Today's Immigrants SUCK!

The idea of immigration was great...back in the 80's. That's when we didn't have all this media in different languages telling people outside of the U.S. "the rules." In fact, coming into this country you had a healthy fear of it which resulted in respect. Nowadays...not so much. You have all the information at your laptop/smartphone. What does this do? It entitles people to treat this country like a piece of shit. Fuck you!

I missed the opportunity to fucking punch this fucking gypsy in his fucking face for throwing a paperbag into the bushes of a grocery store. I kept glaring at him like a piece of shit. His wife saw it. He saw it. I felt he was almost willing me to say something. But I puss'd out. Like most Americans, litigation and the fear of shame and "causing a scene" forced me into puss-dom. What bothered me most was the guy's total lack of shame for doing what he did. Throw bag...with no idea he's being a piece of shit...until someone stares at him. Then it's "fucking mind you're own business." Fuck. No wonder we've destroyed our sense of community. This fucking immigrant probably isn't going to stay in this country any longer than he can rape it enough to get his fill. Then leave when he's satisfied, and full. What a fucking cocksucker.

I love being here. Granted I grew up in America, I NEVER for a minute felt littering was even remotely sane. This piece of shit from some unknown eastern block country probably wore out his welcome in his own country. God.

And I can hear some shit bag idealist who says "America is all about taking in everyone, you should feel fortunate for what you've gotten." That's the point. I do. So much so I respect the grounds of which people've died on. Fuck this fucking asshole. You come into this country, you stay as far under the radar and respect the grounds. NOT trash it, like your own piece of shit country. God...I swear, this will never happen again. I am getting in the face of the next person who throws shit.

Skye McCole Bartusiak

Wow. Just wow. Not but a few days ago I wrote a blog about "The Vest" and here we are now. Skye passed away last night. It's unbelievable to me. Mostly because she was so very young. But much more so that she was such a kind friendly unbelievably talented child actor. She was 21.

Now before many people lead to the typical Hollywood conclusion of drug O.D. or suicide or whatever. I can only tell you, whenever I meet a new up and coming actor and they ask me about "the business." I tell them about Skye.

She was only 10 when I met her. A spry blonde girl with tons of energy. I was fresh from film school. And got myself on this gig because the cinematographer and I were friends. I was the gaffer. Skye was great. Her energy drove the production. I wish I could say this was just me being kind to someone who passed away, but she honestly did.

There wasn't a day she didn't show up to play. Meanwhile, as the rest of us where exhausted, angry, bored, hungry and all the trappings of set crap, she was bouncing around...as a child was suppose to. Her mom was actually very very kind to me. A Texas gal. Real straight shooter, protective of Skye, without the nightmare of being a stage mother. In fact, she made it a point to stay mostly off set. I recall having a conversation with her about her daughter. I was so impressed with her professionalism. It came down to working with THE best. Michael Douglas and Mel Gibson. I could tell at that point, they'd given her a modicum of what it means to conduct yourself professionally. She had it down pat. In fact, she taught us a thing or two about keeping your head in the game. In one particular scene, I remember the director asking her for another "angle" on her dialogue. Take one. Boom! Nailed it. Take two. Boom! It was different and she nailed it again. Take three...another different version. Boom! Nailed it! I felt so sorry for the editor. Because each version she did WORKED. So many choices.

I also remembered a time where, it was late in the day, and her assistant/makeup artist had fallen asleep on set. Skye wanted some water. You perk to children's voices on set. Especially as an electrician. My first response was to wake up her asst/MUA. She threw up her hands and stopped me "No, let her sleep. It was pretty long day yesterday." Then, and I will never forget this, as she was going to get her own water, she announced if she could get water for anyone else. Let me repeat this, she was, as number one on the call sheet, offering to get water for the crew. I could not believe it. I completely fell in love with this kid. When I got home, I told everyone about this kid. Amazing. My electrician friend B.C. and I spent the rest of the shoot just marveling how someone so young could have this much talent and be so down to earth. Me?...I'd be a total shit. They'd start calling me one of the Coreys.

