the plan

it was more like a ploy to get me home early.
almost worked.
had the recommendations.
the transcripts.
the required writing samples.
EVERYTHING.
via the internet i investigated USC's screenwriting program.
googled the faculty. their work. past students. achievements.
on the ball to say the least.
but i didn't get in.
another four months in the desert.
i was pissed.
but i did get a personalized letter from a gent named Howard Rodman.
told me to keep on, keeping on.
and i did.
through the disheartening gulags of community college.
the tedium of gay-lesbian-transgendered-bisexual-metrosexual-women studies-animal liberation-algebra for the mildly stupid, required classes of LMU.
and i wrote. a lot.
and read. a lot.
and i'm still writing. and still reading.
hell, i've only been at it three years.
wasn't raised in the theatre. parents never did take me to the opera. or read gothe to me before bed. barely graduated high school. operated exclusively on cliff notes. failed english and math. was the antagonist of nearly every teacher i came in contact with.
needless to say, i was a major fucktard.
never even read a book until my senior year; "catcher in the rye."
first play @ 27; "the importance of being earnest."
and now, well, i'm just an infant.
balancing.
gaining ground.
learning to stumble. busting my nose on occasion.
but yesterday,
i walked.
down the little shaded mazes of the University of Southern California--the same walkways John Milius, George Lucas, Robert Zemeckis, Judd Apatow, Ronnie Howard, etc, etc. walked.

classes start monday.
here we go...