How Did I End Up Here?

In a previous post, I wrote about falling asleep at 18 and waking up 36. It's weird how often I still dig into that past. Some people call that being haunted by it. I woke up this morning depressed that in my dream I ran into a college girlfriend. She was special to me. It represented a more idealistic time. We played house. She'd have dinner ready when I came home from work. Watch movies. Drink wine and talk about life and our future. I looked forward to everyday I spent with her. Woke up with so much warmth and love. I had HUGE plans then. California was in my path...the world was a positive place. I graduated in 2000 from undergraduate school. I'd applied to grad school in Los Angeles.

In my dream/nightmare, I ran into her again while going behind a supermarket dumpster area to pee (not sure what this was about). She was unloading boxes from a truck. She looked exactly like she did in school. Except more hardened...somehow. Life, I guess. She looked up and I couldn't believe it. She seemed angry. I explained that I didn't follow her, it was an amazing coincidence that we ran into each other again. She couldn't believe it. I came off as a stalker. But instead of getting weird, I made the best of it. I told her that I'd missed her. The friendship and dreams we'd had. In reality, she'd gotten married and has a kid now. I sensed she was still married in this dream. I gave her a hug. She was cold. She then hopped into a waiting limo, not once looking my direction and drove off. I kinda remember this exchange with her when she was a flight attendant and we met up in Columbus. It was heartbreaking.

I have NO idea about dream interpretation. I think a lot of us like to think it's your mind attempting to right the ship. I'm not sure, since this train of thought more or less derailed my Monday. What I do know is that sometimes in order to get peace enough to rest, I think about what the future is suppose to look like for me. I'm almost 40 now, and the future is in front of me. What are you suppose to dream of now?

I think of her every once in a while, and the overwhelming thing I think is...how did I end up here? My life was suppose to be a 50's show. I would be the dad who wore a suit to the office. Had a picket fence. Yard. 2 kids...etc...that's what I envision everyone who is married. But that all goes out the window once  you figure out that you aren't owed that. You have to earn it. And earning it is a ridiculous endeavor in Los Angeles. The city is harsh. Property is expensive. And this town is broke. It's crazy how much is within reach, but it might as well be on the moon. Thing about this town...if you don't find value to yourself, you will not get what you want. Too many people who undervalue themselves drive the workforce. Especially in entertainment. Fruits and nuts...with emotional problems.

I feel I need to value people more. I fell into it recently when, as more or less a consultant, I opened my big stupid mouth and said that half the people at my company can do the work. Basically shaving the value of everyone I'd said this in front of. How arrogant and stupid was that? In one fell comment, I parroted the very thought of the people above me who got rich off other people's demise. That's how my boss became who he was. He was able to streamline humanity into the desperate and the recently graduated. That was what was ruthless. And it pains me to believe that I'd been a part of that. That I could take a person's vocation and boil it down to a cog in the machine. And as with most cogs, the only value it has is that it can be replaced if broken. My boss is a very unhappy person. Haunted...I'm sure.

Nothing drives us more than needing to be needed. I think that's what my dream was about. My girlfriend needed me then. Felt great. That cold shoulder was the crushing thought. At work, I like having knowledge of certain aspects of the job others take for granted. Brag about it. Made people weary of my big stupid mouth. First impressions are hard to change. Bummer.

I'm not sure I feel at all needed anywhere anymore. It's weird to constantly belittle your value to a direction you're not clear on anymore. Like if I were to say that we were driving to Canada, at least someone would have a map. I certainly don't care about earning money like I use to. So what's the drive there?

Guys like me, we aren't suppose to whine about what we don't have. We just do. Gut check, move forth. A friend recently told me that I was an emotional person. I thought I came off as cold. She said that most people who try to be tough in their lives...have a lot of insecurities to hide. Or maybe my plans have changed dramatically. I think it'd be nice to look forward to something at the end of the day.

The Poor Dumb Bastard

I recently transferred my senior thesis film project from grad school to digital. I was ambitious then. Watching it again, I'm wondering...what the Hell happened to me?

I shot a 35mm short film on film. Look in your history books to remind yourself what film was. I also wanted to make as close to a Disney movie as I could. Since most of my previous movies were violent grotesque angry movies, typical of film school resources. Hey, it was either that or priest-molested-me-parents-don't-care drama. Take your pick.

