You Are Not As Good as People Say You Are, You are Not As Bad As You Think

I got into a fascinating conversation yesterday with an actor friend. She's not been in the business long, but she does a LOT of odds and ends jobs just to keep doing what she wants to do. She got to telling me about how sometimes she gets resentful of the people who've succeeded where she has stalled. Not only those things, but she focuses on failures rather than her accomplishments. And this due to seeing online, people bragging about their successes. That's a rough thing to deal with.

And I totally get this. Not to be a one-upper, but a similar thing has happened to me.

A few years back I noticed and assistant cameraman who worked with me years ago, who I use to abuse mercilessly, become a cinematographer in his own right. His reel was pretty solid. In fact, a former director I use to work with tapped him to do his projects. Now there are a gazillion reasons that I could make up to tell you why this was, none really eased the shot to the ego. I feel this is the thing that most people don't really say aloud. That when someone you know succeeds, it takes a little away from yourself. This is the sickness of art...sometimes.

I found this to be aggravating, because I've also been on the flip side of this. Had a friend in film school, whom we rarely talk film anymore. Mostly because he's completely out of it. He's heard what I've done, and constantly integrates his opinion, even though he's not stepped one foot on a professional set. This is his way of reminding me, that he's got the film knowledge, whilst I hustle (marginally) in the industry. Here's the kicker. I've no idea he carries this resentment. It didn't even dawn on me (as he is my friend) that he would hold this much resentment for people giving me opportunities where he's given up. Yes, it's not fair. No, I probably don't deserve most of it. But most people don't see the sacrifice involved. It's a sickening envy that goes unspoken until the breaking point.

Now a lot of this comes out in other ways too. For instance, I shot with a model recently who hasn't posted a single thing me or my friend shot. Nothing. She chalks it up to her own expression or that she's "picky." I get it, she doesn't like her face in certain poses. It's a specific pose she's looking for. And, to me, it's GAWD AWFUL. She recently shot with another photographer. Saw his portfolio. Mediocre is being kind. Anyway...

...she basically wants the worst over-processed garbage look that Instagram offers. It's horrid. Bad bad bad color. Poor digital quality. Etc. Now a lot of people would say "well, that look is subjective." Not really. It's common sense. So, the piss poor quality of amateur work far exceeds the poor quality of semi-amateur look. BUT, the "client" is always right, right? Blargh.

Griping aside, I feel this may've something to do with how much I hate the "new" look. People are now  being trained to look at crap. They're proud of it. However, if the majority falls in line, what does that make me? A total fuckface.

So, my resentment towards this other photographer, who probably pats himself on the back for something I perceive as garbage, is really my ego getting in the way of reality.

Anyway, my point being, if/when you put your "art" out there. Whatever you get back, take with a grain of salt. You aren't as bad as you think you are. But also keep in mind, you aren't as great at you think you are either. Just know that you're at least out there doing it. And you should be proud of that.

Changing The Name Of The Washington "Redskins"

We are in a very bizarre world these days.

The government recently took back its trademark patent to the NFL team that uses the term "Redskins" as a mascot. To put into perspective, I suppose if the 49ers started out as "Cooley Miners" the Chinese would be greatly offended. BUT...and huge but here...it wasn't an issue when they first incorporated the name. This is 1937 BTW.

Now, it's obvious that the name is insensitive to the Native Americans. However, I would contend that it's lost a LOT of its power over the years. In fact, some would contend that the Irish have usurped this moniker for their own. Thus, I think we stop focusing on that logo.

Personally, I think it's silly for the government to get involved with private corporations when it comes to stupid things like names. IF for instance, some moron wants to name his company "Hitler's Bicycle Shop." Hey, it's his business to lose. In this case, I find it over reaching, and we do seem to have other things to deal with now. Homeless, mental health, guns to name just a few.

I grew up watching the Redskins in the late 70's. Loved that team. Never for once ever even consider it offensive. In fact, I thought their helmets were the coolest. It would be a shame if it gets revoked for the future. I think the over-sensitivity has to stop, or we're going to lose other traditions.

Hollywood Can Be Nice. Sort Of.

For my thesis film, I wrote/directed a story about an eccentric elderly gentlemen who gets visited by a young boy who turns out to be his grandson looking for answers before he's whisked away to an orphanage. I was a total ballsy dude then.

I put out a ad in Backstage West looking for this guy. In Hollywood, once you are a man of a certain age, you tend to be typecasted in the worst ways (I sometimes think worst than women). I got a few submissions. Including one from Conrad Bain. Who, if you knew your 80's t.v. trivia, he was the father in "Dif'rent Strokes." I found it odd, since it was a story about an orphan, that his agency or he would submit. This tells you how bad the pool was for men of this age group. Looking back now, and more in tuned with the mentality of those rejected, he must've been scratching his head as to why I never called him. He was perfect for the role. Sometimes we get too much into our own shit.

I also got some Academy Award nominated guy too. I don't want to mention here, but he was incredibly kind to my project. Was very supportive. At the time, I thought he was too young.

So, being a ballsy college student with a meager $10,000 and going to shoot on film. I set out for who I had in mind when I wrote the part. Ian McKellen. I'll be perfectly honest with you, I hadn't seen a damn thing he'd been in. He just looked right. I wrote him a long letter (by hand) found his agency and sent him both the letter AND the script.

