I barely knew him. Yet here I was, on a cold Tuesday night, at his apartment. We had had a drink or two at the bar/lounge/restaurant down the street from his place. As one would expect of a screenwriter, he had framed classic film posters on the walls, and a big bookshelf full of DVDs dominated the living room. I confess I remember only one, the one that made my breath catch and my heart skip a beat.

“Oh, yeah,” he said as I gently took it down and turned it over in my hands. “I wrote the first draft of the screenplay for that project.”

My face began to get hot. It was a sign. Despite his ponytail and potentially cheesy facial hair, I really was supposed to be here.

“To be honest,” he continued, “I don’t really like the source material much.”

Gentle reader, I wish I could say I walked out upon hearing this. But I didn’t. He did have excellent taste in literature, and despite the hair choices, he was definitely my type. Still, I should have taken a stand…in the name of the SDF-1. (more…)