DEJENNERATE.COM BLOG

The Sabres are Going to Kill Me
Gah. It’s like the Red Sox World Series run all over again.

Many people question why I am a Red Sox fan at all as I’m not from here. The truth is, many people in Buffalo are Red Sox fans by default as they hate the Yankees, because the Yankees are from New York, and New York City sucks up all the state’s money, and Buffalo gets nothing (you stay in Buffalo any longer than 15 minutes you will most certainly overhear the Buffalo-New York City Economic Conspiracy being discussed). Therefore, it seemed natural to induct myself in Red Sox fandom, hence my two-week long insomnia of 2004.

Likewise, most people also question why I’m a Sabres fan, as their seasons typically involve me turning to my brother and saying, “Well, they have to win one game at least, right? They even let Phoenix win a few games and they haven’t seen ice since all the continents were interlocked in a Pangaea.” Also, Buffalo has developed a bit of a history with “near misses” in big games. If you ever want to strike up a hostile confrontation with a Buffalonian, just go up to one and utter the words “wide right” and “no goal.” All your masochism dreams will come true, as they will surely create some brand new orifices for you to hide the kielbasa (only fresh kielbasa, of course…not that smoked crap you find around here). Plus, Buffalo (Bills and Sabres) almost never even gets to any sort of playoffs, and certainly is hardly ever seen as a real contender to WIN anything, so this sudden Sabres surge has had Buffalo in the same state since the playoffs began that Boston was in when they started whipping the Yankees ass.

One game away from going to the Cup, and the last game went into overtime. Oy vey.

And, yes, I’m well aware that only four of you actually give a crap about this.

posted by Jenn @ 12:55 AM  

Jenn’s Poorly Conceived Ideas #571
There are few stupider ideas than trying to write a screenplay in three days. One of those things is thinking that script you wrote would be ready to be seen by two film festivals in two weeks. The only thing harder than writing fiction is rewriting fiction, because that’s when you realize that all that wonderful stuff you wrote has to now make sense. In my script, this problem was amplified, because there is a "not real” component involved. And while many may think that one can do what one wants with not-real worlds, these worlds have to have a relatable or real component for the audience to buy their existence in the script. Hence, my absence from blogging.

But it made it and got out the door Sunday (thank you 24 hour postal services), and I learned a lot in the process. Hence, the following piece entitled….

Things Learned When Writing a Screenplay in Two Weeks:

• Investing in a longer modem cord is definitely a good purchase, so one does not have to lie down in the middle of one’s hallway simply to look up the proper spelling of “mongoloid.”
• The times of day you feel most inspired, are the exact same times your next door neighbor will start hammering crap up on his walls.
• My ass is extremely resistant to bedsores.
• Any “major plot decision” that comes after four hours of writing should really be re-evaluated the next day. Having your main character put on a fruit suit for any reason whatsoever is not “different.” It’s damn stupid.
• By Draft #3, you think this might actually be the last draft. You also think you may have witnessed a credible Bigfoot sighting.
• By Draft #4, you wish your main character becomes engulfed by an exploding volcano. Even though she’s nowhere near one.
• By Draft #5, you wish you become engulfed by an exploding volcano. Even though you aren’t near one.
• There is a limit to how much caffeine a body can hold. This limit is often preluded by double vision and speaking in two word phrases.

Oh and…
Go Sabres!
Come on, Buffalo deserves to get SOMETHING, doesn’t it?

posted by Jenn @ 12:43 PM  

The Mark of a True Friendship
In the act of purchasing embarrassing products, men and women are not equal. Women, by our anatomical design, have to buy embarrassing products regularly, namely tampons, pads, douche, feminine hygiene powder, nail fungus ointments (for those who have fake nails), and personal lubrication. What do men have to buy? Condoms. And that isn’t even an embarrassing item, as it informs the sales clerk “Hey! I’m getting laid this evening!” Certainly much more appealing than our potpourri of products to inform the sales staff, “Hey, I’m bleeding from my crotch.” Even prophylactic purchases aren’t a walk in the park for us, as buying condoms could mean either, “Hey, I’m getting laid tonight!” or “Hey! I really have a dick!” (Provincetown is not that far away from me. One can never make assumptions). Therefore, due to this apparent inequality, most of the married females I know are in charge of the “embarrassing product purchases” for the family. In fact, that is probably the primary reason for guys to get married to begin with. After all, love means never having to buy your own fleet enema.

Of course, in the state of Massachusetts, we have gay marriage. I assume that when two women get married, they simply switch off embarrassing purchases (“OK, you get the 48-pack of Kotex….I’ll go to BJ’s and get the Family Size drum of lubricant”). But when two guys are involved, such responsibilities revert to the closest girlfriend, which apparently means me. So after being persuaded by my newly-wed guy friends, I was sent into Walgreens last night with $10 in hand. My mission was to purchase hemorrhoid cream and petroleum jelly (the other customers must have thought I was butt-fucking a flagpole). And while I was perusing the Ass Aisle (a previously uncharted area for Jenn, of which she is very grateful), I encountered many previously undiscovered items (what in god’s name is a “rectal pump?” And why the hell is it available over-the-counter? That DEFINITELY seems like a prescription item), all having equally disturbing verbiage. For example the back of the “medicated wipes” (I guess they couldn’t put “asswipe” on the label) said, “wipe the area clean to remove all matter.” Matter? Dude, if there’s a question to whether solid, liquid, or gas is shooting from your ass…really, it’s time for your annual physical.

