For what it’s worth, anyway.

I won’t go into the details of what it was shot on, or how it was shot, or what it was edited with, or any of that, because none of it is important.

As a bonus, after the break, you can see the original script. Again, for what it’s worth.

INT. APARTMENT – NIGHT

The apartment is dimly lit. We hear the sound of something being chopped on a cutting board.

INT. APARTMENT DINING ROOM – NIGHT

A modest table is set. Two candles burn. There are two places set, one on each end. Salads in bowls rest on plates at each place.

A framed picture of a couple rests on the table. In the background, we see the WOMAN in the photo standing in the kitchen chopping something.

INT. APARTMENT KITCHEN – NIGHT

The woman continues chopping. She has a sad, frustrated look on her face. She is totally focused on the chopping. We see that she has been chopping carrots, an unusually large amount of carrots.

We hear the sound of a door open.

INT. APARTMENT ENTRY WAY – NIGHT

A MAN enters the apartment. He is disheveled and dressed as if he is returning from work. He tosses a briefcase down onto the couch as he passes.

INT. APARTMENT KITCHEN – NIGHT

The woman continues to chop carrots. The man enters the kitchen and tosses his keys down on the table. He looks around the kitchen, and then at her.

MAN

Hey honey, do we have any carrots?

WOMAN

I told myself I’d just chop carrots for the salads while I waited for you.

MAN

Huh.

The man looks around the kitchen briefly, then opens the fridge and pulls out a beer.

MAN

Yeah, I was running a little late.

WOMAN

Really?

MAN

Yeah.

WOMAN

You’re late? I didn’t notice.

MAN

I got hung up at work. This project I’m working on is a real–

WOMAN

I didn’t notice you were three hours late. Again. I totally overlooked it.

MAN

I’m sensing a little sarcasm.

He opens the beer and takes a drink.

WOMAN

Are you? Are you sensing a little sarcasm, honey? Is a little sarcasm coming through?

MAN

Okay, okay, what did I do?

WOMAN

What did you do? Look around! How long does it look like I’ve been waiting for you! How many weeks ago did I tell you I had this planned? How many times did I remind you?

MAN

Whoa, wait, did you even tell me we had it planned at all? I don’t remember you mentioning a carrot chopping contest. You win, though.

The woman slams the knife down onto the cutting board. Carrot shavings and slices go all over the floor. She picks her hands up from the board, shaking.

WOMAN

I am trying to stay calm.

MAN

Try harder.

WOMAN

Jesus christ!

MAN

Hey! Don’t take this out on me. I was working my ass off all day to bring home the kind of money it takes to buy all these carrots. So get off it.

WOMAN

Would you drop the carrot thing? It’s just a little irritating.

MAN

Oh is it, is it irritating? So is all the shit you’re giving me.

WOMAN

Oh my god! How often do I get to do this kind of thing? And you’re just throwing it right in my damn face!

The man puts his beer down on the table and gets up. He walks over to her.

MAN

Hey, hey, hey. Come on. Let’s put the carrots away, run and grab a bite, and catch a movie or something. Okay? My treat.

WOMAN

This is just completely meaningless to you, isn’t it? All the work I do?

The man snickers.

MAN

You mean all the carrots you chop?

WOMAN

Oh fuck you!

MAN

What? WHAT?

He picks up the cutting board and slings it onto the ground.

MAN

Look! See that? I worked my ass off to pay for that! And for that table, and for all these damn carrots! I don’t want to hear it from you every time I’m a little late! You want to complain? Get a job!

WOMAN

I swear to god. What is wrong– I just wanted to do something special! You remember special? As in, not eating in the living room out of a sack full of burgers?

MAN

Oh, that’s funny. Fine. Go ahead. Do something special. Have yourself a great time. Chop more carrots, go nuts. I’ll go get some of my classy hamburgers.

He storms out of the room. She follows.

INT. APARTMENT LIVING ROOM – NIGHT – CONTINUOUS

WOMAN

Wait.

MAN

I could go see a movie!

WOMAN

Would you please wait?

MAN

Maybe I’ll go back to work! Who knows!

WOMAN

Just stop it! You’re acting like a child!

MAN

And you’re acting like a bitch.

WOMAN

Maybe. But could you please not storm out? Just go in the other room, I’ll leave you alone, please just calm down. I want us to save this.

MAN

Save what? There’s nothing to save. Don’t leave those candles burning.

He grabs his things back off the couch.

WOMAN

Please. Please. Don’t do this.

He stops at the door and turns back towards her.

MAN

It’s done.

He walks out and slams the door in her face. She walks up to the door and puts her hands against it.

EXT. APARTMENT STEPS – NIGHT

The man trundles angrily towards the stairs. He stops suddenly and pats his pocket.

MAN

Car keys! Damnit!

He looks over his shoulder at the door and pauses. After a moment, he continues walking towards the stairs.

MAN

Screw it.

INT. APARTMENT LIVING ROOM – NIGHT

The woman lays her back against the door and holds her hands to her face in shock. She slides down the door slowly.