Skye could've been a massive star. Unfortunately, she started too early to be Jennifer Lawrence, but too old to be Ellen Page. But...I don't think it was ever in her radar. I think she just liked it in the background of her life. That she made it NOT to be her main focus. I respect her so much for that.

Man, I still can't believe it.

Never The Hollywood Person

When I was in my late 20's I remember just finishing graduate school. I met a really great collaborator and friend there. We'd done so many projects in film school together. He's a go-getter, ended up gettin' his own business outside of "the industry." He's married and much happier now. Away from Hollywood. Anyway, he was also, strangely, a connected guy. So much so we attended Adam Brody's "The O.C.") birthday party.

I was told it was at this bar called "Bronson Bar." Expecting to see a real bar...nope. It's a hole in the wall at the base of what looks like a crack den hotel with NO signage, no lights. Nothing. Not even an indication there was even a bar there. Once inside, it was filled to the brim with young ridiculously attractive people. A makeshift bar with overpriced beers in coolers. It looked like a casting call for "The O.C." My ugly mug navigated through young beautiful Hollywood, in sketchy shit-hole Bronson. Man, everyone I saw, I wanted to punch in the face. Because...you can tell they were there to be someone or be seen by someone.

Anyone, I was introduced to Adam. Cool enough person. Really low-key. Zero personality. I'm sure if I were actual friends, we'd have a conversation. But...I just felt REALLY uncomfortable being around everyone. I'm really not sure I feel this way about this crowd. But it may have something to do with high school. See, Hollywood, is essentially, adult high school. popular kids hang with popular kids. And everyone wants to be popular. Or at least be perceived as popular. Fuck if I know that shit. I was never popular. Never really seen. I'd probably be that guy if I snapped people would be like "he was so quiet." I was always a behind the scenes guy. Loved putting beautiful people in projects, because it always validated my tastes. Like if I discovered someone, I'd be a God. Yeah, lofty and stupid. Whatever.

I still do this shit. I shoot with models. Pimp people out when I can. Because, in a strange sense, their success is my success. I know this isn't the case a LOT of the times. From what I'm reading from tell-all tomes. Their success means you're S.O.L. Which is fine. Whatever. Deep down inside, I know what's what. They know it too.

This is the price of being around celebrity. Dunno why anyone would subject themselves to it, but I'm sure once you get so deep into it, you forget yourself.

Why You Make Movies

I can say without hyperbole that I am presently working on the biggest movie in the next few years. Big, I would consider an understatement. Yes, it's a brag. But it gets to my point of how humble one should be in this industry. Or really, how I should be.

On any given day when trouncing through parts of Los Angeles, you will come across the quintessential "film looking geek." They usually will wear a superhero shirt of some kind, possibly an ironic tee ("ABBA tour 1999") and don on beach shorts. If you really want to really dive off the douche cliff, the pork pie hat and facial hair to boot. These dudes are usually carrying some rucksack. Most likely a military surplus M.A.S.H. satchel made to be cutesy even though you're suppose to be a dude. The true giveaway is the yammering that they do about movies. Projects they're doing with their friends. Or criticizing others' projects. Or worse, waxing about who should've been casted as whom.

Man...this is the one that gets me. Here are some established filmmakers who've collectively made over billions of dollars, reduced to some fuckhead with a Apple laptop questioning their decisions. As if they weren't given a chance to make the movie because their genius has been overlooked. NO ONE FUCKING CARES ABOUT YOUR OPINION. Yeah, shitbag...tell Spielberg why "Minority Reports" didn't work for you and this is how it should've been fixed. Because god knows they didn't spend ten years on a project for some 'tard at Starbucks to have the key. Here's an idea...MAKE A FUCKING MOVIE YOURSELF. Then decide whether you belong in their rarified air.

Frankly, I'm shocked as to the reservation these filmmakers (who've made these iconic movies) have for not telling these fuckers to go fuck themselves. Or rather, have them watch their lousy movies and give them pointers. God, would I have loved to get Kurosawa's opinion on my thesis project.

Anyway, I'm fortunate to be working on these upcoming movies. They remind me why I got into it to begin with. BUT also unearth the hate I have for people who haven't done anything but say so much about the "business."