I had to purchase some items for myself, so my final purchase was hemorrhoid cream, petroleum jelly, massage oil, and a gallon of Cool Whip. The cashier wasn’t even subtle when he slipped me his phone number.

posted by Jenn @ 1:14 PM  

How to write an 83-page screenplay in two days
I’ve had this idea in my head for a movie for a year or so. Two months ago, I realized I had nothing “ready to go” to submit for two local film festivals coming up, so I said “what the hell, I have two months,” and vowed to write it. Up until Saturday, I was still vowing.

I came to the conclusion on Friday that the only way it’ll be remotely ready is if I cranked the whole thing out this weekend, so I have enough time to do second, third, and perhaps fourth drafts of it and send it out to readers so they can tell me how wonderful it is and have proper time to erect gold statues in my honor (gold is particularly hard to come by, what with wedding season on the horizon). Of course, writing 83 pages in two days in no small feat, so for those of you thinking about doing so (like maybe you’re up to 60 pages and you’re looking for more of a challenge or something), here are some tips:

1) Ensure your laptop computer is charged. This is key. You don’t want to be writing your screenplay by hand on the back of cereal boxes. This is how you get carpel tunnel (and fuck up your breakfast reading material)
2) Poorly time your Netflix delivery – In an unfortunate twist of fate, my three DVDs from Netflix….despite being sent to me on Friday…did not arrive at my door at the usual Saturday. Therefore, I had absolutely nothing to watch except the thousands of movies currently in my home.
3) Be held hostage in your home by a bulldozer. My condo complex is repaving all the roads to the complex, which makes parking, driving, or even getting to your vehicle a miniature Eco-Challenge. Plus, if I stay inside, the entire house vibrates for 8 hours at a time, which is really convenient as I’m out of batteries.
4) Out of batteries for my massaging back brace. Sickos.
5) Have no burning desire to become a non-hostage. The problem with becoming an involuntary hostage is that most hostages have a strong desire to escape the situation they are in, and plotting ways to escape a hostage situation definitely interferes with potential writing time. Fortunately, I had no desire to escape as the day before I completed a 20-mile walk marathon, and I was not willing to sled down the condo stairs on my stretcher simply to make a milk run.

So how did it turn out?
Um, good, I think. Still needs a lot of help before it gets seen by anyone, but definitely a good start. And it’s the only thing I’ve ever written that may sell simply because of the concept alone, and the humor is really a secondary benefit. I think that’s called “growth.”

posted by Jenn @ 12:15 PM  

Worst Netflix Rental Ever
I’m guilty of renting many crappy things from Netflix, mostly because I can rent these things from the privacy of my own home, so no one at Netflix can visually identify me to chastise me on the street for my selections. They just come in my mailbox in a small, unmarked envelope (mostly so the mailman can also not point at me and laugh at the contents either), and as soon as I’m tired of it, or its broken or whatever, I return it in the same small, unmarked envelope a couple days later and tell them to send me another one. This is much the same way that online sex toy shops operate, really.

So this weekend I received The Worst Witch. I have known for some time that it was gradually making it’s way up my queue, and I also know it was Bad Bad (as opposed to Good Bad and Funny Bad). So why did I rent it? Because Tim Curry was in it. If I really like an actor, comic, or a director, I have an affliction where I absolutely must see everything he/she has been in or directed, regardless how bad it is. I’m sure you can imagine how painful this can be (I don’t even want to reveal what I’ve seen for my love of Bill Maher. It involves the purchase of House 2.) During my Rocky Horror love affair, I vowed to see everything Tim Curry was in (this is something you should definitely not try at home, or you’ll find yourself watching Blues Brothers: The Animated Series). This was one I could never find, probably because every video store owner dropped their copy into a trashcan and set fire to it out in the back parking lot (need I remind you, charity service is a tax deduction).

It was about a school of elementary school witches taking courses such as Potion Making and Broom Flying (This was done in 1986, well before JK Rowling did Harry Potter, by the way, proving once again there are no new ideas). The movie was really a showcase for the best special effects of the time, by which I mean fluorescent horse-hair wigs and Xanadu light auras. It was a bit like Sabrina, the Teenage Witch sponsored by the Halloween Superstore in Natick (I believe the stockroom clerk may have had a staring role, actually). Oh, and there singing! (Trust me, singing qualifies as a special effect here. Stockroom help are not particularly known for vocal prowess.) Tim Curry’s main contribution to the film came when he was singing in a white leisure suit straight from the wardrobe of a 70s Bond Villain while encased in a white light and shaking a tambourine. Every time he shook his tambourine (and consequently his fartbox), all the school girls went into ecstasy. For Tim Curry. The guy who was dressed as a pigtailed Girl Scout in Loaded Weapon 1. This is how I chose to spend 70 minutes of my Sunday afternoon.

Though treatment for bad fluorescent wig voyeurism has improved, I still expect my healing process to be long and arduous (shellshock should kick in any day now). As per recommendation from my physician, I have been instructed to leave the remaining Netflix on the coffeetable unopened as I’m not sure what cornucopia o’excrement those innocent-looking envelopes contain (you wouldn’t open a carafe of small pox in a hospital recovery room, would you? No, I didn’t think so), and have been firmly instructed to limit my entertainment to my recently purchased South Park Seasons 6 and 7 box sets until my eyes stop bleeding.

posted by Jenn @ 12:49 PM