Man, what a nutjob I was back then. The following week, I got an amazing email from him indicating that he would've done the role, but was tied up in New Zealand doing one of the "Lord Of The Rings" movie. That blew my mind. I'm sure it was a publicist who wrote it, or an assistant. Maybe the guy didn't even read it ("I'm sure you'll find someone as great for the roll as your writing"). But did that boost my confidence. I was amazed how being kind to people makes this business not so bad.

One other rejection I got, when I submitted my directing reel to Ridley Scott & Associates. Was from his head guy, Jules Daly. He kindly told me they already had someone within my genre and that they couldn't rep me. I knew this was definitely bullshit. My reel sucked. Looking back at it. But they don't want to burn a bridge. And neither did I.

Going back to my senior thesis. Dunno if I ever mentioned it. But as I was casting the social worker, I had a choice between a very attractive typical sweet girl next door type. Traditionally beautiful. Or a gawky tall gangly weird looking chick. My directing teacher said (in his thick Slavic accent "Thom, cast the veer-do." I made the mistake of waving him off. "Dude, I'm 25 years old, I know everything, I'm going for the pretty girl, as God and my movie intended." He argued me. Telling me in a short film, you want someone who has character in her face. I wouldn't have time to set up her backstory. I was SO close to casting the weird looking one. I lost sleep over it. She was perfect in a different way. However, my sensibilities were messed at the time. So I went with the prettier girl.

You know something. He was right. I was wrong. The girl I didn't cast went on to be in "Spider-Man 2," "American Horror Story," and a list of others too painful to mention.

Years later, I ran into her at another shoot, where I was just a cameraman/assistant camera. She was a featured actor in it. She didn't remember me. But I decided to tell her anyway. I told her who I was. I told her how conflicted I was about that decision. And that I thought she was gonna be great. That she is an amazing actress. And, strangely enough, apologized for NOT casting her. I'm really not sure how actors takes this. I get the feeling they don't want to hear excuses. That was just one more lost opportunity and the fact that I didn't cast her was all that mattered. She stared at me blankly said a quiet "thanks" almost under her breath, and went back to set.

So be nice if you can.

Lady By The Pool

Lately I've taken to write my screenplays by the pool. Since I've been going into work real early, I've been able to have afternoons to dick around.

It's a secluded spot I usually go to hide out. It's great since it's behind a gate down a path and away from the street. Most crackheads of Van Nuys will never see it. I set myself up on one of the tables. Laptop, script pages, and a smoking pipe to finish the total pretentious image. I'll oftentimes listen to music. Air is a great band to listen to while writing because it's ethereal and the words are so innocuously stupid. You ignore it as background noise.

Anyways, I'm usually expecting the place to be empty. It's so off the beaten path, you wouldn't know it existed UNLESS you lived there. I saw at the edge of the pool, some swimming gear. Fins, snorkel, etc...Very strange. I ignore it, go to my table and get ready. I start to re-write an old script.

From the corner of my eye I spot a woman coming by. Now, this is no new thing. My place is full of women. Angry, angry cat women. I instinctively scrunch lower into my chair, hoping my 15" monitor would hide my 30" head. Well, wouldn't you know it.
Her: "Hey, you writing?"
Me (thinking "no bitch, I'm watching porn"): Yes. Yes I am.
Her: "You a screenwriter?"
Me: "Nah. I'm just re-writing an old project I had from my school days. Ya know, keepin' the brain busy."

This is when she perks: "Oh really...my friends and I are about to write a thing about yoga. He's a trainer in Hawaii, and I have another friend in Dallas that's about to come out and we're going to put something together. I've been told to do one minute Youtube clips"

"Oh," I feign interest "that's a great idea. Get some internet exposure. My real job is in post-production." ('Cause yoga comedies are the rage).

She brightens: "No WAY! Cool. I've been asking around about post."
I cringe. NO ONE asks about post.
she rambles "oh yeah, like working on iMovie"
I take a puff from my pipe: "I tend to work with Final Cut."
Her: "Oh yeah, I heard of that. It's a really hard program."
Me: "if you know iMovie, it'll be the same concept."
"Anyway," she continues "my friends are really funny. The one guy in Dallas, if you saw him, he's not much to look at, but once you put him in front of a camera, something about him, just lights up."
"well..." I'm thinking to myself, why the fuck am I engaging this one "I started out as a cinematographer. Usually people with big features translates well."
Why didn't I just shoot myself in the fucking face?
She followed it up with "Oh really?! Wow, I've got to talk to you about cinematography."
Bitch, my brain works in one cycle. It should dawn on you that I'm a jack of all trades and if I'm sitting in some remote poolside in Van Nuys, I'm obvious not the best at any of it. Probably get better advice talking to a taco vendor down the street.

So, the rest gets weird. She basically invited me to "look at the layout of her apartment." Which, I kept informing her, I've seen when I was shopping and it was vacant. It was within view of the pool. Eech. Needless to say, she was at an age where pornos in the valley started with meeting someone poolside and ended with a fuckfest. I'm not saying I am the vision of Letters to Penthouse embodied. It's just, we're surrounded by miserable cat ladies. The half-retarded leaf blower guy who speaks two words of English and looks like a midget version of Sloth could've pulled this tail.

Me?...I just wanna write. At that moment, writing seemed A LOT more enticing than the swamp witch. In fact, I just went to the lounger and took a nap. I think she got the hint. She disappeared. Annette from Seattle.

Step Back From Social Media

I was listening to a podcast recently that had an "A" list celebrity talk about social media. It seems too many people rely on it to get validation about their own existence. And while this may be in our nature to tap into the narcissistic core want, this is so far from our needs. And it becomes, somewhat of a mania.