To give you an idea of how big of a deal this had been, no other thesis project even considered this as an option. Why did I do it? I have no idea. All I know is the thrill I went through putting it all together. Getting a camera rental rate. Setting up film stock. Re-writing my story. Heck, even going over the details of every day meals. It was going to cost me $300/day. Which at the time didn't seem much. Looking back...what the hell was I thinking?

You can read a review of my student film here (I don't remember who sent the screener to this reviewer but I was touched by his assessment...although being a weird hothead at the time, I wanted to punch this dude in the throat for calling me "vague"...yeah...douchebag of me):
http://www.filmthreat.com/reviews/2305/

Anyway, I had an amazing time then. I had so many dreams to write and direct a feature film. I figure this was a step in the right direction. Sure there were people who told me I was foolhardy to blow all my money on a student film. But I had big dreams. I was one of those overzealous student that most teachers hated. In my mind, it was because I was so driven to go above and beyond expectations. I wanted to show those teachers I was different. A cut above the other losers who will fail. I had so many stories in my head. Vision is what some call it. Wanna hear a really humbling story?...

After film school, I went to work doing quality control work for a very large company. I eventually wanted to get a better position at another company we were associated with. But the only position open at the time was in the vault. Swallowing my pride, I transferred to the lowly job. One day as I was behind the counter, a production assistant was dropping off some film. I was checking it in. In the meantime, I was having a small chit-chat with her to pass the time. She said she was going to film school. I asked where. She was attending my film school. I brightened and started to talk about the program. She stopped me cold. "Wait...Tom...Tom Kuo?" My face soured. How did she know who I was? "They still talk about you in the graduate program...they project your thesis project to show what you're capable of doing in film school." My stomach went queasy. Here I was spoken about like some myth, but the reality is that I was checking film in some clerk job. With barcode scanner in hand, I went silent. The awkward moment could kill a rabbi. I remember when I first arrived to film school. They showed us films of past students. They were brilliant. Inspiring. They were successful. This production assistant left. I'm not sure this is the future she'd envision for herself. Cautionary tale perhaps. The reality slapping us both in the face. I hope she went forth and spread the news. Because I'm more than willing to spread it here.

What really is getting me, is that I've recently turned my back against the craft that had driven my life for over 25 years. Movies were my life. I ate, breathed and slept movies. I constantly kept journals of my ideas. I would have scraps of story ideas sitting around my home. I would write wherever I had time and space. I was so driven. I spent hours and hours in front of the computer pounding out pages of script pages. I had stories to tell. And NONE of it had form. But in my mind, it was such a cheap form of escape. I didn't have a job, so I'd write for hours and then go to the gym and then come home and write until I fell asleep. Ideas flowed. I'd get random sparks of inspiration. And I'd write it down. Somewhere along the way...I just stopped. I don't know when...it just happened. None of it interested me anymore. Maybe because I was so sick of hearing my stories that didn't have any interest to anyone but me. Dreams DO NOT make good story ideas. People resent you for wasting their time by telling them a dream you've had. Most pray for your death.

So, I've been sorta' cynical to the people who share with me their aspirations in this industry. I never thought I'd get to this point, but I just shut COMPLETELY down whenever someone tells me about their plans for the entertainment industry. I DON'T care who you had lunch with. How you pitched your script. What your script is about. A story idea you got while taking a dump. And especially your hopes and dreams about breaking into Hollywood. Dream and hope all you want. But don't think any of it equates to any form of logic. Because as hard as you work, nothing is going to propel you as much as being in the right place at the right time.

My friend Mark, has been working in the industry for years. He is famous in his field. You've seen him in movies. You've seen his friends in movies. Some with international stars. Mark is the type of person who when he says he's broke, it means he had to sell one of his five houses across America to buy a sports car he's been eyeing. To the rest of us mortals, poor means we didn't pay the electric bill and now burning community newspapers in a metal wastebasket to roast hot dogs. I bring Mark up because he really gave me an opportunity to see what it is to be connected yet so far from what you see on Entertainment Tonight.

