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Tonight, visiting with my family, I made them all watch Swingers for the first time.

For me, it was probably my fortieth viewing.

I knew my parents had Swingers on DVD, because I had given them Swingers, not as a gift, but just because–because I had an extra copy, because when the special edition with the new commentary track came out, you know, I had to buy that one, because of the commentary, and then I had this old, commentary-less (USELESS!) dvd sitting around, and so I gave it to the folks. Or left it in their DVD rack all-sly when I moved out of the house again for the fourth time since high school.

Wow, it’s such a good movie. It’s been with me for so much of my life. I remember renting it on VHS at Hollywood Video here in Shelton, probably when Hollywood Video was still Encore Music and Video. I remember picking it up because I had heard good things, or because the box looked interesting, or because I was into indie films at the time, or because–let’s be honest, I can’t remember why I picked it up–but the point is that I did, and I’ve watched it over and over again, so many times since.

I remember the third time I saw it, New Years Eve 1997, I was at some kid’s house, some kid with long hair, some big party on some island somewhere, and it was rainy outside, so gray and so wet, the way I imagine Maine to be, but here in Washington, and there were two or three stories of high school party going down, and bowls of condoms no one used, and creepy basements, and all kinds of girls I liked there, and one girl in particular who clearly liked me, only I was too dense at the time to understand how to understand those kind of things. I remember going to her, though, and telling her, when I found out that some kid had brought Swingers and they were going to put it on, “Oh, you have to watch this–OH! This is soooo good!” and I remember her trying to get into it, but ultimately failing, while I sat there watching the movie in its entirely.

Now, looking back, well–eff her, because who wants to be with a person who doesn’t like Swingers, with its snappy conversational dialogue and oh so wonderful window into mid-nineties Los Angeles, eff her for not being able to stay interested in that filmmaking genius on new years eve of all nights, a night to look back and to look forward and to look–but shit, looking back, I wish I had at least made out with her. There, in that house, on that island, with those gray skies, and three stories of high school party, and all the things a new year means to someone in the eleventh grade, I wish we had made out. She was cute and she liked me and we should have made out.

That said, I noticed something tonight, watching Swingers–and that’s the thing, you know, even forty viewings later (perhaps a slight exaggeration, but only slight), even that many viewings later, I’m still noticing new things–watching it, I thought, when a boy named Sue pulls out that gun on those hip hop guys in the parking lot, I thought “Why is this scene even in here? What’s the point?” Watching it with my parents, and hearing my mother gasp “Oh no!” I realized, oh, she’s never seen this movie before, and maybe she’s waiting for it all to take a turn, waiting for it all to catch up, and maybe this is it, maybe this is when Mikey gets shot. But you know, that’s the thing, he doesn’t get shot, and I know this, because it’s my (only-kind-of-exaggerated) fortieth viewing, so when my mom gasps “Oh no!” I’m thinking, why is this scene even here? Thirty seconds later, I see why it’s there, it’s there for Mikey to get yelled at, yelled at for a reason that isn’t what the rest of the movie is about, but then becomes what the movie is about, and so it feels more real, more grounded, more honest as this random thing you don’t see coming, more honest than if it had been something you would expect. And so I take that new little knowledge and I file it away tonight, and I save it for another screenplay down the line, or for some real-life parking lot gunplay of my own.

In Swingers, they reference the movies they admire–Casino, Reservoir Dogs, Jaws, etc–and it’s funny, it’s weird, you know, because really–for me–that movie that I talk that way about to my friends? It’s Swingers. I watch Swingers when I’m having a bad week, I watch Swingers when I’m stuck while writing a screenplay, I watch Swingers when I feel like I can’t make it doing what I love to do or when I feel like I can’t make it without that girl I loved. Because that’s what Swingers is about, and that’s who made Swingers, and maybe, in some silly way, Swingers made me who I am today. I’m not that guy who made out with that girl he wanted to on New Years Eve 1997, but now I would be, now I don’t regret it anymore, because not doing all of those things is what got me here, and it’s what’s getting me to tomorrow, and to where I want to be, and she’s a sweet girl, and I love her to pieces, but fuck her, man. You gotta get on with your life. You gotta let go of the past. And Mikey, when you do, I’m telling you: the future is beautiful, alright? Look out the window. It’s sunny every day here. It’s like manifest destiny. Don’t tell me we didn’t make it. We made it! We are here. And everything that is past is prologued to this. All of the shit that didn’t kill us is only - you know, all that shit.