The solution, said celebrity, is just to do something for yourself. Live a moment without having to capture it on your phone or camera. Enjoy, absorb and just let the moment breathe in your experience vault. Forget that in the back of your mind, to post and get responses isn't the final goal. It's to do something that you are enriched more for doing it.

I find this a very very cool idea. I'd not been on Facebook since its massive inception. In fact I use to call it "Fuckfacebook" as that's where people become fuckfaces. But here I was at the age of 36-37 posting the dumbest shit I could. I'm ashamed now to say, that initially it was to find out more about the life of my ex. Yeah, take a moment to realize how pathetic that sounds. It was to compare my life with hers. How sad.

Then as I investigated more and listened to more people, it turns out, MANY people do this. They call them creepers. A very strange phenomenon of spying on people and getting what they REALLY think of you.

I don't think this is healthy. Deep down inside, we understand that we are selfish fuckfaces. We only care for ourselves. The very thought that people would consider you in their lives, is...essentially laughable. We can barely keep our present relationships alive. And thus, we gear ourselves into this spiral of getting approval from...COMPLETE strangers. This is actually kinda' sick thinking. The fact that I write this blog is sick in its nature. To me, though, it's to purge a lot of ideas I've had, in hopes that someone out there may take a life lesson. I'm not an expert. Surely not a motivational speaker, but we all have a pain sometimes, and if I can write about it, maybe you won't feel as alone as I use to.

I think that's why I take trips out of Los Angeles proper. I think getting out of town replenishes my identity without thinking I'm judged in any way. This town will do that to you. It forces some of the bad qualities of yourself to the front. Being away, alone in the car, sometimes writing in a cemetery alleviates "doing something for the approval of others." In fact, I've discovered getting out on your own, becoming a stranger in a strange town, you tend to judge yourself less harshly. A strange thing.

Incidentally, the celebrity was Cameron Diaz. Had I told you who it was from the beginning would you have taken it seriously? Think about it.

Weight Management Secret - DO NOT TRY (or do and report back)

Okay...something strange is happening.
Lately my schedule has been in flux. Sometimes I reach the office at 12AM other times 5AM, so around this time, I'm too tired to eat. Or if I do, it's usually the worst pile of garbage that is open this late in Hollywood. That would be fast food. That would be Tommy Burger.

Now for those who aren't in Los Angeles, Tommy Burger is a chili slop burger that should only be consumed after a heavy night of drinking or on a crack binge, where you don't even care what the fuck you're eating anyway. Well, they're open. So here I am.

I usually get their chili dog, which consists of hot dog, chili, a slice of tomato pickles, and I get fries with that. During the day, I'll whatever is on hand. A bunch of pretzels, peanuts, watermelon. And I've taken to bringing my mini-blender to work. I put spinach, kale, protein powder, orange juice, watermelon, cucumber, blueberries whatever seems like it should blend. I drink this throughout the day. Then on my way home, I'm too mentally tired to go to the gym. And I get these really terrible anxiety headaches, because my body is weening off booze.

I stop off at whatever deep fried establishment fits the cheap bill. In this case, it'd be Popeye's fried chicken. Man...I can't get enough of Popeye's. I usually scarf down their three piece. With biscuit and fries. Then while I'm home, I throw on a movie. Or a "48 Hours Mystery", like some old fucker, and eat Chee-tos or chips until I can't stomach it anymore, or I pass out.

The other day, after beating myself up with this new "diet", I stepped on a scale expecting the worst. I had to rub my eyes. A week ago I'd weighed 155 lbs. I am now at 146. I thought it was broken. So I went to a different gym and weighed in again. Sure enough. I'd dropped 9 lbs. Now a lot of you asshats will probably say "duh, dummy...you gave up booze. That's sugar." Yeah, you're right, but I substituted with other sugars. Probably far worse sugars. Some may chime in with "oh, but fat weighs less than muscle." Okay, how do you explain that I can see my abs again?

Something is odd. I can only surmise that, it goes back to my original theory. Whatever you were pre-disposed to being...that's what you are. If you're thick. Be thick. If you're wire-y and skinny, be that. Exercise and diet is just to maintain. Enjoy your fucking life, is what I'm saying. Doctors are full of it. I'm convinced a lot of times they say that shit the same way we say "don't want lung cancer, don't smoke." The "Duh" factor. It's all a simple answer to get you to live the most obvious life. Sans fun. Fuck that. My doctor is a total moron. I'm pretty sure, as he was doing my physical, the fucker was reading a quiz off WebMD. Guy's a moron with a pen who can prescribe things. Doctors, for the most part, and now with the internet, know about the same as you. OBVIOUSLY, they have training but they don't know what you do or don't tell them. They rely on that. Or machines. Pay me six figures a year and I can recommend that if you have headaches, go get an MRI. Did that take a fucking degree? Nope. Anyway...go with your gut always. Forget the so-called "professionals."

This has been eye opening for me.

Get Back To Writing

I've been writing a shit ton lately.
I'm already powering through my second script. Scratching new ideas for another one. In fact, I started three others, which I'm going to let percolate for a bit.

