I'm on Target...and So Is Target

I have emerged from this weekend 40 pages rich. This currency is used to measure my progress on the screenplay for the movie I'm working on, which is now one-third into its first draft. The producers are slap-happy, and they are doing lots of producerly things on their end, so I know that I'm not the only one working.

To achieve this amazing 40-page feat, I was unable to go to the movies (so I can't tell you how terrible John Travolta must be in Hairspray) or watch any DVDs (so I can't divulge any Wire spoilers) this weekend, but I did manage somehow to make it out to Barnes and Noble to study Harry Potter geeks as if they were gorillas in their natural habitat; save America from evil-doing terrorists at the video arcade; and have lunch at the mall food court.

That's one of the joys of living where I am, just a couple blocks from downtown Glendale—everything I could ever need or want in order to live a full life is within walking distance of my apartment. In six days, a massive Target opens up, and my neighborhood will be complete. Along with the movie theaters, the bookstore, the mall, the shops on Brand, the restaurants, the arcade, the comic book store, the bank, and the 7-11, there will now be absolutely no reason for me to ever leave a five-block radius of my house for the rest of my life.


  1. Dude. I go to Target and come home with 16 things, none of which were on the original list. Including pink patent leather flip flops. Who the hell needs pink patent leather flip flops? Besides me, I mean. And Britney Spears.

    Congratulations on your 40 pages! And, you know, that whole movie deal thing.

  2. Target is a little bit like heaven. Or so I imagine.