Monday, January 22, 2007
Buddha, go back to bed, it's just a rash.
I have decided Fuck Sex in the City, I am gonna tell it like it really is here in New York. I have decided I am going to write a script that gives the real low down on living and dating in New York City. This New York. Our New York. The twenty-something-thirty-something,24,000-35,000,scrape-it-together,I live in Brooklyn NOT Manhattan existence.
I want a show that has recovering Drug Addicts, Depressives, Hypochondriacs,Artists,People who work in Bagel Stores,Bartenders,Bad Bands, Drifters,Grifters and the people insane enough to hang out with them.
My show will not have one pretty dress or lunch with the ladies.
There will, however, be Hangovers, People Crying Uncontrollably, Internet Hijinks(Sarah, I will employee you as a research coach),People Stalked at the Guggenheim, Frantic Paranoid Phone Calls at 3 am about Venereal Diseases,and Married Men Going Home Drunk with Hickeys.
There will be arguments about Buddhism and frequent discussions about the nature of existence. Everyone will be over educated and unable to pay back their student loans. Everyone will fear marriage and procreation. No one will wear make-up, Some asshole will occasionally quote Howl.
And, no one on the show will write for Vogue, because they are lucky enough to be of the generation that hates fashion, sweats too much, and doesn't need an article to help them to please their lovers.
Since I'm writing it, think Woody Allen meets Twin Peaks, has sex with My So Called Life learns to play an Ani Difranco song on the guitar, and marries Bob Dylan. Think lots of akward pauses, cut throat humor, and a push for a happy ending.
I'm thinking HBO.
I just need a title.