I know they suck massive balls now, but it's just the process of writing that I'm enjoying. I'm writing everywhere. Parks, backyard by swimming pool, library, even taken to writing at a cemetary. Yes. The Valhalla in Burbank is an amazing place to kick back and write. I have NO idea why it inspires me to write so much when I go there. But it is a nice quiet place, where I can write, take a nap, read and write some more. I think because it has a reverence to it. They say when you pick a spot to write, you should be surrounded with the ability to focus. I think when I attempt to write at home, there is too much a temptation to flip on the television. I actually prefer also taking a road trip to a nearby town to write. So far, it's been Newhall. That place is such a nice quiet sleepy town to get things done. I can also smoke my pipe and be totally pretentious. A very nice balance and training exercise for my brain (which has been a total fog since I gave up alcohol).

Lately also, I've been thinking...the process of writing. People think it's hard. It is. I mean, to be really good at it. Or to know what's good. Or to get paid. I understand. But, the alternative is doing a menial job, getting berated, yelled at or generally ignored for what you do. Your contribution means so little to your company, and you do just enough to get by. Now, if you compare that with writing, I wonder how people can see it more difficult. So very strange. I think in this case, writing is far easier than say...a doctor or lawyer. You really don't have anyone to answer to, but yourself. People say they're too lazy to write. That one cracks me up. How much more lazy can you be than to sit in front of a screen vomiting words?

Father's Day

Dad's have it pretty bad. Time was they earned all the money, mom got all the credit. So I've taken to a new tradition of calling up my own pop and telling him "Happy Mother's Day!"

He accepted it gladly and informed me about how happy he was for the free buffet he was getting. The senior special.  My Mom chimed in on the phone call and told me that he was planning on weeding later on. Then going over to my sister's place to work on some home improvement project. No rest for the wicked, or Fathers, I guess.

My pop is a phenomenal dude. I know everyone thinks their Dad is. And I hope you believe that. But my Dad came over from a different country. He had 12 bucks in his pocket, so he tells me. My Mom dragged us three kids on a plane to America. Back then it was really easy to take advantage of immigrants. My Mom told me that someone stole her carry-on, which contained my diapers. I'm sure it was probably a legitimate mistake. But still...

Anyway, Pop came to America in the late 70's. He started working in a kitchen. I recall seeing him in some wind tunnel tube, with a wood burning grill in the middle and the patrons would sit around watching him cook. This was part of the 70's style over substance show and dinner type era. I thought it was cool. Looking back, really cheeseball. But I was proud of the guy. He later opened his own restaurant. At a time when eateries were closing at a terrible rate, he beat the odds in the 80's. Raised three kids and a wife. Bought a house. That's the American Dream.

I look at other Dad's in America. The ones that turned to substance abuses, abusing spouse or kids. Neglect. I say...I am fortunate.

The Mind Of Artists

I didn't get it before.

Use to be, I'd do my thing Put it out there. And let it go.

I realized something, why a lot of artists go batshit nuts. It's because the people we actually do art for, aren't the people who have full comprehension of what it takes. And I get it, when in the film industry you're paid a king's ransom to dance like a jester. But when you throw some personal thing out there, there's very little that will get you to come off that cliff as a dickhead who can say a lot and do a bunch of nothing.

A LOT of people have opinions. Some good, some bad. But most, absolutely unwarranted. I feel, in order to have some semblance of credibility, shouldn't someone have had succeeded in some aspect. Chances are, critics wouldn't be so quick to judge so harshly. Let's take movies for example. One of the greats...Roger Ebert. He wrote a movie in the late 60's called "Beyond the Valley Of The Dolls." Love it or hate it, he wrote it. And got both bad reviews and good reviews. He understands (in a creative aspect anyway) what movies take to get made (which I've learned in Russ Meyer's autobio, it was a lot of coke and a lot of big tits). So I understand his perspective. He decided it wasn't for him. But, you HAVE to respect that he put his nuts on the chopping block. So much bullshit today is about people who've done NOTHING but have a lot to say. It really gets on my nerves. Because I think it's unfair for artists to pour their guts and soul and sacrifice for some idiot who's sitting in some basement drinking Mr. Pibb writing scathing reviews on whether or not he likes something, while he is scared shitless about putting his own nuts on the chopping block. These people should be dipped in honey and thrown in a piranha tank. AND...and, the most ridiculous part about the whole thing...they relish the idea that they've somehow tipped the needle in a direction. That their greatest accomplishment in life was to do nothing but spew their opinion. That's why people go batshit in Hollywood. Because the amount of garbage people have to put up with just to make something, then have to hear from some 'tard in Shitbox, Idaho is more than anyone should endure. Forget the money for a minute, this is something different. Something more long lasting. You just want to swap brains for a second so that person can see how awful it feels.

What it amounts to is someone putting a lot of effort in and having someone who put so little effort back into destroying your sacrifices. Think for a minute...is there a price you can pay for that?

TMZ Airing Tracy Morgan Accident Footage

I've been reading up on this new development about TMZ airing some guy being pulled from the accident in New Jersey.
For those not in the know, comedian Tracy Morgan and entourage in limo bus was in an accident with an 18 wheeler Wal-Mart truck. That which took the life of a person and injured the others. It's a strange thing...fame (not that I ever had it or known about). But here is, perhaps a different thought:

I think the social media world is interesting. It seems to be put into place to work for some people. And sometimes not for others. For instance (and I dig the guy)..Louis CK tweeted how TMZ shouldn't be airing that footage. Louis...I dunno, seems to me sometimes that he picks battles that aren't even his to deal with. But does it so spinelessly that you can't help but feel endeared to them. Unfortunately, you see his darker side when he talks about Sarah Palin. Or pretty much anyone he doesn't seem to like in the public forums. I find that hypocritical. At one point, you say "Hey lookit me! I'm calling out a public person." And using some offensive language. Whilst language would be one thing, this posting of a tragedy may be another. I agree with this. However, it's not like we can pick or choose what we like or don't like. That's the nature of a thing we've not had a chance to see full realization of. We have NO idea the repercussions of the new internet to our next generation. We do see, maybe a glimpse. But for the most part...it hasn't completely set in yet. But if school shootings, mall shootings, people behaving bad, is any indication of fame to public nuisance ratio, I think we're in for a lot worst.