The nuts and bolts of filmmaking...No one cares about. It's the worst feeling in the world to show up on an empty soundstage armed with plans and just absolutely lost when one thing goes wrong. You wanna know how to burn fat? Make movies. You will be too poor, tired and sick to eat. You hate humanity and  you wish horrible things on people. Afterwards...the finishing part...mixing music, sound effects, special effects, story editing, color timing...you just want to jump off a damn bridge. None of this is remotely glamorous. If you think so, more power to you. AND...it will never be a moment where you could remotely explain to someone who has never gone through it, the miserable crap you go through to make a movie. So you get to live through this misery alone while people tell you how wonderful it is to work in the movie business.

Then...strangely enough, after giving live birth and, in essence, crapping out your vision...and you get the movie on screens. And they see your work. And you're criticized or praised, you say to yourself..."Man, that was fun...I really want to do that again". Like some drooling idiot, clearly with mental issues. And you know something else?...You actually mean it.

Craig's List And Equipment

shopping on Craig's List Face

Been shopping online lately for a home gym. Perhaps I'd get to a point where I just ditch the gym membership. I know...I know...I only pay $14.60/month. But that's $175.20 a year. Yes, I used a stinking calculator to get that sum. My mom could do this multiplication in her head. I'm not joking. She's like an abacus. When I was a kid, I use to get drilled with simple math. She'd get real clever. She'd put it in real world situations.

Mom: Let's say you're going to buy those stupid Garbage Pail Kids you like so much. Each pack costs 50 cents. Tax is 5% in Ohio. You give the clerk $3.00 how much change do you get back?

Me: (hem-haw for the next five minutes-Mom tapping her finger on table, waiting impatiently) Um...the history of Garbage Pail Kids is an interesting one...

Mom would just shake her head in disbelief. How can an Asian child be so clueless to math. To put it in real world situations is the so practical too But I don't have that mind like her. My mind remembers numbers in sequences, years, dates and names. Some of my friends are mesmerized by how I can remember barcodes sometimes. I'm not sure where that comes from since I can't remember a word after I look at it a few times. I can remember a sequence of shots on a camera report we shot on a specific day. It's like I'm Rain Man. Except in Vegas, I'd think I lost all my money That reminds me, one time I was playing poker with some college buddies. I kept winning and didn't even know it. The other people had to tell me. I don't know what cards do what. Whatever. The game sucks anyway.

When I was a kid, I use to read my parents' English language books. It was fascinating. The books were grossly outdated, since I can't remember the last time I saw an Automat. Or Dad sitting at home smoking a pipe in slippers while the mom was baking a roast in a new invention called an convection oven. My reality was my Dad working until late into the night while I ate leftovers from whatever was in the fridge. I developed a high school drinking habit on his Michelob. Not even sure they even make that beer anymore. Maybe for my headache I can take Anacin.

Shopping for weight equipment on Craig's List, I think, is so ingenious I'm surprised I didn't think of it sooner. Here we have a group of people who are so angry and frustrated with their fitness equipment I wouldn't be surprised if you could get them to pay you to take it. You know what I see more than anything? (surprised answer)

Bowflex machines. If you've ever seen these things...it's like...medieval:

The Fitness Inquisition

I think the people buy these contraptions out of utter confusion. I mean, what do you exactly do here...you sit in that chair and...maybe order it to burn your fat. Those cables look vicious. Resistance without weights, I reckon. But isn't that what resistance bands do...for maybe a tenth of the price?

I wonder if it wasn't like a wedding gift. Like the "in" thing for that season of nuptials was a Bowflex machine. Anyone who puts it in their registry deserves a crappy honeymoon. Yeah, I said it. Requesting this as a gift is like giving your wife cookware for your anniversary. Actually, I'd like to get a good non-stick pan.

I digress, people buy all this hardware and just never get around to using it. Now...maybe I have committed a portion of my life to feeling more fit, but...fitness gear is expensive. I have no idea why other than I compare it to film/photography gear. They expect the gear is suppose to make money. Like a kettlebell would be for your cross fit gym. It pays for itself. I notice on CL they do have a lot of gyms that seem to have closed doors and you're getting a fire sale. BONUS! I mean, I hate to sound like a vulture but that's good pickin'.

