You're A Racist!

Man...oh man. Today in L.A. news, a no-string running back claims his coach is a racist. Like he was treated like a slave. Boy...what the fuck has become of us?

I played high school football for a season. It sucked bad. I was a wingback. Terrible at reading playbooks. Even worse at physical toughness. I just didn't have it in me. Did my coach ever give me a earful. He'd scream stuff about how weak I am. How I was so stupid I'd take two hours to watch "60 Minutes," that I have no skill to speak of and that I should just go back to wearing a dress and play in the band (which I did, the band part, not the dress). And the best...that he would make just openly bigoted statements. Mind you, this is Ohio in the late 80's early 90's. Did I call him out for being a racist? Nope. I just sucked it up and tried harder. To prove to this fuck-nut that I could take what he dished out and come back for more. This, my friends, is a life lesson. Too often now, we're so quick to take the less emotionally scarring path. And I understand. This kid on SC was probably coddled. That he was always seen as the best. That no one questioned him or his ability. But that's not life. People should and will get in your face. How you deal with it, is how you grow as a human. The easy victimizing way is to blurt to the world that the coach was picking on you. That he's a racist.

We really have t drop the "race" thing. Maybe he's just an asshole. He's paid to be an asshole. Assholes win big college games. They don't wonder if you get 8 hours of sleep at night or give you milk and cookies before bed time. They kick your rear, battle harden you to the quick. And make you power through life, a winner. Losers tend to blame and cry foul. The world is not fair. You won't get anywhere if you believe it to be. Or worst, bend it to your advantage. I'm a short Asian fuck. Probably have more reason to pull a rickshaw than to don a helmet, BUT, I'm really glad my coach didn't pussy me. In hindsight, this was the highest respect he could've bestowed upon me.

Be On Someone Else's Time

Man...I'd really like to gripe about something that has been in my crawl since I was very young. People who are late. Especially people who are late when they make the plans.

I have a friend, she's NEVER on time. It's grating, since...I know for a fact I'm busier than her. And this is just some really typical girl thing, when she was young. She's old-er now, and thus...I don't think she should keep pushing people this way. Her looks aren't going to carry her through aggravatingly waiting for her. It's going to be a wakeup call...maybe.

One thing that irks me, is that she doesn't really understand the concept of people having more importance than herself. Then whines about how things don't happen in her life. The reason being, she's too self-absorbed with her own schedule to figure out you live a life too. It pains me not to point out that, if for once, she felt an urgency to live in someone else's time frame, a lot of her success may be quicker. Instead, she insists on having people bend to her time. And then confused as to why she doesn't get gigs. Bitch, the world doesn't bend to you. Friends may, but the world won't.

I'm not sure if the above statement angered you. But it should. I tend to live on other people's time. I respect the very brief connection you have in this town that I can't waste it tick tocking away. I find people who are constantly late to be narcissistic fuck-wads. That their world comes before anyone else's. If you happen to be one of these people, I hope your home catches on fire. Then the fire department shows up late.

Then you'd get it.

I Should've Been An Agent

Talent agents are funny. They're shat on by everyone. And all they want, is to be loved.

I know I talk a lot of shit here. But it's mostly because in my day to day, I absorb a lot. I remember things about what people say and process their words carefully. They may think I'm ignoring them, but it goes into a strange memory bank of which, oftentimes, people are confused as to how I remember that one bit of trivia.

The thing is, I like listening to everything around me. Terrible...I mean disastrous at recall of facts...say when I'd be in lecture. But people seem to fascinate me. Oftentimes, my friend Sean would tell me these stories. Then I'd finish the rest of it. And he sit there blinking at me, wondering if I was fucking Kreskin. Nope. He'd just told me the story months ago. And somewhere in the back of my mind, I'd filed it away. I'm not sure what this type of thinking is. Some would use the term "useless." But in my business, it's actually very helpful. For instance, if say, you remember a client of yours has a wife who loves Ghiardelli chocolates. Well, guess what she's getting for their anniversary. Or if the client likes to jet ski. I know where they can go, how much it is, and what seasons are the best. My personal life...forget it. I have to use an ex girlfriend's birthday for most of my usernames to even recall what her name was. And I'm usually absent-minded when it comes to errands that need to be run. Like today, I had to put my padded envelope on the driver side seat so I would've forget to mail an important package.

Some would say that this is a "people pleaser" part of my psyche. I can see that. I know more about them then I know about myself. OR I tend to care more about other people and take care of them before myself. People pleasers are annoying. They're usually chameleons who morph into whatever shape the person across from them are. My contention is people can't stand themselves as it is, why would they want to deal with two. I just like to talk people up. Almost to the embarrassment of the person I'm talking up. Not sure why. When someone talks me up, I get silent, angry and I fume. There's no possible way to live up to those glowing reviews. Anyway...