I find it odd, that comedians are coming out in droves about this. They are, above all, supposedly turning the mirror on ourselves. And entertaining us with our own bad behavior. Why would it be surprising that someone takes it to the next level. Why is it that Tosh can make a rape joke, become viral and the comedians come out to defend freedom of speech when TMZ can't post a video of someone's worst day. We can't say how far reaching this tastelessness goes. And I do get it...they are comedians paid to do these things. But, TMZ 'aint exactly Jerry's Telethon. In fact, sometimes they're even recruited by the "stars" to catch them at airports or malls. Only to have them feign disgust. Total fabrication of celebrity. I guess when it became too real, the ones who call the shots (or feel like they have the platform) say "waitaminute, enough is enough." I feel this is similar to the kid who brings the kickball and when he's terrible at the game, goes home and takes his ball with him.

yeah, media sucks. But you're also sucking at the teat.

Finished A Screenplay

So, in my spare time, I finally finished a screenplay. By finish I mean a first draft. It's really bad, structurally. And looking back now, seems like a ten year old wrote it. But I completed it and I'm very proud that I have something in hand.

Writing screenplays isn't intrinsically tough. The whole thing is a process. And has nothing to do with great novel writing. It's all a blueprint to a movie. Something you'd wanna see. In this case, I wanted to see mutated terrorists battle it out in the desert with a burnout and a reluctant former Air Force pilot. I think it was something in my brain years ago that I got excited about. But now think pretty quaint.

Y'see this was a screenplay I'd had completed shortly after film school. Reading it now, I can't believe how awful it was. Re-write yourself sometime, maybe some essays you've written a ways back and you may be shocked how terrible a first draft can be. What's even sadder, is that back then (roughly 12/13 years ago), I thought I had gold in my hands. I'm going to go back and re-write and re-structure. But for the time being, it felt good to finish...something. Anything.

Speaking of which, it was a huge struggle for me to hit 90 pages. Who are these assholes who can go over 200?

We're Pretty Self-Absorbed Out Here

Yeah, big surprise. If being self-absorbed was crude oil, fuel would be free.

I went to lunch the other day with an old friend. She's an actress. Or was. She's older now. And seems to be influx between the different degrees of worker's compensation and...well, nothing. Certainly a fine dining companion. I was around her place, and decided to text her to come out. I'd already gotten done with a ten hour work day. Starting at midnight. So, my brain is total mush. Could be the reason why I thought it was a good idea to have lunch with her.

So I started talking about all the work I was doing. Nothing interesting. But more about recovery, rehab and detox. I'm two months in now. Feeling queasy. And really agitated about things. Well, she chimes in about her medical problems. This turns completely and totally about her issues. Not only that, don't ever think to ask questions, since you'll always be shot down.
Her: "My so-and-so hurts."
Me: "you ever think about taking an anti-flammatory."
Her: "are you crazy? no...nuh-uh, have you read the study about so-and-so in regards to ibuprofen?" (Of course I have, which is why I recommended it).

This is usually followed up with a endless amount of research this person's done (since they have a LOT of free time). And it naturally trumps any idea you may have. Worst, anything you say, will always be nonplussed to their case. Listen, dude, it was just a suggestion. Fuck if I know. Obviously whatever you're doing isn't working.

This is the worst kind of person. The contrarian. They rapid fire, non-sensical garbage for what feels like an eternity. Then it segues into the strangest topics. Never on point. Unfocused.

You can tell when a person isn't listening to you. Their conversation sounds more like they're speaking to themselves. This gets really tiresome. Fast. They like to get their thoughts out before they forget...maybe? No back and forth. no conversation. Here's a test: ask them a few questions. See if they bat it back. Notice how many call-back questions you ask, versus how many they ask. If you find yourself asking questions more than you answer. You've been duped by a self-absorbed person.

This is a grating quality to have. My brain flashed to a moment where I told her "Shut the fuck up, you don't fucking know everything. You're the least interesting person I know, and you bitch like the world owes you something." But I don't. Which eats me up. Because, it seems, this is the language of this town. We have all the answers, no one bounces ideas for each other. And it pains me, since I've known her for so long. But, looking back, in reality, she doesn't know shit about me. Couldn't tell you if I have siblings. What exactly I do for a living (this one is a big one since every conversation starts with "what is it that you do?") It's amazing how little people, even the closest to you, give a shit.

Which tells me that we're all suppose to be...not alone, but not together either. No one listens to each other. No matter how much love is involved. If we did and genuinely cared, it's a strange strange thing. You can tell when they embrace you as a total human being versus someone just to talk at. It's a magical thing. This is the thing that most in the midwest understand (since there is no agenda to them figuring you out).

For the time being, and for my own sanity, I may choose to listen rather than speak.

Don't Go Out With A Female Screenwriter

I probably should've just said "screenwriter" in general but since I'm a dude. I'm going to use that instead. Seems more salacious anyway.