Thing about dumbbells and weights...these things are never going to be destroyed. They do seem to follow people from place to place. Sometimes it gets passed down from generation to generation. So the price no longer seems like a factor. A weight bench, if treated right seems to have its place in most guy's garage. That's another thing. I get the feeling most guys have a gym dream similar to a bar dream. I've always wanted to own a bar. Just a place to hang out and drink and play pinball. And watch sports and do karaoke. I think most guys have this vision of a home gym too. They want that special place in their home to take out frustrations. Meanwhile get ripped. Never happens. Two reasons:

A) it's too convenient. That home gym gear will be there. So you walk past it every day as it mocks you. Until you finally cover it with an afghan your granny knitted. Now it's art. Look. exercise can be done anywhere. Hell, if you ride the bus or subway you can do pull ups on the bars. Try it and tell me how much cardio you get done running from the fuzz.

B) It becomes clutter. You know what makes a great place to put your baseball trophies? Something flat and sturdy. Like a bench perhaps? You can't believe how many garages I visit that people have to move storage boxes off the workout bench. Never occurred to them that maybe a table would've been cheaper.

This is such a great opportunity if you haven't investigated yet. HOWEVER, I warn you...if you buy it...use it. Actually, when you purchase this used gym equipment, look in your rearview mirror and check out the people you just bought this from...they cheering? Hi-fiving each other? Laughing and pointing at your car pulling away? Know why?...you just inherited their headaches. So prove them wrong and get fit with the gear they never could. Because you just gave it a good home. Get the last laugh.

The Very Awkward Gym Encounter

Ran into a co-worker at the gym today. I recently transferred to a new business within our company. So that means I transferred gyms as well. This one was on my way.

I met Bruce on the first day and thought he just had brain damage. Didn't know it then, but know it now, I was there to make assessments. I've been told he is pretty much OCD. He washes his face in a certain pattern in the bathroom every morning at the same time, using the same exact three handfuls of water. Life does not start without this ritual.

These days, I don't really buy into certain behavior patterns. Having broken a huge one myself, I know that if you consciously re-wire your brain into believing your actions can change, you can change it. Which is why it is extremely frustrating to watch as someone falls into a never ending pattern. It's especially rough when you know in your mind they don't mean it, but you just feel they may be just messing with you, because NO ONE can be this malfunctioned. But the brain is so intricate. The slightest shift in brain placement and you can either be Einstein or some drooling mental patient.

Bruce has a strange background. He went into one of the most illustrious film schools in the country. He graduated with a LOT of future famous filmmakers. He mentions them non-chalantly, but never holds any resentment. I get the feeling he may know they are famous but not know one of their movies. He counts himself as a film historian. Which is as useful as deck chairs on the Titanic. He sometimes refuses to believe the trivia is spouting is sometimes inaccurate and will start to pout like a child when you up the ante on the behind the scenes history that even he didn't know about. But he would get real insignificant facts. Like how an army of extras threatened to strike on "The Ten Commandments" because they were working long hours without a second meal. Think you'll see that news on "Entertainment Tonight" anytime soon?

I think something in his life held him back. I think I know what it was. He can't let certain thought patterns leave his brain.  For a filmmaker, that is devastating. Movies move forward, not in circles. You can't expect to spin your wheels on a focused thought and have audiences line up down the block. I mean, "Rain Man" did it for comedic effect (and yes...I consider "Rain Man" a comedy. I thought it was funnier than "The Hangover".)

One of his train of thoughts: he would ask me if I would be in charge of the music in the room. I've told him multiple times that I would not know where to begin. Which is where he would press "Who's in charge of the music?...you in charge of the music? Someone's got to be in charge." I make the huge mistake of actually answering him. "No Bruce, I'm not in charge" "How about you be in charge?" "What's music?" and so forth. Others watch in disbelief as I would lob this back to this walking mouth fart machine. His brain is just not wired properly.  But, much like Tom Cruise in "Rain Man" I get frustrated and repeat what he says to his brother "I know you can hear me...I know somewhere in there you can hear me that you can understand what I'm saying!" I want to shake him to death. At least I won't hear the same stupid comment stuck on repeat. Five minutes to Wapner.

So now that you have a bit of a background, I run into him at the gym. I didn't recognize him at first because he's in a tank top. He's hairy in that car salesman type if way. Wispy shoulder hair is one of the most awkward type of hair on this planet. How does it happen? I want to believe that hormonally our brains would shut this down knowing that we're now in blazing hot southern California sun. All it does it fades the dark hair.

