"What's going on. Remember jail?"

Happy Halloween... from my desk at work! These comma splices are driving me crazy. Script writers don't know proper grammar from their left shoe.

One thing that did make my day though, is that earlier today I came up with a brilliant idea for a research project which should give me plenty of material for my novel/screenplay/epic poem. I can't say what it is here, because this blog is public and my plan won't work if too many people know about it. (Just humor my fantasy that I have a readership of more than three.) I did tell a couple of friends my idea though, and was promptly rewarded with the title of Evil Genius.

That's right. Evil Genius on Halloween. Stay tuned.

"When economists wake up in the middle of the night, they think about inflation."

Writing this blog has been a good thing for me. Not only does it give me something to do while I suffer through this ridiculous insomnia, but I can express myself openly without worrying that people might find me annoying.

You know those friends on Facebook that update their status twelve times a day? The ones that think their every passing thought is a gem worth sharing with the world? The gourmet food photographers? The "woe is me for I have to work on a Tuesday" whiners? The people that check in all the freaking time? They bug the crap out of me. I don't want to be one of them.

So I censor my activity on Facebook. Every time I feel like updating my status or sharing a link, I ask myself whether anyone apart from me would find it interesting. If the answer is no, I don't post.

The great thing about this blog is that I no longer have to ask myself these questions. I can blab about whatever I feel like because my blabber doesn't get pushed into people's News Feeds, clogging up their stream with junk that they don't find interesting. Why would anyone want to know that I had a PB&J sandwich for dinner anyway?

And if someone actually does care about what I have to say, I can just send them here. Then if they find me annoying it will be their fault (for being a little too curious) and not mine (for shoving the minutiae of my everyday life down their throat).

I should have done this years ago when I was younger and did way more interesting stuff. But I wasn't living in L.A. at the time... and I was probably too busy doing interesting stuff to sit down and write about it...

Maybe that's what the problem is with Facebook. The people that I most want to hear from are too busy living their lives to share what's going on with their friends. But the people that have nothing worth sharing are the ones who share the most, because they aren't doing anything interesting to take up all their time! No wonder their posts suck.

My food delivery just arrived. Yup, at 4:37 in the morning. I could take a picture of the meal I'm about to enjoy and post it on my blog, since I know it won't bother anyone...

... but I won't.

"You reek of Try-Too-Hard, and your baby is ugly."

Driving into, out of, and through Los Angeles is an infuriating experience. Traffic is bad. Parking is bad. Accidents abound. Traffic lights are unreliable. I once witnessed an accident that literally took out a traffic light. There is always construction work going on somewhere. Even in the middle of the night the freeways are unpredictable. And on the one day a year that it rains in this town, the streets are completely flooded because L.A. city officials didn't see the point in spending tax money on a drainage system.

What's even stranger is that after hours of crawling by at speeds that would make a turtle impatient, you finally arrive at your destination, only to discover that no one is there.

That's the thing about L.A. that really gets me. Where is everyone going? I live downtown and the place is totally dead. I don't know of any other city whose inhabitants subject themselves to endless road torture in order to get somewhere and hang out with nobody. Sometimes I feel like I'm in the Negaverse.

"Oh Jesus... I've got to judge the Miss Gay Universe thing in Yokohama this week. Balls. I forgot about that."

One of my favorite things about the company where I work is that I'm pretty much left to my own devices. As long as I complete my projects by their due dates, no one really cares what time I come in or how much time I take off. Which is great, since it frees me up to do other things, like write. Or take pictures. Or sleep.

I have never felt more like a true artist. I've also never been hungrier.

Maybe I should stop messing around online and go have dinner.

"You're a naughty old lady!"

Strange thing happened while I was driving earlier. I looked ahead and suddenly, three traffic lights, all in a row, went out at the same time. Naturally, I wanted to believe that some highly skilled bank robbers were planning a heist, and needed to take out the power grid of several blocks in order to disable a top-notch security system. Naturally.

The only problem was that I wasn't driving through the nicest part of L.A. at the time. A crowbar and a menacing glare would have been sufficient to commit a burglary in that neighborhood. So the power outage was probably just another side effect of this city's fantastic infrastructure. No biggie. Why would anyone need electricity after stealing a TV anyway?

"When I'm old, I'm gonna tell my grandchildren about that amazing nap I took in London."

One of the more interesting aspects of living in L.A. is its proximity to the entertainment industry. It's not unusual to walk around town and see movies being filmed. Recently I had to sneak into my own apartment because the Dark Knight Rising crew had blocked off nearby streets and evacuated my building per safety regulations.

Did you catch that? I was too stealthy even for Batman.

Anyway, entertainment industry. I edit subtitles for a living, which is nowhere near as exciting as trying to outwit a highly intelligent billionaire vigilante in a cape. But hey, it pays the bills, and I get to do what I do best: watch videos, read IMDb for "research" and check other people's spelling. Well, there's more to it than that but those are pretty much the highlights.

I listen with envy when a co-worker starts cracking up because they were assigned to work on something awesome, like Californication.

"You're timid, and you lack focus." Not the context in which I'd ever expect to hear those words.

In the meantime I'm watching some spoiled, barely-old-enough-to-drink socialite complain about how hard her life is now that she's engaged to a prince. Please.

I'm hoping that at some point in my career as a subtitle editor, I will get to work on a project for Californication. Who wouldn't enjoy getting paid to watch David Duchovny stick his foot in his mouth by saying something that was actually incredibly witty?

But my real aspiration is to one day write something that good. I'm not jealous because I'm stuck with Gossip Girl while my co-worker gets to watch Californication - okay, maybe a little bit - I'm jealous of Tom Kapinos for his brilliance and for thinking of it first. I'd give anything to create a character as hilarious, twisted, and fearless as Hank Moody. I would love to see Rob Lowe audition for a role where he talks about killing hobos immediately after kissing Evan Handler. Like this:

Now that is some damn good writing. If your jaw didn't drop, then congratulations for having already seen everything.

I sit through the teen soap operas in exchange for the opportunity to surround myself with valuable material. Working with scripts on a daily basis allows me a closer look at what sells but also what's missing in Hollywood. With a little luck and a lot of work, maybe I'll even be the first to come up with something new that is as smart and cool and edgy as Californication.

Then maybe one day, an aspiring writer will have to sneak into her place because the crew working on my film restricted access to the building in which she lives. Personally, I don't think anyone in Hollywood can say they've made it until they've forced someone to sneak into their own apartment.

"Being Scottish has never helped anyone."

Writing is a curious occupation.

If a person is broke, stays up all night, sleeps all day, takes notes while listening in on a private conversation, thinks out loud, bursts into laughter for no apparent reason, and hangs around the house in their underwear staring at a computer screen for hours on end while drinking a cocktail or five, that person would be thought of as a loser, a creep, and an alcoholic.

Or a college student.

But because I fancy myself a writer, all of that is considered part of the job: it's research. You don't even have to get paid as a writer to be one. You just have to write.

Since any experience is now fair game for creative material, I can always tell people I'm working if I get caught doing something weird. Which is pretty much all the time.

Except for right now. I am doing something weird, but at least I'm not working.

It's noon; time to start getting ready for my real job - the one that pays. Unfortunately, they expect you to show up fully clothed.

"I could never lead a cult! I'm far too shy."

I love living alone. There is nobody here to finish off my milk, aggravate my OCD, wake me up in the middle of the day, or complain about the fact that I never wear pants.