About a year ago, I went out with this girl who was an aspiring screenwriter. Twenty five years old. Finished grad school from Miami, FL (in case there's a different one). She went to a school where cocaine was on the curriculum. Anyway, on our first date, I recall bringing her back to my place. It was cool. This was when I was still drinking and tossing back round after round of scotch. She lived within walking distance (coincidentally) from my place. So she excused herself to use the bathroom. I got bored and was drunk so I picked up my guitar and started noodling. She came back, saw this, and just had the dumbest smirk on her face. "Really?" she said. "Wha--" I responded. "The guitar thing...pretty cliched, wouldn't you say?" I was shocked. She'd thought this was a ruse to get her to have sex. As most who know me, I have ZERO game. This is not a play. This was just noodling. I was just shocked she thought this was something to impress her. Then the kicker "One day" she added "this is going into one of my scripts."

Okay, boys and girls...let's say for a minute it would make for a funny story. Or a comical moment. Ahem... Bitch, didn't you just say how cliched it was?!

The rest of the short-lived relationship was pretty much me asking her about her new story ideas. Her pitching the dumbest fucking ideas I've ever heard. Of course, this was in a fog of booze, so it may've been the new "Bridesmaids" for all I know.

One thing struck me odd though. She mentioned her proclivity to cocaine (boggled my mind since she was a big girl), and my first response was "Betcha' glad you didn't like it." Her comeback "What makes you say that?" Tore up from the floor up as my friends use to say.

So that's how desperate I was for easy young snatch. That's how desperate she was for bad material.

Asian Fetish

When I was in undergrad, there was a girl who I took a class with. She seemed very artistic. But was far from it. A Caucasian girl studying Japanese. I'm not Japanese, but she had a really deep love for Asian culture. In fact, I believe she spent a few years in her youth in the Far East somewhere. She seemed to tail me in college. A lot. So much so, it got really awkward. I was infatuated with this other chick. So, really overlooked this girl. She was a strange cat. But I didn't really mind being around her since she seemed harmless. However, big thing...and something to keep in mind, as it is a lesson I learned in the past. When a person's eyelids don't touch their pupil, something is clearly wrong. This is the look of madness. Deer in headlights, when no headlights are involved.

Anyway, I just remember she'd tail me to the various bars around the small college town. She didn't drink. Not a drop. I sorta' treated her like a little sister. Everyday, she'd have a different wig on. Strange to me. Looking back, if you know any goth broads you'd know this was a really forward thinking style (incidentally, there's a girl at work now who dyes her hair so many different colors...I'd mused one day her hair will fall out. She responded "I'll just wear wigs," this same girl wanted the Star Trek enterprise badge tattoo'd to her left upper breast. Last I check, this is a permanent thing. Her response to this..."debating whether to get it on my ribcage or chest. I NEVER get a tat where it's visible with clothing, that'd be nuts." Yeah...you sure figured that one out).

I digress.

So this girl with an Asian fetish, well...needless to say I got drunk, ended up making out with her. And just really abusing her. And here's the fucked up thing...she didn't mind. In fact, I'd say terrible things to her. Then grope her. Didn't phase her. One day...I finally asked about her wigs. Why? Why? Why? (I was being a real dick). She said she pulled out her hair because she liked the sound of it being plucked from her skull. Uhhhhhh...say what? Yeah...she was insane. It was so strange as she exhibited NO SIGNS of physical/emotional abuse. I'd be curious to know what a psychiatrist would say. But, one time I saw her without a wig. She looked like a poorly shaved poodle. Her hair was in patches. The weird thing was...she is actually an incredibly beautiful girl. She had a very pleasant face. Just a proclivity of hearing follicles removed. So strange.

Well, once I got a girlfriend, she'd disappear into the fray. I heard from her here and there. I worked at the Mom and Pop video store in town...she'd walked in one night, with an Asian guy. Not just any Asian guy, a completely fresh off the boat Asian. This was a dude who spoke nary a word of English. And what made matters worst, he was from mainland China. She was versed in Japanese. I'd like to think she fulfilled her dream. Much like white dudes sometimes get Thai wives.

So, here's the thing, maybe it's my self-hating Asian (which is odd, since I enjoy identifying with that side of myself). But usually when I see Caucasian women with Asian guys, there's a side of me that thinks that the girl is batshit nuts. Something deep seeded in her youth. Usually these women (that most will tell you to sidestep) were loners. Did not play well with other kids. Read a LOT of fantasy/manga/comics. Nerdy but intelligent. Had an artistic streak. But I doubt that is completely true. I think in some sense, they're progressive far beyond me. There are jokes about this. On "30 Rock" experimenting with Asian guys was mostly done in college. And eventually they will outgrow it. We're seen as a diversion, until you settle down. Kinda' weird.

Anyway,  I think in the Asian guy community there is a sense of resentment when one of us find a white chick. They think they jumped the lottery some how. I don't care one way or another anymore. I think it's cool. Usually, the girlfriend will ask me questions ad nauseum about myself. So disappointed when they learn I grew up in Cincinnati. I do find it fun when I trade notes with my friend about being an Americanized Taiwanese. We've had a belly full of American culture. So it's fascinating when we discuss the nuances of being Taiwanese. The girlfriend/wife loves that there is a connection in eating fried canned gluten for breakfast.

I think it's great people find other people. I think that's all we're looking for. Someone we feel most comfortable with. Personally, I like talking 50's vintage. There's something about that era that I think I was born into. The style, color, lexicon. The sweetness underlying debauchery. Maybe that's what this girl in college was. So sweet. But deep seeded darkness. Some really sexy about it.

