I guess I miss the 'ole blog

Well I was looking at my Amazon.com referral fees and I was thinking "wow - I'm a douche."

So here's a genuine blog post from ME to YOU.

The Two Week Plan

One of my (many) excercize advice books wrote that you have to do something for about 2 weeks to make it a habit, or integral part of your daily lifestyle. I have many things that I am trying to integrate into my life, or make habits out of. Way too many things.

• Writing scripts
• Working out
• Eating right
• Not biting my nails
• Starting a non-profit org

So I've just hung up trying to do it all at once. Because behind all this I have to actually perform my boring-ass job, which hangs like a dark evil cloud over my head. Working on computers, and traveling over 40 hours a week makes everything on the above list 10x harder to accomplish.

I've turned over a new leaf. I'm throwing job hatred out the window (at least... on week six or eight). I've begun with working out. For the next two weeks the only requirements I am setting for myself is to work out. Every day. Go to work, do my job, and work out. I'm not going to fret if I don't think of movie ideas, or learn new vegetarian recipes or whatnot. I am simply going to work, work out, and then play video games and hang out for two weeks.

So far it's awesome.

The point of the experiment is to see if I really continue to have these good habits after the 2 weeks is up. Say, for instance, in the next two week session I decide to focus on screenwriting, every day. Hopefully I will have made working-out such a habit that I keep it up even while I'm focusing on something new.

See me in two weeks.

~ Sore but happy

Memorize

I have decided to become a good/better memorizer. The first assignment I'm giving myself is this poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow- because it's easier to start with something that rhymes- and I like him and remember a lot of his poems from back in school... Like for instance....

The Arrow and the Song

I shot an arrow into the air
It fell to earth, I know not where
For so swiftly it flew, the sight
Could not follow it in it's flight

I breathed a song into the air
It fell to earth, I know not where
For who has sight so keen and strong
That it can follow the flight of a song?

Long, long afterward in an oak
I found the arrow still unbroke
And the song, from beginning to end
I found again in the heart of a friend.

Or perhaps this classic

The Pasture Spring

I'm going out to clean the pasture spring
I'll only stop to rake the leaves away
And wait to watch the water clear, I may
I shan't be gone long-
You come too.

I'm going out to fetch the little calf
Standing by the mother, it is so young
It totters when she licks it with her tongue.
I shan't be gone long-
You come too.

If you've never read these, you don't care... but I remember them from school... quoting them a million times. The good 'ole days.

And now my assignment-

Seaweed

When descends on the Atlantic
The gigantic
Storm-wind of the equinox,
Landward in his wrath he scourges
The toiling surges,
Laden with seaweed from the rocks:

From Bermuda's reefs; from edges
Of sunken ledges,
In some far-off, bright Azore;
From Bahama, and the dashing,
Silver-flashing
Surges of San Salvador;

From the tumbling surf, that buries
The Orkneyan skerries,
Answering the hoarse Hebrides;
And from wrecks of ships, and drifting
Spars, uplifting
On the desolate, rainy seas; —

Ever drifting, drifting, drifting
On the shifting
Currents of the restless main;
Till in sheltered coves, and reaches
Of sandy beaches,
All have found repose again.

So when storms of wild emotion
Strike the ocean
Of the poet's soul, erelong
From each cave and rocky fastness,
In its vastness,
Floats some fragment of a song:

From the far-off isles enchanted,
Heaven has planted
With the golden fruit of Truth;
From the flashing surf, whose vision
Gleams Elysian
In the tropic clime of Youth;

From the strong Will, and the Endeavor
That forever
Wrestle with the tides of Fate;
From the wreck of Hopes far-scattered,
Tempest-shattered,
Floating waste and desolate; —

Ever drifting, drifting, drifting
On the shifting
Currents of the restless heart;
Till at length in books recorded,
They, like hoarded
Household words, no more depart.