You Should Hope People Get Beyond You

Years ago I was a gaffer on a short film called "The Vest." I was suggested to it by a fellow film school friend. Now, I'd run small projects before, never doing electric though. It was strange that I was recommended to this project. Only that the cinematographer was also a fellow alum.

I was saddled with a crew I was very unfamiliar with. It was such a low budget project, we just had to get who we got. I recall my best boy electric was a guy named Erik Messerschmidt. Very stoic fellow. Barely cracked wise, like we all did. Erik was always next to me. He'd be the first to respond to my request. First to have things before I even knew I needed things. First...well, just attuned to everything going on in the electric world. Man, the guy was pro. Me? I had my eyes on camera work (for the future) so electric didn't interests me in the least.

I recall an incident where one of the electricians griped to me about his attitude. Erik took the job SERIOUSLY. To a point where I was confused as to why anyone would spend this short amount of time treating a short like it was a union job. I did really appreciate it, and had to tell this electrician that maybe we should just all stop goofing off and deal with it.

The short was shot. The movie came and went. We all went our separate ways. About a decade later, I hear of his name again. It's not one you really forget. He's moved on. To bigger and better alright. To date, he's on the biggest movies as chief lighting technician "Iron Man 2" & "Gone Girl" to name a few.

He's, in essence, surpassed me ten fold. And will more than likely move on to become a known cinematographer. I take great pride in knowing we've worked together in the past. To see that work ethic in practice is inspiring.

It does, however, spotlight my own reluctance to throw myself back into the pool. Definitely shows my laziness. Y'know that old adage that you fear success? I don't fear success, but I sure am confused when it comes around. And brushed past me.

Fuck The World Cup

Man do I hate soccer.

There is a lot to like about it, and I get why people do, but it's ridiculously boring. And the rules fluctuate so much that you get frustrated trying to figure it out.

Also, this new thing with flopping. So this so-called sport is mostly the sport of acting. I've seen so many B.S. fake falls and gripping knees, it's comical. Like some grand scale 4th grade playground antics. Who cares.

What makes it worst, being in L.A. it's inundated with soccer fans. Man...do people come out of the woodwork. Last Friday I went to an Irish pub, Brazilian flags everywhere. Brazilian flags! This is an Irish pub. Michael Collins is turning in his grave.

You know what makes me hate soccer the most? The snobbery of it and the pack mentality. IF you happen to not watch The World Cup, you're labeled a douche. Because you're too stupid and watch stupid American sports. Yeah, fuckface, we're in America. I love blues and jazz. I like whisky. And I like football. Don't ever compare the gridiron with guys who flounder for penalty kicks.

It pains me that a lot of friends do follow it. I'm not even sure if they like the game or they just like it because they can bang some foreign chick since it's a great conversation starter. I'll give them that. Female football fans aren't exactly demure. Unless you're at the college level.

Anyway, shit on me for saying so, but I can't stand soccer.

There Is No Plan B

Recently I've been listening to a lot of podcasts about how people have made it in the movie industry. It's weird. A lot of named actors who've buck'd the odds and carved a niche for themselves have one common theme...they had no Plan B.

It got me thinking about a friend. He recently moved from his apartment of many years and has couch surf'd until he can buy himself a van to live in. Whilst many of our "mature" ideas go to the idea that we  can no longer suffer this transient living, you have to admit...your life isn't as interesting.

At first I was taken back by this. It's a life that I've spent years working to live against. A comfortable living. So naturally I was curious as to why anyone would want to revisit this life. Then it occurred to me how more free his life must be. I think about living in Hollywood years back when I would collect cans to buy a pizza. I didn't need/have internet. Hardly watched television. Walked amongst the homeless in Hollywood and had dreams. That was a big factor. The ease of which complacency can creep into your adult life. Complacency is bad. It's more destructive than rejection. It's insidious because you feel that if you live a day to day life of three hot meals and a paycheck, you're doing alright for yourself. For most, this is okay. For the creative side, this is DEATH. A slow agonizing death.