12 Years Of Redemption

Just got done watching “12 Years A Slave.” Man...if I were to do a review of this movie, I’d just have one sentence …it ‘aint “Star Wars.” That’s all I’d write. If someone were to review my review, it’d probably be “who let the ten year old watch this gruesome depiction of slavery?” Anyway, I digress…did anyone catch the structure of this film? It’s IDENTICAL to the “Shawshank Redemption.” How the Hell did this comparison not come into the lexicon of reviewers? This is amazing that it fell through those cracks.

I’ll try not to ruin anything for you, but essentially it’s about a guy who inadvertently ends up in  a situation that is by no fault of his own. He silently goes about suffering through many sadistic events and people. In the company of others who also suffer imprisonment. One worst than the next. Even though we, the audience, know he comes from a privileged background. Through his circumstances  some of his expertise from his past life come to the forefront  In “Shawshank…” it was Andy’s ability to be an amazing accountant. In “12 Years…” it was Solomon’s skill of playing a violin and his skill in engineering. So we get more and more frustrated with him. Until final comeuppance to the cruel villain. There are times when Solomon/Andy exhibits an idea that if you follow the rules, you will be fine, but it inevitably backfires.

What I kept thinking as I was watching it was…I wonder when Caucasian folk watch it, how much it’d be like watching sex scenes with their parents. I mean, I kept thinking about how I would feel if they had an Asian dude torturing a Mexican in a theater full of Mexicans. I would feel so much guilt, I wouldn’t be able to eat or drink (can’t imagine the food sales on this one). What I got, is that there is a LOT of hindsight on this movie. History is miserable and painful and sometimes we are challenged like you wouldn’t believe. I think the concept of “hope will transcend adversity” is a great message. Faulty but empowering. “12 Years…” is a very well made movie. It lingers poetically. Small wonderful moments that allow the actor to soak in his environment. Let it absorb in you. Meanwhile, it hops from one antagonistic event one after another. It feels so organic, and lets the amazing actors play in the world.

Alright…touchy queery dissection aside, I really didn’t learn much from it. Well, not anything I didn’t already know through school. You feel that sometimes they show the most awful side of it, so it becomes derivative of some very real history. Best Picture material? I think when it comes to the choices…it was understandable.

It All Gets Better

Hiya,
For those fighting addiction or detox, here's a bit of words that may help you:
It sucks for everyone.
Not just suck, but your brain will be in a fog and you will wonder why you're even off the sauce.

Al-kee-hol is a drug. In the sense that it causes your chemicals to react a certain way. Some say that all people are allergic to alcohol, hence why it gets us drunk. Here's the thing...we've had booze longer than history has even been written. Made me wonder what prehistoric intervention or rehab must've been. My theory, probably that Og, having been sick and tired of Grog ogling his wife, drew down a club on Grog, rendering him retarded. Having been a terrible drunk, this only straightened Grog out. First, and most likely killed his libido. Secondly, doubt he'd want a fresh bash to the noggin after the first one set him straight.

I'm guessing that's how they rehab'd people then. Nowadays, the process isn't much more fine tuned. Except, now people are more aware of your deviant behavior. So most of the time, your shitty attitude from lack of booze or drugs, is going to be documented somewhere.

To me, sobering up sucks a LOT. I mean...mostly because I feel I've waited too long. Let a lot of things slip through my fingers. Opportunities that would've been more available had I been more motivated to move than to drink and NOT move. I often feel a certain loss for those days I could just hang back and drink some beers and relax while working. Alas, my perspective has been skewed. I've been made more annoying. Angry. Bitter. And reflective. A perfect storm for writing blogs.

On the plus side, I'm quite proud of myself that my will power is much stronger now than before.The urge for booze is subsiding. And my joy of writing is returning. It really is true...once it leaves your system, you sort regain a lot of motor skills, emotions (sort of) and focus. Before, the booze is what guide your demeanor.

So it has and does get better. For the time being, I am uncomfortable and I do have tics when I speak. Nervous energy. Anxiety. I will see where the week takes me.
Be well everyone.

Hometown Phone Calls

Last night I got a phone call from my old college friend Eric. Eric brews his own beer and wanted to know where he can ship it to me. This is how Eric is. And we've picked up conversation where we left off. It's strange how much detail I can remember about our last talk. Even more so, the details are rather insignificant. Such as the fact that he changed out smokers (for a stainless steel one). Keep in mind, the last time I saw him, I was drunk off my ass (on beer he made).

So Eric and I got to reminisce of the good old days. And folks, I can't remember much. But it didn't matter. Because we can still crack wise with each other. It really made me miss how authentic people are. My cynicism is so deep rooted now, I forget there are people in this world that are homespun and sincere (I mean, who thinks to call someone to send home crafted beer). Eric has two young daughters. One is 7 years old. The other 2. The two year old was awake (2AM Ohio time) meandering around the house, exploring. Whilst the 7 is probably crashed out. This is a really calm image. Just a child walking around. Soaking in the world at that hour. Something I did when I was that age. Curiosity is such a rare commodity. Most people know too much, too little or don't care.

