement on Sunday that Wuorinen had accepted an invitation to compose an opera based on Annie Proulx's short story. It is slated to premiere during City Opera's 2013 spring season.
In a related story, Clay Aiken has purchased a season pass for the Opera's 2013 spring season.
Katherine Heigl, who was honored as best supporting actress in a drama last year for "Grey's Anatomy," declined to put her name in consideration for an Emmy bid, a spokeswoman for the actress said Wednesday.
"I did not feel that I was given the material this season to warrant an Emmy nomination and in an effort to maintain the integrity of the academy organization" decided against competing, Heigl said in a written statement.
Let me get this straight: Heigl chose to remove her name from the Emmy's, yet also chose to make "27 Dresses"?
Two years after sweeping the city streets as part of community service, Boy George has decided to perform a free concert for his former sanitation co-workers in New York City on Aug. 17th.
"The people I worked alongside showed great kindness to me at a very difficult time, and I wanted to thank them all in a way that would show my appreciation," he said.
A sanitation spokesman said that while the group appreciates the gesture, "we really don't need to deal with any additional garbage on our day off."
Pancreatic cancer is not slowing Patrick Swayze as the "Dirty Dancing" veteran will star in the cop drama "The Beast," which has just been picked up by cable's A&E Network.
Swayze plays an unorthodox but effective FBI veteran who trains a new partner (Travis Fimmel) in his hard-edged and psychologically clever style of agenting.
"I have searched for quite a long time to find a character that is this multilayered, unpredictable and downright entertaining as well as a project this current and cutting-edged," Swayze said.
It's unclear if Swayze will also teach his new partner the finer points of the Mambo or Foxtrot, however, his contract calls for any dancing to be "dirty."
Paul Newman reacted to a rash of internet and television stories that he has lung cancer by telling the world he is "doing nicely".
Media reports began circulating on Monday that the actor was undergoing out-patient treatment at New York's Memorial Sloan-Kettering Cancer Center.
Much like the frenzy around "Snakes on a Plane," I hope the Internet got this story wrong and that Newman is doing just fine.
As always, let's end on a high note with:
I sometimes find myself tied up in knots, which is not always a bad thing. So, don't worry if find yourself in a tight spot, let the punishment fit the crime and . . . Happy Friday!
-BDS
"Yeah, I must admit, when I see a painting like this, I get emotionally... erect." - Steve Martin, "L.A. Story"
At some point during my hiatus, I started buying art.
Art is very subjective, and I hate to ridicule virtually anything in this particular field with the possible exception of that ridiculous sculpture of a pregnant Britney Spears bent over a bearskin rug in all her glory - or lack thereof. I suppose you have to draw the artistic line somewhere, and that figurative line in the sand could start with that worthless piece of crap.
"I want to draw. I want to create. I want to sculpt something massive . . . Where's the bathroom?" - Chevy Chase, "European Vacation"
I can't draw two realistic stick figures, so I have a high degree of admiration for someone who can paint a realistic fruit bowl sitting on a table. That being said, I could care less about buying something like that to hang on my wall. Especially my current residence, which is an industrial loft with high, exposed ceilings and a few cinderblock walls scattered among the traditional drywall.
Modern art works well for me in this regard. I enjoy colors and textures versus a faithful rendering of a field of lilies. At least I do right now.
Luckily, my wife and I discovered a local artist who paints modern pieces as well as someone who boasts a strong dislike of galleries. This latter philosophy meant that her pieces were somewhat affordable, a change of pace from the downtown galleries where similar pieces carried price tags in excess of $5,000.
She kept her art on display at her home, which was a 3-story house that had art on every floor. It was a comfortable setting and I was able to consume several complimentary cocktails as I roamed the residence.
There was no pressure to buy, and no pretentious art gallery salesperson to stalk me and discuss how a certain piece "conveys the artists feelings of alienation and anger in the face of a cold, hard world."
Save that shit for someone who cares.
But I did buy a piece to hang over the bed: 
(On the artist's wall)
(Above my bed)
The piece (I also love referring to art as "pieces" for some reason) simply jumped out at me, and since hanging the painting, we've had several people over to view it. Some of them were a little taken aback at the boldness of the colors, but my typical response has been: "It's an aggressive piece - like me in the bedroom."
I like to watch their reaction, and then follow it up with "Art should reflect your personality - don't you agree?"