–Adam

I mean, most of the time, I don’t mind you. You’re… what’s the word? Harmless. You’re just a town I grew up in, and sometimes I can go back and visit my folks or old friends, and sometimes it’s even good times. And I really like that little coffee shop you have now, the one next to where the Super-Valu used to be? It’s quaint.

So yeah, most of the time, you stay pretty separate, you way over there Shelton, and me over here, you know… with EVERYTHING ELSE. But lately, you’ve been all up in my grill.

I do not talk to people about you. I do not say bad things about you. I am not bitter and I regret nothing.

I am happy that you are happy and that your life is better without me. Well, that’s not really true, but I do not feel strong in any way. It upsets me that you would try to upset me, under the guise of untrue accusation, and take this opportunity, no matter how false of an opportunity it is to take, and use it to attack me, like a little girl in the corner who falls on her back and starts kicking wildly.

I’m glad you’re happy in your life now, although, as I’ve said in the past, I could have lived without hearing about it.

But it’s true what I said, I don’t talk to people who know you, and I don’t talk about you, which really just means you or one of yours is reading my twitter. Please don’t. My twitter is for me, and my friends, and the world. It’s not for you. It’s honest, like a punch to the gut honest, and it’s made up, like Batman punching you in the gut, and it’s the truest thing I put out there, and most of the time it’s trivial, and the other part of the time it’s song lyrics. That doesn’t mean you should be reading it.

You were a big part of my life for a long time, and just because you’re not anymore, doesn’t mean you’re not anymore. Especially not in the way I live my life, and especially not in the way I follow my artistic pursuits. And I want nothing more than to eject all of that out, god I want nothing more than to be rid of it, but it’s looking like it doesn’t work that way.

This is not what I thought I’d be when I thought about what I’d be when I grew up.

I’m not seeking you out. I haven’t checked up on you since you checked out, and I’m not even e-mailing you this, because then you’d e-mail me back. But you need to stop following me, even if you see nuggets of you slipping out of me, it’s just something foreign in this bloodstream now, and it’ll be broken down and cleansed soon enough.

I don’t hate you, or miss you. I don’t understand you, but I have no desire to try anymore. I miss making out with you. I miss the emotional intimacy I felt we had. I don’t miss you.

And I hate to be the bearer of bad news bears, but what I have inside of me is for the world, not for you, so stop being a selfish bitch.

I can’t believe that this is the way the world works. When did porn get boring? It doesn’t help that I learned everything I know about dating from Michael Jackson’s Thriller video. And I didn’t realize what the song “You Really Got a Hold On Me” really meant–not really–until three months ago.

I am deathly single, I spend most of my days worrying “what if she only likes me as a customer?” I’ve considered putting up MISSING posters with pictures of my face on them, and then hoping that hot chicks recognize me. “You found me!”

Sometimes I think about girls, and I think, “Maybe I don’t have to ask her out. Maybe I’ll just go out, by myself, and then she’ll be out by herself, and then we can just hang out together.” This is my solution to dating, and so far it has fetched minimal rewards. This is beside the point.

Don’t write me, don’t e-mail me, don’t call me. Don’t check my myspace or my twitter or my facebook or this page right here. Don’t ask people about me. In a year or two, when you see my face on tv? Change the channel. I’m sure at some point I’ll be at a thing and you’ll be at a thing and we’ll both be at this thing, and maybe then we can high five, and catch up, and talk about how fucking happy you are without me, but right now, well, I should probably be thinking about other things.

And to everyone else: if you liked some of the dating stuff, it’s going into something that I’m taking notes for, I just haven’t decided whether it’s a book or a short story or a movie or this blog right here. I’ll keep you posted. Peace, Love, and the other–

–Adam.

