Springtime equals open windows and breezes and people in skirts and fair-colored clothes, and outside sounds and blinds being up and other people's apartments. It means finding excuses to be outside and my oh my oh my it's pleasant.

As much as I rather enjoy the snow and the cold, and I really truly do, this is one particularly enjoyable spring day. I cleaned out my fridge, by god.

Oh, Journal. I abuse you so.

Things I'm working on now:

-A two-person one act play called Ghost Mom.

-A Gogol parody that's kind of funny, and is also about someone's mom. I got to refer to someone's "cooter." If I work in the word "boner" I'll be really happy.

-A screenplay rewrite called "Devils" that we're filming this summer.

-A new comic book idea. I don't know the title, but the main character is named Rufus and his arm is pulled off by a Europan octopus-like creature in the first three pages.

-Berto, always. The photo booth scene is one of my favorites so far.

What are you kids working on?

Go to the Casshern website and watch the trailer. I didn't understand a word, but it looks beautiful. If anyone knows what it is, give us a holla here at Rex Central.

The thing missing from sci-fi movies, the thing that's been bothering me the most in the back of my brain when I didn't even realize it, the thing I've been craning my neck to see in every episode of Star Trek, in every adaptation of Dune, in every repeated viewing of Starship Troopers, are brand names, everywhere, allwhere, upinya.

If you compare Now to Then, and compare Now to When, think about what there should be. I want to see corporate logo tattoos, babies named Tootsie Roll, and the Pepsi symbol (and yes children, I did say symbol; have enough faith that even my mistakes are choices that I, as The Writer, have made), I want to see the Pepsi symbol emblazoned on the moon. I want to see magnetic strips on the back of everything and I want to know what sweatshop produces the sleek two-color jumpsuits that we'll all be wearing in a few hundred years.

There's methane on Mars. That's pretty exciting. Compared to that, I don't really have any news to report.

Washington is one of the stations where folks set up and play music, asking for tips while people wait for the train. Two men were there, both singing, one of them playing keyboard. There was a simple drum beat playing, preprogrammed and soft. They were improvising, but they worked well together. "It's a brand new day," they sang, and, "Na-na-na, na-na-na, na-na-na na na-na-na."

I had a quarter in my pocket and I knew it; I had spent my last dollar earlier in the pop machine, and I always wait for the change. I didn't give them the quarter because it seemed too daunting, digging it from my pocket, pushing past people to reach them, dropping it in the styrofoam container attached to the keyboard. And I could see the train, and it was close. I felt better and worse and the same time as the train pulled close and they said, "Thank you folks for listening, and y'all have a safe trip."

On the train, Blind Man came through. I saw him on the red line once or twice a week, but I'd never given him any money. A man closer to him than me dug the change out of his pocket, counted it in his hand, and stepped forward to drop it in Blind Man's cup. "God bless you," Blind Man told him.

I got my quarter out and stood ready. As Blind Man passed I reached forward and dropped my quarter in his cup. Just as I dropped it Blind Man stopped to shake his cup. I don't think he heard my quarter hit because he didn't say, "God bless you." I hadn't been waiting to hear that, and I don't give out change to make myself feel good--or, I don't think I do--but I wonder if if still matters to him that I gave him a quarter if he didn't hear it drop.

The quarter might disappear if he doesn't hear it, or it might turn into wood. God might not bless me, and Blind Man might think resentfully of the people he passes who don't give.