I do.
-BDS
{The workplace is a jungle filled with jackals, wineheads and bosses with mouths like a crocodile. There are also decent people, but I'm starting to question the percentages. This is the eighth in a series of corporate encounters which offer no easy resolutions.}
I worked like an animal in May.
This was mainly due to my daily attempt to shoehorn 8 hours of office work into 4 hours of actual effort when you take away the 3 hours I spent writing the screenplay and another hour at lunch. My typical day went like this:
6:30 a.m. - Gym
7:45 a.m. - Arrive at work and drink two cups of coffee
8 - 10 a.m. - Write at least 3 scenes for script
10 - 11:30 a.m - Work
11:30 a.m. - 12:30 a.m. - Lunch
12:30 - 2 p.m. - Work
2 - 3 p.m. - Write at least 1 scene for script
3 - 4 p.m. - Work
4:15 p.m. - Drive home and finish working from there
It was a stressful time, and I looked a bit rushed. I was also getting into the office early and remaining there for long periods of time. Whenever my boss or someone would come by my desk, I appeared deep in thought or furiously writing a vastly important email. 
The fact that I was constantly trying to think my way around a plot point or scribble down a few golden nuggets of dialogue for the screenplay was lost of everyone except me. And in fact, I was rewarded for my behavior.
At the end of the month, my boss surprised me at my desk early one morning, where I sat trying to figure out whether a feathered riding crop or a purple dildo was a funnier visual. He told me he appreciated all the hours and effort I'd been putting into my work lately and it had NOT gone unnoticed. 
He then handed me a $50 gift card to use at any store at a local mall, and told me to keep up the example for the rest of our group. I was a shining light.
Crazy. I had to laugh and now that I've finished the script, my work accolades will likely suffer. Then again, I just need another side project to keep me busy and I'll be rolling in gift cards and promotions.
-BDS
"The things you own, end up owning you," - Brad Pitt, "Fight Club"
There's probably some truth to that statement, however, I have little interest in owning anything except my own free time today, which will begin about 3:30 pm CST if I can get my work done and bolt out the office doors like greased lightening. But before that can happen, let's look at the tough stories of the week such as:
Tatum O'Neal was due to be arraigned in New York City Monday after police arrested her for allegedly buying crack cocaine near her home.
Police charged Paper Moon Oscar winner, 44, with criminal possession of a controlled substance. The New York Post reported that O'Neal is said to have told officers, "You know who I am, right?" She also claimed she was "researching a part – I'm doing this for a part as a junkie." 
I wish O'Neal good luck with that excuse as mine didn't work two weeks ago when I told Austin police that I was "working on my method acting for the part of a fire hose" - they still issued me a ticket for urinating in a dark alley near Sixth Street.
Hulk Hogan's son - Nick Bollea - requested alterations to his jail sentence, but was denied removal from solitary confinement at the Pinellas County Jail in Largo, Florida.
The 17-year-old is currently in solitary confinement at Pinellas County Jail after pleading guilty to a charge of dangerous driving involving serious bodily injury.
The judge said that releasing Nick Bollea into the general inmate population would only result in dangerous wrestling matches which weren't faked "like your Dad and the Iron Sheik."
A spokesman for Kelsey Grammer says the "Frasier" star is recovering in a Hawaii hospital after a mild heart attack this weekend. Stan Rosenfield says Grammer is "resting comfortably" after the actor was stricken with the attack while paddle-boarding with his wife, Camille.
I'm glad Grammar is doing well, but he was definitely motor-boating his wife Camile, not "paddle-boarding" as that sounds closer to the truth.
Rosie O'Donnell told Howard Stern this week that she finds her former "View" co-host and sparring partner Elisabeth Hasselbeck "very attractive."
"Were you not attracted to Elisabeth Hasselbeck?" Stern asked. "When you look at her physically, you don't want her?" "See, the 'want' is the big thing," O'Donnell responded, suggesting she doesn't desire Hasselbeck. "I find her very attractive. She's very attractive, I think."
I think - check that, I know - that I'm going to be a little sick.
The backlash in China against Sharon Stone continued Wednesday as the Shanghai International Film Festival said the American actress was not welcome at this year's event.