WOMAN

Oh, god.

EXT. STREET – NIGHT

The man walks angrily down the street, muttering to himself.

MAN

You’re acting like a child, let’s try to save this, yeah, okay.

INT. APARTMENT KITCHEN – NIGHT

The woman is on her knees, sweeping carrot slices into a trashcan. Her face is tear stained, and tears continue to roll down her face.

After a moment, she stops and collapses onto the ground, crying.

EXT. ALLEY – NIGHT

The man continues walking with a purpose.

INT. APARTMENT DINING ROOM – NIGHT

The woman is seated at the table. Both candles have burned down to the bottom. The lettuce in the salads has started to turn brown.

She stares down for a moment, then leans over and blows out the candle in front of her.

EXT. ALLEY – NIGHT

The man walks down a dank alleyway. He looks around as if he has wandered somewhere unfamiliar to him.

He stops and looks around.

MAN

This isn’t right.

After a moment, he pauses and turns around to walk the other way. As he turns, he BUMPS straight into a shadowy, faceless figure.

He is STARTLED and TURNS TO RUN. The figure SLAMS its arm into his chest and RUNS HIM straight back INTO THE WALL.

VOICE OF SHADOWY FIGURE

Drop it!

MAN

What?!

The figure PRODUCES A GUN and PUSHES IT into his stomach, PULLING THE TRIGGER almost immediately afterwards. The shot ECHOES LOUDLY. The man lets out a PAINED SCREAM.

We see the briefcase FALL out of his hand and HIT THE GROUND. The shadowy figure GRABS IT and SCURRIES DOWN THE ALLEY with it, out of view.

The man SLIDES down the wall slightly, CLUTCHING HIS STOMACH. He LOOKS down and OPENS HIS HANDS to reveal a large blood stain on his shirt.

He continues to slide down the wall.

FLASH TO:

INT. APARTMENT KITCHEN – NIGHT

We see the woman on the floor cleaning up the spilled carrots, and the man walking up behind her.

FLASH TO:

EXT. APARTMENT STEPS – NIGHT

The man glances back at the door, then turns around and walks back towards it.

FLASH TO:

INT. APARTMENT KITCHEN – NIGHT

The man and woman hug on the floor of the kitchen.

MAN

I’m sorry.

FLASH TO:

EXT. ALLEY – NIGHT

The man continues to slide down the wall, clutching his stomach.

WOMAN (O.S.)

I’m sorry, too.

FLASH TO:

INT. APARTMENT DINING ROOM – NIGHT

The man and the woman sit at the table eating. The woman looks up and catches eye contact with the man. She flashes a sly grin, then giggles.

FLASH TO:

INT. APARTMENT LIVING ROOM – NIGHT

The man and woman sit on the couch next to each other, under a blanket, watching TV. She is resting her head on his shoulder.

FLASH TO:

EXT. ALLEY – NIGHT

The man slumps over and falls onto the ground. He lies motionless.

We see him laying there still for a few moments.

INT. APARTMENT DINING ROOM – NIGHT

The woman lays her head down on the table sobbing. The second candle burns into the melted wax and flickers itself out.

EXT. ALLEY – NIGHT

We see the man laying on the ground still.

TRACK BACK AWAY FROM MAN SLOWLY TO SHOW ENTIRE ALLEY

It was six o’clock, and something wasn’t right.

Today was a Wednesday, so far as could be recalled. Wednesday. The middle of the week. Closer to the end than the middle at this point, you could say, at this late hour.

And yet, something wasn’t right.

Usually, at this time on a Wednesday, the dining room would be a flurry of activity. Cling cling clang. Thud thump thump. Plates and glasses would fall onto the table. Knives and forks would liberate themselves, and prepare for battle. Bzzzzzz, bzzzzzz, bzzzzz! Once in a while, the smoke alarm would even go off. Delicious smells would waft room to room, or so one might expect.

Six o’ two. The ticking of the clock was a thunderous roar through the silence. By now, the main course would enter the room, triumphantly carried as if it were a masterpiece. Not that it was anything special. But they looked so forward to it.

Four minutes past. The smells rang like a dinner bell, summoning children from the farest reaches of the house. Rushing into the room, and eagerly circling the table — sometimes giggling, sometimes yelling, and sometimes fighting, but always brought together by their hunger. At least, on a normal day.

But not today. Today was different. Something was amiss. It was six minutes past, and something wasn’t right.

Last one to the table has to bring the ketchup, they’d always shout. Inevitably, the last one to the table would forget. They became the first one up from the table. One might imagine that someone would make it part of the routine to bring the ketchup with them. But, it already was. Going back for the ketchup wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. It gave someone a chance to make an entrance. A grand entrance, or a sheepish one, or maybe even an unnoticed one, if the dinner conversation had already begun. But nevertheless. Many relished the opportunity.

