Yesterday was my daughter's 19th birthday. Since we just got back from a blowout Florida trip for graduation we went modest, buying her her own cell phone and adding her to our family package, upping our minutes and throwing in unlimited texting. She almost immediately raced from the room, and my wife and I looked at each other and wondered if she was unhappy. I peeked into the living room and saw her already texting people and adding phone numbers and taking photos of herself with the camera. And thus I learned that the separation between parent and child would not come from the packing of the van for college, but from the plaintive beep of an incoming call.
On top of that, I thought I was the only screenwriter in Farmland, Indiana. Then these two bastards come along.
But you can read the next chapter of I WAS BIGFOOT'S SHEMP over at Microcinema Scene.
And somebody has my copy of EXTREME DV by Rick Schmidt, because I can't find it anywhere. Anyone want to fess up? Write me at johnoakdalton@hotmail.com.
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