I'm greeted with "Who's in charge of the music?" I glare at him. Don't start this garbage in public. If I'm on the clock feel free to babble Bazooka Joe jokes for all I care. This is my time. In my stupid brain I think that this must be a work thing and when he clocks in he would leave his affliction at work. I'm a dummy. Anyway, watching him workout is like watching an old-timey gym rat go at weights. Excruciating to watch. And silly. He huffs and puffs the largest weights he can handle. Shortens his sets to 3-5 reps. Poor form. Poor lifting habits. Poor dumb bastard. He is hurting himself. He hunches as if the years of poor lifting impacted his spine. He complains to me about the pain in his lower back. And it takes a lot of willpower not to pinpoint the source of his misery. Which is his ineffective, yet unwillingness to listen to advice nor implement new skills. It's a broken record. I want to help him. He isn't loss at the working out part...he just seems outdated. Physical fitness developments for him stopped in 1979.

Maybe about the time everyone slipped and dropped watch on who was in charge of the music and thus we got disco.

Fight Club - The First Rule Is...

my first real haircut in years- I loss weight, see!

I'm not going to definitively tell you what it would take for you to build muscle because so many people are going to react differently. However, I am going to tell you that if you do any level of cardio, you'll be burning that fat, but also muscle. I reached my goal of 150 lbs. Probably should lose more, but I feel pretty solid. When I stopped with the drinking, it just sorta' made my gut less queasy. Now if I can shake my chili cheese Fritos habit, I'm going to be in business. Kinda brings me up to my next goal...


...I remember watching that movie "Fight Club" when I first came to Los Angeles in 1999. It was a defining movie for me because the movie takes place in L.A. but doesn't necessarily say it. It actually is suppose to be Delaware. That's where all the credit card companies were, so what better way to destroy American infrastructure than at its debt. We're all back to square one. Many people in my generation salivated at that thought. But they also stayed away from this movie in droves because...well...that was also a generation that saw the irony of paying to see a Hollywood actor play poor but in reality was richer than Jesus. If Jesus would've pulled his resources. Blessed are the poor or something like that.


For me, I was just enthralled with director David Fincher's style. The guy is a graphic designer. His movies are so precise. You can't imagine his films shot any other way. A meticulous mind with a chaotic movie. Saw his name as a matte painter in the credits for "Indiana Jones and The Last Crusade" so you know he learned from the school of hard knocks. Another thing was Brad Pitt. Now, I wasn't all that into physical fitness at the time. I had my routine. I was trying to get stacked. But a lot was made of his physique. A lot of fitness folk call this shrink wrap muscle. The type that just slinks around the hardened solid muscle. You see bodybuilders have a gut and they all look kinda spongy. Not Pitt. He was ripped. Me? I was there as a senior in high school. Simple solution for me was that I didn't eat much and I did sit-ups until I was sick and pushups until my sit-up sickness went away.


I stacked on muscle weight. Mostly fat buffet eating girth. To me weight was weight. But that's so really not true. And the Ludus training taught me endurance, stamina, determination and some hate...you can watch a teaser of the torture we go thru here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jO3ofto2yPI


Well, now it's been years since I saw that movie. And my new goal is to get to Tyler Durden. One thing that I have to come to grips with is that Brad Pitt has an entourage and personal chef who makes this much more accessible.  I'm not six feet tall. So, if I get shredded, I will have to prepare myself to look scrawny again. Because, the type of muscle Pitt had was mostly cosmetic. He was built to fight raw. To give that illusion that he fought in some underground den while living off a can of pork and beans a day. I searched and came across his workout too.


Basically, HIGH reps ending with shorter reps but with heavier weights. For instance...3 sets of pushups - 75 reps each with 60 second rest period in between. This will make you ill. Then you do 3 sets of benching. Each one growing larger in weight but less in reps. So your first set is a lighter weight...but you do it 25 reps. The 2nd set you do roughly 20 lbs. heavier but 15 reps and the last is your max done with only 8 reps. He targets only one body area a day. Two days of cardio.


Now, for a lot of bodybuilders this is clearly against everything they believe. And I tend to agree. This isn't more about muscle building as muscle showing. Shred all that fat to show your muscles. That's the new goal.