There was no grand entrance for the ketchup today, though, and none for the bearer of the ketchup, either. It was ten minutes past, and the ketchup was already on the table. There it had sat since the day prior, next to some dishes, and some glasses. Food half-eaten, and water half-drank, and all left behind. Abandoned. Forgotten relics of a dinner past. Was someone coming back for them? That wasn’t known.

But something wasn’t right.

Donnnnnng. A single chime. Half past the hour. The end of dinner. But there was no dinner to end. Nobody left to clear the plates. Nobody to shuffle neatly into the living room, and nobody to shirk the dishwashing. Just an old clock remained behind. An old clock, and a bottle of ketchup.

Thursday was right around the corner.

Studio 60 Was Better When It First Came Out

This sounds about right for snobby TV fans.

This morning on my way to work, I drove by the Palladium, like I do every day. Only this time I looked over at it, and realized it WAS Studio 60 — complete with logos and the big sign. It was all dressed up for filming. I am hoping it’s still all dressed up like that when I go by it tomorrow, cause I’m gonna bring a camera. Yay!

Go get it!

It seems an impossible feat for a company. How can they get the consumer to spend their money, before they actually purchase anything? And beyond that, how can they guarantee a certain amount of money will be spent there?

It all started with the death of the gift certificate.

Does everybody remember when gift certificates were actual pieces of paper, with an amount scribbled on them, possibly signed by a manager where they were purchased? I do. I even remember receiving some, in fancy envelopes. They actually felt like gifts. Those days are long over. What killed them? “Gift cards.” Yes, gift cards. Small, thin pieces of plastic, whose anonymous value we’ve all over-estimated. Why the switch? Well, you have to ask yourself, “why does a corporation do anything?” The answer is cost savings. The gift certificate is dead. Long live the gift card.

Once the gift card was an established member of society, the next step was simple. Reload-able gift cards. Once you’ve discovered the convenience of swiping a card to pay for a purchase, why wouldn’t you want that fun to keep on going? When your gift card runs out of money, you can simply add more money to it, and keep using it. Essentially, you can give yourself a gift.

That’s great, Wal-Mart, and JCPenny, and Sears, and whoever else rode this initial wave. I’ve got another reloadable card I carry with me. It’s called a credit card. Or maybe you’ve heard of this one? A debit card. Or an ATM card. All of which provide far more fraud protection. How much fraud protection do you get with a “gift card”? To answer that question, just flip one over, and read the fine print. “TREAT THIS CARD LIKE CASH.” Well, then. Tell me. Why would I actually take money out of my credit card, and put it into my reloadable cash card, where it can promptly be stolen, with no legal recourse?

The answer for the corporation is very easy. For you and me, it’s a little trickier. There’s no reason for us to do it. That’s where the marketing comes in. Wal-Mart was the first to come up with an idea that actually had me stop and think: using the shopping card to budget yourself. At the beginning of the month, you put a few hundred bucks into your cash card. Then, as the month wears on, you use that, not your credit card, to buy your groceries. From Wal-Mart.

I have another system I use to do my budgeting, though. It’s called self control. And it lets me shop at a slightly larger variety of retailers.

There’s always a fringe case, and this issue is no exception. I do see the value of these cards if you have kids. You can put fifty bucks on a McDonald’s card, or, if you want them to live a more robust life, a Subway card. They can go hog wild eating out after school, without having to carry cash around that they could “misappropriate,” or be liberated of. But as far as the majority of Los Angelinos are concerned, I think we can manage to spend our money where we’d like to, without fear of accidentally spending it on something else. We’re not children. We might still get mugged, sure. But remember what happens if someone takes your McDonald’s card? Right. They go eat at McDonald’s with it. “TREAT THIS CARD LIKE CASH.”

While they may seem like a silly idea, reloadable cash cards are becoming more widespread every day, and in some cases, they’re becoming mandatory. I found myself baffled the other day at Lucy’s Laundromat on Sunset, when my roll of quarters and I realized that we had to load a cash card with a few bucks to operate any of the washers. When did that happen?

As much as I can, though, I’m going to be fighting against these souped-up gift cards. The last time I checked, I could get cash safely near a magnet. Gift cards, you’ve got a long way to go.

Thank God, praise Allah, and heap glory upon whatever other gods had a hand in helping the post team meet their deadline on time.

Supposedly, the PR machine has been been started, and the gears are slowly turning. That can only mean one thing: a trailer is on the way.

Master samurai!

Well, I can’t do any work, and of course, I can’t get any writing done. I feel like I’m definitely having a bad day. On goes the radio, to KROQ, for a little LoveLine action.

Wow.

I may be having a bad day, but these people are having bad everythings. “I got molested as a child, then raped as a teen, and now I get this tremendous pain any time I’m penetrated. Am I a lesbian?”

WHAT?!

Overjoyed Saints Fans Tear Roof Off Reopened Superdome

NEW ORLEANS—Over 70,000 elated New Orleans Saints fans celebrated the first professional football game to take place in the newly renovated Superdome since Hurricane Katrina Monday night by joyously rushing from their seats onto the field,…