Spending the night in a solitary fashion, I’m about to go to the store to buy a few ears of corn, ’cause damn how I love corn, and I was so excited about the prospect of corn, I started singing a song. I turned on the mic, and just let her go. You can tell about midway through that I’m clearly just singing off the top of my dome, but that’s why it’s fun.

And now, click here, for the world premiere of Adam Dorsey singing “I had My Corn.”

So, as I’ve said in the past, whenever I’m at any serious stage of screenwriting, be it brainstorming, outlining, writing, or re-writing, I keep a cd/playlist/mixtape of music on repeat, music that makes me think about the characters and the story, so that no matter what I’m doing, I’m thinking about the screenplay in one way or another. In the past, I’ve posted lists of what some of those songs were, but it always seemed lame, like giving a girl a list of music for a mixtape instead of, you know, the actual mixtape.

Enter Muxtape, a new, legally-gray service, that allows you to upload your own mp3s and make playlists that anyone can listen to on the ‘net. You can view the one I’ve made for The Pursuit here (and then proceed to fall in love with me):

http://adamdorsey.muxtape.com

They only allow 12 tracks, so that’s why there are only 12 tracks. My playlist on my iPhone has over 25. That said, here’s a selection of those most important ones to tone, and pacing, and character and story and everything else I’m dealing with right now on my days off.

Enjoy, my love,

XOXO OOO (you only won because you got to go first and you put an O in the middle space):

–Adam.

I would reckon that only two of them are actually black, but that said, all of them rock, and then some. From Jacksonville, FL, these lovable scamps are big in the UK, and they’re about to be big here too, I promise. I’ve had the songs from their MySpace page playing on my iPhone for months, I’ve earmarked “I’m not going to teach your boyfriend” as a huge part of the new screenplay I’m writing, and I am here to report that this band rocks live too.

In fact, this is me arguing that they are better live. Not so well produced, not so poppy, but instead just a few kids, some of which happen to be black, trying to show you the best show of your life, or at least the best show of your week.

Everyone go listen to their music now. And, if you work at Neumos, can you please start the show at 8pm when you say you’re going to start the show? Okay, give me time to get a drink, have a conversation, so maybe 8:30pm… but 9:45pm? Not cool, Neumos, not cool.

I’M NOT GOING TEACH HIM HOW TO DANCE WITH YOU! HE’S GOT TWO LEFT FEET AND HE BITES MY MOVES… I’M NOT GONNA TEACH HIM OUT TO DANCE DANCE DANCE!

We’re not supposed to be doing what we’re doing. What I think I want and what I actually want are two distinctly different things, and it wasn’t until today, driving to the gym, denied a visit with my nephew and sister, that I realized the problem.

I feel like I’m supposed to be fucking every pretty girl I see. Well, maybe not fucking, but something, something definitely something, with every single pretty girl. So I always feel like I have to be that guy, like I have to be that guy who’s chasing after these girls, and that’s a hard standard to live up to, even when you don’t actually want to live up to that standard.

And I don’t want to. Well, don’t get me wrong, I want to, but not really. I want to flirt with them, and talk with them, and dance with them, and make out with them, and all of that, all of the time, over and over again, on repeat. But more than that, more than anything else, I just want to write this fucking screenplay. I want my job and my life to give me time and inspiration to fight my way through this fucking screenplay, this one I’m calling The Pursuit in public and code-naming “body-switching” in private. This is the one that opens with The Great Gatsby quote and never stops moving. This screenplay that I pitch as Face/Off, if Face/Off was the most amazing movie you’d ever seen, and the greatest love story ever told.

And on weekends? During happy hour? I want to spend time with girls. With friends. With girls who are also friends. With new girls. I want to be just social enough so that I don’t kill myself, but not so social that it gets in the way of writing this fucking screenplay, because this is the one, people, this is the one that in two or three years will eliminate the necessity of a dayjob altogether, I swear to you.

So yeah, this script, I have to finish this script. Shit, have to finish outlining this script so that I can fucking start this script. But already? Only halfway done outlining? This is the one. If I can pull this off, this is the one. And if I can have some good times with good friends and meet some new people and flirt with pretty baristas and maybe accidentally and pressure-free find someone who, like the screenplay, also happens to be the one (or at least the one that helps me finish the screenplay), then that’ll be great too.