The 50-year-old "Basic Instinct" star provoked outrage in China after suggesting the recent earthquake in central Sichuan province may have been the result of bad "karma" because of Beijing's rule in Tibet.
The festival might claim it was Stone's tasteless remarks about the earthquake, however, I think it was due to her participation in "Basic Instinct 2" that caused the invitation to be rescinded.
Ed McMahon, the longtime sidekick to U.S. talk show host Johnny Carson, is fighting to save his multimillion dollar Beverly Hills home from foreclosure, McMahon's spokesman said on Wednesday.
According to public records, McMahon was then about $644,000 in arrears on the mortgage for the six-bedroom, five-bathroom home in an exclusive area of Beverly Hills. 
Hopefully, McMahon can work something out with the bank or he'll be loudly proclaiming "Heeeeeeeeere's Bankruptcy" soon enough.
Per usual, let's end on a high note: 
I rarely crawl myself, however, I might get down on all fours to play this game. So, stay low to the ground today, know that it's OK to get dirty and . . . Happy Friday!
-BDS
As you might have noticed, I've been absent for awhile. I'm still trying to shake off the rust as a month away feels like a hell of a long time when you're used to posting regularly. 
But the break was worth it - when measured by productivity - as the script is finished. Or at least the rough draft has been written based off an agreed upon outline and the screenplay currently stands at 100 pages (1 page generally equates to 1 minute of screentime).
It took working six days a week for the month to create the draft. I write best in the morning hours, and so I typically spent the first two hours at my actual job (the one which pays my bills) drafting new scenes. Then, I could usually sneak another hour in the afternoon if I was lucky. The weekends were spent editing the script with my brother and sending freshly-written pages to the producer on Sunday evenings.
After the first week, I found myself digging the schedule and staying inside the script every single day made writing it much easier than our past efforts, which usually took months of starting and stopping. It was a satisfying feeling to write "The End" this past week and then send it off into Cyberspace to await a verdict.
Now what? That's a fine question, and I have no answers.
The first step is to get the producer to focus on the script, which is unlikely in the immediate short-term as he is currently editing and scoring his own movie. On the plus side, he did invite my brother and I to his house, along with ten other people, to watch a rough cut of his film about two weeks ago.
The project was shot for a few million dollars, and plays like a straight-to-DVD National Lampoons comedy or something you might find late at night on Comedy Central. This was the intention.
Apparently, Sony studios is interested in seeing it once completed because some guy from "The Hills" or "Laguna Beach" plays a bit part. Personally, I could give two shits about anybody who populates either show because they're generally vapid degenerates and entire cast seems to share roughly sixteen brain cells which function properly on any given afternoon. But maybe that's just me. 
The best part of the process is now over, and the frustration is set to begin - at least I feel this way. I do not work well with things in limbo, where I have no control over when someone will read something or answer an email or send edits or do virtually anything that I cannot control. I simply find it brutal and more frustrating than an empty refrigerator when you're stoned.
But there's nothing I can do except wait and be persistent without pissing him off, which is a fine line to ride. I did speak with the producer late last week, and he planned to read the script in June and send back his edits before we discuss where to go from here. We'll see.
Talk is cheap. Especially in the entertainment industry.
In the interim, it felt stellar to complete the draft on schedule, however, the pay is lousy and so I will continue to push this bastard until I can't move it forward any longer. Fingers crossed, eh?
-BDS
{This is the Twentieth in a recurring series that will only happen when I have consumed far too many spirits with my brother. Last night, we had a mini-celebration (more on that in a later post) and a few pitchers of Sam Adams Summer Ale were consumed which triggered strange thoughts, candid insights and pure horseshit. Selah.}
* It feels good to be back
* Never get a straight-razor shave from anyone wearing bifocals
* Referring to your high school sporting accomplishments after college graduation is just plain sad
* Whoever said patience is a virtue was probably a lazy bastard
* You'll witness some great and horrible things at 3 a.m. inside a Denny's restaurant 
* Nudists are generally the last people anyone would want to see naked
* Tan lines on attractive women provide a fine map for exploration areas if you get lost
* Always pay escort services in cash
* Never spend the night at a house where the owner boasts a sword collection
* Roast Beef is the most erotic of all the deli meats
* Nothing called Horny Goat Weed can actually work
* "Abstainer: A weak person who yields to the temptation of denying himself a pleasure." - Ambrose Bierce
-BDS