The Beautiful People Grocery Store

You think it doesn't exist. But I found it out here in Los Angeles. It's not like it was a big secret. It's just that I remember when my Mom came out to visit one time we went there and she said I shouldn't go back since the prices were outrageous. She gauges everything by their fruit prices. So as far as I know, everything else in this store may have been a third of the price, but you may have to put a papaya on layaway (only poor people know what this means).

I'm talking about Whole Foods.

Twenty minutes earlier...
...I texted a friend to ask her what would be a good application for my face since I had scars on my cheeks. She suggested I get calendula. Didn't know it was a root from a plant. If it would make these pits disappear it could be nut sweat from a yak. She suggested Whole Foods. The mythical over-priced natural foods boogety-woogety yuppie fruitstand market once mentioned by my dear Ma-ma.

So I leave my place in run into my neighbor John. John is a good cat. A little on the bizarre conspiracy side. And I like to mess with him by being a smart aleck to his theories. My tactic is to play along with his ideas but throw in a stupid statement to illustrate his wild ideas. John: "Dude...there has never been a man on the moon" Me: "Then how did they get the cheese back?"

That would irritate the crap out of me, so I thought it'd be fun to unleash on someone else. As I was passing by I asked if he needed anything from the store. I was going to venture out to Whole Foods. He told me that I should dress up since every time he visits, he always runs into hotties. Alright...first it's 9PM on a Monday. Labor Day, no less. I glibly reply "I am dressed up, I got pants on, don't I?" He shrugged. My funeral.

I drive a few blocks down the road (instead of walk, since this is L.A. might as well go all out douche). And arrive in the parking lot. So far so good. Cantaloupe sitting outside the market fairly priced. It starts to dawn on me that my shorts don't necessarily cover it at this store. Nope. The thing is, there are plenty of people with shorts on. However, none don't carry a week of chili-cheese fries stain and Weinersnitzel mustard. Classy pressed, dry cleaned people walked around. This is 9PM mind you and people are on their patio reading. Honest to good books! I try not to read after the sun sets. I value autumn and winter so much for this reason. Short terms of sunlight. I am in some sort of yuppie mecca. Hostile territory.

As I enter, the smell of food rushes to my brain. Cooking food doesn't smell this fragrant at 9PM. I can feel this has been coordinated properly to ensure saturation of the Whole Foods vibe. Now I came for scar gel, I was staying for exploration.

You ever go into a different city and see products that kinda' resemble something you knew from a poorer neighborhood? Like you see a box of Twinkies, but at this store they have Egg Creme Sponge Cake? Yeah, the price reflects that. My barometer of a store is two things. One...their sunflower seeds. They sold seeds for 50 cents higher than the larger market. Strike one. The second thing is shrimp. We live next to the friggin ocean. Why charge $16.99 a pound?...it 'aint Prada prawns. Then I look around a see why...

..The beautiful people. So many and in every aisle and every crevice of the store. I was dumbstruck by the well groomed, perfect teeth and hygenic quality everyone had. My cheap Speed Stick and worn out shoes must've made 'em think I was homeless. Yeah, where ya' bleeding hearts now? Even the people working there looked like they stepped off a designer magazine. The checkout kids looked well-coiffed. Pleasant and the perfect mix of helpful but not overbearing. Trained like that, I bet.

Now I feel I'm getting punked. There was a female bodybuilder roaming up and down the rows like if she didn't find what she was after, she was going to hulk out on everyone. But, she was stunning even in her impatience. And...strangely enough, she as also pleasant excusing herself as she passed in front of me. I was in front of the ointments and gel. I guess she may have thought my issue was more pressing than her. Anti-itching butt cream was within reach, who is she to deny me access?

Anyways, this store pisses me off. Mostly because I couldn't decide whether or not the place came with beautiful people or that they became beautiful after they started shopping there. Or may maybe I was set up by the friend I texted. Or maybe my Mom was steering me clear of lifelong disappointment. Just so many questions.

I found my gel. I asked a guy who had to be named Sven or Thor where this calendula was. He knew immediately. Like maybe he was waiting for me to ask him where the ugly gel was. Didn't realize it was common knowledge. I could barely pronounce the name.

I took my gel, facial scars on my mind and hightailed it out of there, hoping no one calls the Plain Police. Yeah...at the Beautiful People grocery store, they 'aint plain clothes fuzz.