It's all cool though. Sometimes I think I would've been a good show business agent. Except the thought of sucking up to studios for my client to get a role makes my stomach churn. I'd probably plotz myself before I even make thru a pitch. Eh...

Tired

My face belies a lot of disappointment. When I say "bely" I hope that means puts it on display like museum art. I get a lot of downs. Not down syndrome down, but down as in I hit lows in mood. I'm not sure if it comes from getting really high on projects. Or have a lot of joy in momentum. But I understand now that...in particular, professional athletes can suffer from so much silence. I can't imagine a guy who's heard the cheering of tens of thousands of people to just silence sitting in some suburb can ever equate. I can imaging how deafening their own thoughts may be. Scary if you consider that...say for example, your entire career you've been told what to do. By coaches. By agents. By family. In what moment did you ever have time to make a real decision UNTIL you retire.

Now what? Now you sit in your sweats and relive the glory days. Some were surprised when Junior Seau killed himself. I'm not sure a lot of that was head injury, more like emotional brain injury. I feel the amount of psych'ing out his own body or being a leader of a team put a huge burden on his shoulders. The minute that was removed, you recoil. Let me re-phrase, you bounce back like a crazy super ball. Now you're clawing at the walls looking for some escape. When we have little prospects to do better than that...we've checked out on life. What's the new frontier? There is none. Alexander the Great felt the same...I believe. When he was done...and conquered all the lands, nothing else gave him joy. He could sit in a hammock and rot away, but he was probably left to watch things wither away. Including himself. I get a sour feeling when I put out fruit and see it start to mold. I find this to be an appropriate comparison.

The same thing happens when a movie is complete. Right now, I find myself dragging my feet to complete. Because completion means that silence. Many would say "well, fuck you Thom, move on to the next thing." Yeah, easier said than done. Each opportunity to do a project...I feel is like a diamond. I can't even imagine what it must be like to helm a feature. SO many decisions. SO many days things go wrong. You adjust and move. Adjust and move. No wonder we all go nuts.

Most creative types do have more than one poker in the fire. Balloons in the air (as the saying goes). I dunno how they can juggle so much. I had a girlfriend once tell me that I silence my brain with alcohol. I joke, but I did find courage in booze. If people didn't like what I did, I didn't give a shit. Drank my sorrows away, got excited about the next thing, moved on. This is so much easier to disappear in a haze. Facing your insecurities...I hope no one ever needs to deal with. I feel a lot of us suffer through.

Vacation

I'm actually on vacation right now. I've been using the time to work on my short film. There is a lot of work to be done. Which seems really silly, considering it's only 5 minutes long. A lot more ahead of me too though. But I have to make this good. OR at least watchable. Some may think it's boring. And if it moves as fast as it does...I've really failed.

Anyway, it got me thinking about my Dad's retirement. The guy spends a lot of his free time doing really mundane things. Not bad mundane...just...it seems he lacks purpose. I think this goes for a lot of people who go from doing everything to doing nothing. My older sister just texted me telling me he walks the dog and shouts at him to poop. I drew a comparison to my vacation, in that I'm working with actors, and essentially waiting for them to poop. Yes, you can be impatient and start shouting. I'm sure a LOT of the times there's a freeze up if you do such a thing. I count myself lucky, in that...because it was no budget, I can't really scream or get angry. May've done a number on my blood pressure.

But I'm very fortunate to have worked with focused people. I found myself in a fog most of the time. Not really upset. Just...impatient. A co-worker really laid into me about vacation. She wondered why I'd waste relaxation time on working on projects? What a stupid fucking question. Why waste your life doing nothing but looking at the ceiling of your home? Or going off to a place to soak in a different culture? In the end, I'll be back where I started from, and now added to that, a more acute distaste for Los Angeles, even more than I already have. This isn't a vacation to me. A vacation is essentially keeping myself busy with the life I want to live. A filmmaker's life, to be more specific. I actually enjoy working on stories for the next project or collaborating with other movie makers. Or talking about movies. Not because I want to live in some La La Land...which let's face it, not a bad alternative...but because it brings me back to a younger version of myself that had so much going for him. I feel we all strive to be a better person full of hopes and dreams. I think my brain has purposefully slowed itself down in order to absorb a LOT of this. Prior to this, it was always buzzing like a hummingbird on crack. I think, given this glimpse (opportunity) to do something well, I've no real other choice but to exploit to full potential. Again, very grateful to be able to do something with my life and feel there is something more to accomplish. I don't think many people get this.

Editing A Movie

Now that I got everything shot and dailied. I sit in a very dark room pondering the story I've set out to tell. It's a total brain fuck. I know I've got footage. But what is the most effective way to convey it? Chances are, a lot of you who make your own movies have an idea of what it takes to piece together your project. Most may just like to slap it together and let the winds take it. Others focus on every meticulous piece, whether sane or not.