Yes, he is taking a chance. Living an existence without certain comforts is a hassle. BUT, I argue, the more things come into your life, the more you either worry about them, or fight to maintain. This isn't what we live for. We don't live for our stuff.

My car broke down the beginning of last week. I took to renting a car. Yes, renting a car, since the inconvenient part of me couldn't do without that convenience. The younger version of myself would've laughed at me now. Because that younger man would've bucked up and high-tailed it on foot. Thus saving my own money for other, more important things in life. Eventually, I returned the car. Only to have my car go out again. This time at 4AM and NO mechanic to rely on. It was like the universe forcing me into survival. This time, my lame ass took a cab to work. A CAB! Yeah, I could tell you that I didn't have time for a bus, or that I couldn't find a way. But in a panic, here I was, in the backseat of some taxi driver Uncle Fester lookin' dude who spoke no English. I shared with him my thoughts on cab riding. He could care less. Well, this time, I was resigned to hump it back to the Valley from Hollywood. I hiked up Hollywood and took the Redline to North Hollywood station. There, I considered taking a bus, but ended up walking the rest of the leg back home. I dunno what it was. But it was just...a great feeling. Something about NOT having to rely on machinery. Allowing my feet to carry me forward. Slowing down and watching people. Observing the world. The neighborhood. Yes, North Hollywood is a junk pile. BUT, there are a LOT of interesting things to see. Things I made mental notes to revisit. Things that I would've missed had I spent 15 minutes in my car getting back home versus the three hours on foot.

I thought the whole time about my friend who takes the public mass transit system. Watching people is so interesting to me, I forgot how much it amused me to be elbow to elbow with society. I think L.A. is handicapped for that reason. That people would rather drive past things never absorbing their environment, then to slow down and see where they live. I think I've grown an appreciation for living on the move.

Oh, going back to Plan B. So my friend is headstrong in making his living out of a van. Most actors who become anyone, don't have a fallback. To make it in show business, Plan Bs are bad. I've heard SO many success stories starting out with either they make it or they die. There is no other choice. Now, what seems extreme to most of us, I find it liberating. Think about those people who take corporate jobs. This is a safety net, which causes the very slow death of drive. There is no more hunger. There is no more struggle. They've flatlined. A person who lives in a van has conviction. Has faith. Has    inexplicable moxie, whilst the rest of us still wonder what it is we're suppose to do.

Most of us who laugh at dreamers don't have enough dreams to occupy our own time. Those who judge dreamers, never had the restitution to commit to our own goals. There should not be a Plan B. It is or it isn't your life. And we only have one.

You Aren't Part Of Their Plan

I rented a car the other day. This was to offset the incompetence of a garage that screwed up the repair of my real car. I return the rental car and ask the clerk whether or not I could get a lift back to another garage where my car was being repaired. "No dude, I'm the only one here."

No "sorry," no "wish I could." That's it. Then the fucker went back to eating his sandwich.

What the fuck happened to civility? I just spent money to rent a piece of shit car from them, and the least they could do is to look up from their cold cut combo to respectfully tell me that, although they would love to, he's stuck. Or offer an option. Nope.

So it got me thinking about who we are to others. Generally speaking, I think we're all a total nuisance to each other. Think about it. The last time you went to a crowded gym. How often you saw someone get huffy & puffy because their "favorite machine" was taken. My first thought, "Shitbag...move on!" Nope, they stand there making it known that the person using the machine is taking up precious space. Breathing precious air. Meanwhile, had he moved on, he'd have finished his workout.

It only seems to be in L.A. though. We're basically at the mercy of the service industry. And if they don't like your fucking face. Good luck. Others will patronize them. I think that may be why L.A. can get away with a lot of shitty behavior. Some other schlub will always come along. They don't need you. And so forth. So when you go to a smaller town, they value your business. They crave your approval. They'll move mountains to make sure your opinion of them will ripple though the country. Meanwhile, Angelenos suffer the entitled 'tard. That person who feels/and does hold your life hostage, only for that brief however many minutes it takes you to realize you're not that important. Can you imagine eating this much crow and not shitting blackbird pie?

