On a better note, my sitcom is ready to be put together, and I’m in talks with a couple different editors. One in LA, one out of town. The above hard drive contains all my favorite takes. It never leaves my hand.
Meanwhile, I’ve been writing the next episodes, which is a swell concoction of pleasure and pain. I spend most of my day wishing I’d written a drama. Think about it: I’d have my wife die, then sulk about it for 22 episodes while friends occasionally console me with semi-profound advice. Writes itself.
