If Anything, I Do Big Talk
9/7/20267 min read
Huge — and this time, great — news. I went to LA for the weekend.
Not exactly a milestone on its own. I used to live there, and just to recap, earlier this year I went all over Southeast Asia and Australia. But this one was a milestone in a different way.
I came to LA because the screenplay I wrote was selected for the Broad Humor Film Festival.
I knew there would be a reading. I knew other screenwriters would be there. What I apparently did not fully process was that I would sit in a room while actual actors read eight pages of something I wrote, surrounded by women who have been doing this much longer than I have.
Once again, a testament to my ability to read with understanding. It was all in the emails. How can a writer be this bad at reading? I shock even myself. In my defense, my grown-up job sends me approximately 100 emails a day, so I think I have trained myself to skim everything and retain nothing.
Anyway. Stage. Actors. Eight pages of my feature screenplay. They had me go first.Great.
I’m not entirely sure I properly introduced either myself or the script, but people laughed at whatever I said and, more importantly, seemed to understand the screenplay.
Michelle and Angie, who have been running Broad Humor for years, were amazing. The whole festival felt like something they genuinely care about, not just a bunch of screenings and readings thrown into a schedule. They created this really warm community of funny, talented women, and somehow let me into it.
I’m also pretty convinced I was the youngest screenwriter there. This was mildly terrifying because everyone else’s scripts were so fucking good. Like, oh holy shit, these people are writers good. I kind of felt like it was a mistake that I was there too. One woman mentioned that she had been working on her screenplay for twenty years. Twenty years? Twenty years ago I didn’t even know how to spell ‘bee’ in English. I didn’t speak English. I assume otherwise I would have known.
Anyways, the point is - I wrote my screenplay in about two months. Not because I am some disciplined screenwriting machine. I was traveling, had time and thought, this could be funny. So I wrote it in hotels and coffee shops, finished it, submitted it to some festivals and more or less went, Okay, that’s done.
And now it was sitting in the same festival as something someone had been carrying around for two decades. I don’t know what lesson I’m supposed to take from that other than perhaps I possess what one might call above-average writing skills.
After the readings I stayed late and helped clean up, went out to West Hollywood for approximately three and a one-fifth hours, realized I no longer particularly enjoy getting drunk in a room where I have to scream directly into my friend’s face from ten inches away, went home (or rather back to my friend's place who was nice enough to let me stay with him), woke up at 7 AM and started writing again.
My friend’s cat spent the morning sitting directly in front of my laptop and deleting approximately every other sentence. I think I had some good ones there. Just trust me. They're long gone by now though.
Anyways, being in LA after a few years of living in NYC brought back memories and I started to miss it. Like should-I-move-back-there miss it.
So, I wanted to breathe in beautiful Los Angeles while I was there, and because I have now been conditioned by New York to believe that my legs are a legitimate mode of transportation, I decided to experience LA the NYC way: by walking five miles through it. My destination was what I missed most about Los Angeles - In-N-Out. Just kidding - I missed my friends more. Promise.
So I walked. Five miles. In Los Angeles. Who the fuck is walking around the industrial parts of Koreatown taking pictures of every palm tree she sees? Me. I received several stares and a few honks, presumably because seeing a pedestrian in LA is treated roughly the same as seeing an octopus driving a school bus. Not impossible, just rare.
Along the way, I stopped at a grocery store I used to go to when I lived there. While buying a Red Bull and water, I decided to inform the security guard that the store he currently guards used to be my top shoplifting location. He told me I probably shouldn’t have shared that information and that there was nothing he was going to do with it.
I mean, I guess that’s good? I don’t know what I expected. I don’t think I expected anything. Frankly, I have no idea why I even decided to share that with the security guard, like a three-year-old shares with her parents that she found poop in the sandbox. But this is a recurring problem with me.
I don’t really do small talk. If anything, I do big talk. I assume everyone I meet already knows the previous six episodes of my life and jump directly into whatever story we’re in the middle of. This was also not my first complicated relationship with LA security personnel. Around five years ago, I was denied entry to a bar in West Hollywood because I told the security guard he was being stupid. He was being stupid.
And I have a high threshold for being stupid, in case that isn’t clear yet. I don’t remember what exactly happened, but I was, obviously, in the right. I almost went to that bar again the other night. Probably a good thing I didn't and decided to go to sleep instead.
Speaking of people I can no longer accidentally offend, LA has Waymo now. When I lived there, there were no little blue cars driving around with nobody inside them looking like they escaped from the Minions cinematic universe. So the first time I got into one, I knew there wasn’t going to be a driver, but I still had a brief moment of: Okay. But where the fuck is the driver?
Followed shortly by: Is this thing going to drive me directly into the Pacific? Speaking of people I can no longer accidentally offend, LA has Waymo now.
When I lived there, there were no little blue cars driving around with nobody inside them looking like they escaped from a Minions movie. So the first time I got into one, I knew there wasn’t going to be a driver, but I still had a brief moment of: Okay. But where the fuck is the driver?
Followed shortly by: Is this thing going to drive me directly into the Pacific? I didn't pack a swim suit. I was not prepared.
Then we started moving. And I fucking loved it. It was cheap — and I understand it might be one of those difficult “AI is coming for our jobs” situations, but... I don’t know. At least it’s not gonna sexually harass anyone? Or be on its phone while driving?
And listen, I’m not exactly against breaking the law (see: shoplifting story above), but some Uber drivers would fly past the speed limit so fast that I came close to posting my bank account passwords online and informing my friends that my savings would be distributed on a first-come, first-served basis upon my inevitable death. I’m just saying there are pros and cons.
But what I loved about Waymo even more than its affordability and safety was: no talking. Nobody asked me anything. Which, again, is particularly hypocritical because I am usually the one forcing other people to talk to me. And as we have established, I don’t even make small talk. I make big talk.
I once got into an Uber in Dallas and told the driver I worked in film production. She asked if I could get her cast in anything. At the time, I was working on Jurassic World, so I told her I could see about getting her a role as a dinosaur. It was a silly joke in my head. I think she thought I was referencing her looks.
The ride got pretty quiet after that. See, Waymo wouldn’t care if I accidentally offended it. People are always saying they were born in the wrong generation because everyone is on their phones now and nobody talks anymore. Couldn’t be me. If anything, I should’ve been born 100 years from now.
Actually, I’m surprisingly bad with technology — texting aside, obviously. So maybe not 100 years ago or 100 years from now. I guess right now is perfect. Well, that worked out, didn’t it?
Eventually, the weekend ended and I left Broad Humor as one of the finalists. I didn’t win, but the scripts that did were fucking great, which was annoying because it left me absolutely nothing to complain about. And you guys know how I feel about having things to complain about.
Then I got to the airport and checked my email. All Included had made the Second Round at Austin Film Festival.
Fuck. Even less things to complain about. Oh, and also - I might actually be good at this.