Back in Claremont

I had an interesting drive last night. I started with an every-10-minute fear that my car was going to blow out a spark plug somewhere between Santa Cruz and Los Angeles, a 400-mile stretch; the fear never left until I pulled into the driveway of Dan Beckner's house in Claremont, Ca. Survived it.
Then somewhere along I got hungry and ate a peanut butter cookie. My stereo didn't work the whole time, so I was left with semi-working headphones - the kind that have too much earwax plugged into one side so you get the choice of left ear or right ear listening.
A few hours after that, I was thinking, out loud, to the closed up windows. Wondering, what kind of show could I really put together? Should it be an episodic movie or TV show? I should probably just write a short script and go from there. It doesn't have to be the be-all end-all, but it does need to do justice to the subject matter.
The I thought about The Beach, a great film for the poor saps in my age-range who may be a little wary of joining up in the working world. There's all this exploring and discovering to do, and yet we're only encouraged to take our penniless pockets and commit to a job we may not necessarily have wanted. All this in our early 20s.
Maybe this show could be for a man who's not married yet, a woman who doesn't have the drive to only work but also to hug trees for the good feeling we sometimes get inside being around them. It's a show for a dudebra who doesn't quite follow his friends all the way, or the girl who tried being a cheerleader but knows there more to life and shyly wishes to try. It's for Amanda and Candice, Daniel or Hillary, Dan Beckner, John and Sarah, Lydia, Trevor, even Jose. A show for Peter, given to us by Fred Grote, by Michael Sanchez, Dan Little, and Richard from the Beach. Basically, it explains that while we're finding ourselves we must take the risk to find ourselves. I never thought I'd wake up one morning and love that I smell some smog. But today, I do. Why? Because I took such a massive risk and attempted the journey south down I-5 to LA. And know what? It worked. The risk, which I have taken once more, has seen fruit.

Anyway, hello lovely Los Angeles