A Good Night's Sleep

When you get to be my age, a spry 40 years old, you start to value the dumbest most mundane things in life. For instance, the smell of fresh cut grass. A well seasoned steak. Some murder mysteries on CBS. And a good night's sleep.

There was a time when that was the solution to everything. Your body is tired. Good night sleep. You have a broken heart. Good night sleep. You can't sleep. Good night's sleep. And so forth. It was made even more comical in western movies where after being shot by Indians or beaten half to death by drunken townies, it was always "what that man needs, is a good night's sleep." Nevermind that his psyche is encompassed by the reason being he got jumped in the first place was that he was just resting on the prairie. Good luck getting a good night's rest, if'n you can't even get a good day's sit.

The miracle of getting a good night's sleep is the problem. What is a good night's sleep?

I figure it's that moment where you are just dead like a log. Where you aren't panicked about the next day. Going over the crap you need to do the next day. Errands you may've forgotten. People you've needed to call or email. I think this is made even worse if you have kids. I can't even imagine that constant paranoia of whether or not you've squashed them, or "accidentally" stabbed them in your sleep. Then, atop that, making sure no one else has.

Well, last night, I got home from a 16 hour work day. Brutal, since my brain is swimming. I get dizzy spells and headaches. I sat down to watch some of my murder mysteries. Within minutes, I was out. As if a boxer had punched me cold. I'd went out cold. When I came to, the program was still on. I'd essentially been knocked out of commission. I swear, during that time I heard nothing. Felt nothing. Hadn't had this sensation since being sedated for surgery. I really forgot how good it felt to just be dead to the world. You could've taken a whiffle ball bat to my junk, I'd have just rolled over. Maybe this is how the dead feel. Relieved. Finally rested. I'd like to think so.

The Kid From California

I went to a middle Ohio college for my undergraduate degree. The place was tiny yet yield pitcher Orel Hershiser, football player and Lamba Lambda Lambda "Revenge of the Nerds" chair Bernie Casey and Scott Hamilton. Not to mention the local film theater was supported by Lillian and Dorothy Gish. And had chairs held by Roddy McDowell, Douglas Fairbanks Jr. and others from that era.

Anyway, it has a really interesting history, yet forgotten or cared about.

I recall living in the dorms my freshman year. It was a broken down shit-hole. But, at the age of 18/19, it was freedom. Really cool place. We were so packed into that place, we became inseparable to the people who lived next to us. We'd go to meals together, study together, watch movies together. Go out to bars together. Anyway, there was a guy I remember who lived down the hall. He was from California. Man, that was insane. We all had so many questions for him. A kid from California all the way in Ohio was so mind-blowing (keep in mind, this was before the internet). It was like some mythical beast. Didn't matter that his head was fat, he looked retarded and looked older than the rest of us. He was from California.

Then I remembered the guy was a total douchebag. He'd walk around like everyone should bow down to him. Told us lies about how he played AAA baseball.And that he was at our little school with a scholarship. And how much better California was than Bowling Green, OH. That made the rest of us really make it a point NOT to invite him to anything we did. It did get me thinking...

..What is it about California that makes us think we're so much better than the rest of the country? Weather? Women? Money? No. Weather in Cali is warm, but oftentimes blazing hot. Women...I would attest more than half of Playboy models are from the midwest. Money?...Bro, we're broke. So who the fuck did this kid think he was? I'm just so fascinated by how when people travel from here elsewhere how much they have an air of superiority.

Now, my Mom brought it up last time I was home. It was winter time. I made offhanded comments about how the house was always cold. Or that they needed to remodel their home. She spoke to my Dad like I was invisible, she'd thumb towards me, "Look who doesn't think our place is good enough anymore" without saying the parenthetical I'm sure she meant to add "Mr. California over here." My first thought was "No, your place was never good enough." But...I get it. We're a buncha' whiny fucking babies in this town. Most people in Ohio DO NO GRIPE. In fact, people call you out on it. Call you "sissy" or "man-up" Imply that a dress comes with whatever you're about to say. In short, complaining is only done for serious stuff.

I gotta stop "going California." Man-up, stop complaining. Hopefully not here though. I hope it's at least entertaining in writing.