Anyway, back to my point. Eric is what I may've been had I stayed in Ohio. A farmhouse in the middle of nowhere with a wife and kids and pets. Building a chicken coop in the backyard. Generally looking at the yard. Wondering what to occupy my time. He crafts his own beer. I do photography. He's got a man cave he built just to craft beer. I've got my darkroom. It's what we do. I respect the guy so much, even though, he will tell me my life seems infinitely more interesting. The truth being...maybe I feared that that was the life I would've gotten. I've met Eric's wife. A generous, beautiful midwesterner. College educated. Does random projects and has a strong interest in raising a kid. That's how I imagined Becky and I would've been. Probably still in her wheelhouse (as she has two now). But I'm so far removed from it, it may as well be Oz. I really enjoyed talking to Eric. For whatever reason, last night was more important than he realized. I'm not feeling myself lately. And maybe just talking to an old friend maybe reminded me a part of who I was. It's hard to feel anything at all. And it was good to laugh at how young and dumb we were once.

I miss having a straight forward conversation with people like that. Out here, it's different. Something is slightly askew with how we communicate here. It's not awful, just different. Not to say, also that it's some down home hospitality. Eric's no hokel. Far from it. He's a very forward thinking super conscientious person. Made even more odd that he grew up around jocks and farmers.

I get the feeling that's the reason why people are weirded out when you try to strike up a conversation here in Los Angeles. You try so hard to want to fulfill a need, that you reach out. And what comes out is just total vomit. No one has roots here, so why bother. No one cares about others plights or interest. So why bother. I've learned to adapt here. Have made some really solid friends who've shared their feelings, hopes, dreams, fear, sadness. Yet...we're still somewhat removed.

Everyone wants to feel important. The most gracious thing you can do for a person is to make that person the most important person. That mean that you genuinely absorb their words. Bounce back their own thoughts, NEVER referring back to yourself. This is a very common business thing. Make that person feel important. People LOVE talking about themselves. The lesson here is that you will find people treating you differently. They will want to be near you. They will want to give you jobs. Or goods. Or sex. I can't believe it's taken me this long to come to this realization...you make other people feel like the center of the universe, there is nothing they won't give you.

Check Your Ego

One of the most sickening feelings to film shooters is when you get a phone call from the lab that rolls of your film didn't make it through their machine.

I'm not sure how to react. So overwhelmed with anger and sadness. Because there was a lot of time, energy and effort put into getting it. Then, it's yanked from you, due to no fault of your own. There I stood at the lab, a limp, crinkle strip of my negative, laying lifeless in the palm of my hand. You can see the outline of what could've been. Yeah...mocking me. And before you tell me that I'm a whiny piece of shit. And that I should get over it. Or call me an art fag. Think of it like this:
I'm sure a lot of you who hate your jobs still are pretty good at what you do. There's maybe a small risk that you are even skilled at what you do. So, every day you go in knowing exactly what you do day in and day out. This is the miserable part. Now...let's take a single day from your daily life. And you're asked to drive the train. This means, drive it wherever you like. That sense of responsibility and decision making, artistic license and so forth is now given to you.

Then you realize, the train is headed for a cliff (if you work in a business, let's say cash is no longer backed by gold, rendering dollars useless...so you become the banker with all paper money equivalent to shredded newspaper). Doesn't feel great being at the head of the train anymore, at no fault of your own. You just want an opportunity to do SOMETHING different. And here we are.

Okay, crappy analogy aside. This is really a painful situation for all involved. I mean, the lab is mom and pop...and struggle to keep alive with other things. Film processing being the lower tier of their market. And here I come with "professional" grade images. Acting shitty when I'm surprised the machine breaks. To save extra coin, I sacrificed piece of mind. AND...great big AND...this doesn't just happen to mom and pop. This is also big name places that do so. I mean, GIANT labs that take incredibly douchey people's film. Well, the mom and pop felt so bad for me, they gave me $200 back. Big name places tell you to go suck it. And now, I feel not only shitty I don't have the images I want, but now shitty because I took the money.

I'm in a quandry now to return the money. Even though it's far less than the cost of film, model time, makeup/hair, shooting time, and assistant. Because I so championed film, but now the flaws are excruciating.

Illin' Before Shootin'

I gotta level with you. Every single time I'm about to shoot photos with a new model...man...my guts hurt. I go through so much in my head that I give myself a massive headache. Looking at all contingencies. And on top of it all, I have to look at the light. I suppose part of the fear is also the joy of photographing people. I'm trying my hardest to harness bedside manner. Now that I'm off the sauce, it's near impossible to figure out what is appropriate and what isn't. Nothing salacious. Just that sometimes my manners aren't what they use to be. I'm sure the quizzical look on my face says it all. But mostly, I'm in a fog. I'm use to some sort of plan. If my train of thought is interrupt, by something ridiculous like...say, a legitimate concern from model, my brain snaps to. Lost in the moment. Model gets self conscious about such things. Either that or they're just as removed from themselves. I'm not sure. I am sure it doesn't help my brain moves faster than I can think. I had a friend who buzzed like a hummingbird too. It's not healthy. It doesn't come off as charming. It comes off really phony. Only when he's stressed.

When I was shooting movies, didn't really answer to the talent. Not really. I mean, I knew what was on the schedule. But mostly the director can usurp any odd request talent has. There was a barrier. Here, everyone really looks to your dumb face to see any response.

I find most models are like stage actors. They seek the approval and response of live audience. Meanwhile, my brain cranks away at various things that sometimes have nothing to do with them. Such as development time for black and white film. How much agitation in the tank to make sure I don't blow out highlights. Lower contrast. Oh wait, I'm still shooting. Oh, and light is hitting her wrong.

These are things that drive one insane. I would hope that at this point you either see it or you don't. Butterflies are good. I think.