Oh, and that Gatsby quote? You know the one:

“There are only the pursued, the pursuing, the busy and the tired.”

Today I am all of those things.

This website gets hit with a lot of spam, and most of it gets weeded out by spam filters, but sometimes a healthy dose of spam makes it in. This was the title of one such spam comment. Christianity dragonfly Jacques diabetes applejack?

It’s a question, I guess. Yes? No? 42?

Either way, I thought that it would be a good title for this post, because the blog’s been way to emo lately, and it’s time I gave you guys some random geek ramblings to spice things up. Don’t worry, kids, life still sucks as much as you want it to, but for a minute, let’s talk about what I’m geeking out about.

Scott Pilgrim - Everyone go buy all 4 volumes that are currently available and read them all 4 times each. You will not be sorry. I’m a late arriver on the Scott Pilgrim train, but it couldn’t have hit me at a better time. For a week there, life wouldn’t have been anything, if not Scott Pilgrim, and that’s a good place to find old Scott, and Ramona, and Knives, and everyone else in the book. For those who don’t know, it’s about–no, I’m not going to tell you what it’s about. Go, buy it, read it, and then we’ll talk about it. Until then, just remember that Edgar Wright (he of Shaun of the Dead/Hot Fuzz fame) is adapting it into a film, possibly starring Michael Cera as Scott, which hopefully will turn out kickass. But read the books now.

The Mist - Just watched it, great Stephen King, great cast, the whole thing takes place in a supermarket surrounded by mist. And not to spoil it for you, but Half-Life must have ripped some stuff off from this original short story. And the ending? Wow.

Rock of Love 2 - I hate reality TV, and I hate this, but for some reason on Friday night I watched the penultimate episode of this show, and in a half hour I’m going to tune in for the finale. It’s awful, and I can’t support anyone watching it, but for some reason I’m going to watch it.

My Blackintosh - At some point, this little baby will get a real post with pictures and everything, but a couple weeks back I picked up a black macbook, and it’s everything I want in the world. Although I have no projects currently, keep a look out for new film stuff, as I just can’t help but toy around in Final Cut again. I mean, it’s like I bought a giant iPod, and it’s the greatest thing ever.

Secret Invasion - Marvel’s “summer event,” and I put that in quotes because the miniseries is 8 issues long, and if it’s anything like Civil War/House of M, we’ll be dealing with it for the next 5 years. I’m not really complaining, as I love what Bendis is doing with it, but I just wish that those 8 issues could be released once a week for two months, not over the next eight months. Despite this, I love Luke Cage, I don’t care that it takes a bald Jewish man named Bendis to write the best black character I’ve ever read in comics, and I hope Secret Invasion doesn’t fuck up Luke Cage or his awesome interracial family.

SNL Season 1 - Just got back into it, after having sitting on the shelf for over a year, and it’s so much better than what SNL is doing right now.

Tina Fey on the cover of Entertainment Weekly - Someone needs to get me a print of this, framed, for my office.

Rock Band - Still getting its money’s worth, I just beat guitar on medium and won a golden guitar. Next up? Gonna work on my vocals, becoming the ultimate front-man.

I leave you with this video of Scarlett Johansson staring deep into Natalie Portman’s very being, clearly wanting to jump her bones right there on Good Morning America. Me too, Scarlett, me too.

“i am there. i was there. don’t you know that i am connected to you? don’t you know that i’m trying to pump blood to you, that this is for you, that i hate you people, so many of you motherfuckers– when you sleep i want you never to wake up, so many of you i want you to just fucking sleep it away because i only want you to run under with me on this sand like indians, if you’re going to fucking sleep all day fuck you motherfuckers oh when you’re all sleeping so many sleeping i am somewhere on some stupid rickety scaffolding and i’m trying to get your stupid fucking attention i’ve been trying to show you this, just been trying to show you this– what the fuck does it take to show you motherfuckers, what does it fucking take what do you want how much do you want because i am willing and i’ll stand before you and i’ll raise my arms and give you my chest and throat and wait, and i’ve been so old for so long, for you, for you, i want it fast and right through me– oh do it, do it, you motherfuckers, do it do it you fuckers finally, finally, finally.”