I think we're all very media savvy these days. We know what may work or doesn't. Some tap the very obvious decisions. A LOT are boring garbage. This is the crevice I'm trying to leap. Trying hard to get a good tale in a short amount of time.

Most people, when starting out, tend to cram a feature into a short film. Others will try to extract a scene from a feature film into a short film. Both these may work. Worked for "Saw." They shot a short movie which was essentially one scene from their feature. I recall seeing it on that set. It was very well done. A good piece to shop around for potential. The script was also very good. This seems to be incredibly rare. Anyway, right now...I'm very proud of the project we have. Watched it a few times. There's a LOT that needs to be done with it. In particular, sound design.

This is so overlooked in general. I'm definitely guilty of it. Since I deal with picture. But sound can elevate a poorly conceived film. I've seen it happen. Ben Burtt ("Star Wars") re-defined what sound does for picture. These guys are batshit crazy by the way, so...like wombats, unless you REALLY have to deal with them, stay clear.

I really like having a purpose in finishing this short film. There's a great sense of accomplishment and pride. If I were to be interviewed for my take on making shorts, I'd say one thing...DO NOT put too much on your plate. Share with people your passion and they will come out to support you. This is a fucked up industry we work in. A guy could be a production manager, but in the interim be making your burrito at El Torito. EVERYONE has pride. Learn to tap into people's willingness to see you for the creative mind you possess. And persevere. You're going to deal with really fucked up people. Unfortunately, this is the norm and not the exception. DON'T allow people (or try your best) not to let people tear you down too soon. People can be dicks. Especially if you're on the same path as them. Instead, focus on the great support from people who believe in you.

Our lives are really short. If we're not out there doing something enriching, you're wasting it away. A day shouldn't pass without you fulfilling that part of it. We're not gonna be here forever.

College Ceramics Teacher

In my last days at undergrad college at Bowling Green State, I had to take one last 3-D class to complete my art degree. I elected to do ceramics, since it seemed pretty straight forward at the time. Little did I know that the new professor was a young buck who had a chip on his shoulder and a love for clay that was clearly unhealthy. He had a stunning young wife, blonde blue-eyed Barbie cunt, who seemed to HATE small town living. He also had a son who would visit the office a lot. College girls oo'd and ahh'd. Guy knew how to fish for snatch.

I had an attitude...this is without doubt. But I also knew it wasn't a field I wanted to go into. This did not bode well for someone who made it his mission to learn everything about pottery. Me?...fuck you and your clay. So, anyway, we got an evaluation at the end of the year. A one on one talk in his office. I was slouched in my chair waiting for the brutality. Knowing the guy hated my guts. And I haven't forgotten his words "Maybe art isn't for you." The words hung in the air like a stench of fish. I just glared. Thinking to myself "Sorry pal, I couldn't get into shit only chicks dig, faggot. I hope you get clay miner's lungs." He did seem to have an unexplained cough.

Yeah, I was a shit bag. But, he could've just told me ceramics wasn't for me.

I only discovered later that art wasn't for me. Not art, like homo art. Not museum type art. But more commercial endeavor that could land me fame more than fortune. Some would say, this was the beginning of the "hipster" movement. I couldn't even tell you, except I lived old school. Because I liked it. Not because it became popular a decade later.

Anyway, to besmirch this fuckface even more. I worked at the local video store. Where he would come in and visit. He didn't know I worked there. We had everything there. In particular weird fucking pornos. Guess who rented "Big Black Booty IV?" Yeah, he came in...or should I say slithered, looking at me, looking at his rental record with gritted teeth...I know who you really are.

I dunno where this dude is now. Forgot his name. I do recall going to a keg party once, seeing him manning the tap. I went to get a beer. He was drunk off his ass. He pointed at me drunkenly and said "Hey you!" I was sober, and just waved him off. "Yeah, you!" I went up to him "Yeah, wassup?"...Then he waved his hands around and announced (loudly) "this is the guy who hates me."

I started to laugh. Guy had everything. Hot wife, kid, black booty porn, and he just focused on how much I disliked him.

That's human nature, I guess.

The Death Of Robin Williams

Everyone seems to be shocked at his death. Possible suicide. When a few weeks earlier he admitted himself into a rehab clinic in the bowels of Minnesota.

This is NOT surprising. And a few people I've been listening to on podcasts even came out and said, it wasn't a good thing to go. The fact that publicists hid it under the auspicious of "re-tuning" himself is typical of plastering makeup on a pig. I feel bad that Mr. Williams surrounded himself with so many people who didn't protect his self interest, but their own. The golden goose who kept laying them eggs. It's disgusting, sometimes...this business.

It got me thinking about something a lot of entertainers struggle with. That's acceptance. Millions adored Robin. Loved his standup and in later years his family fare. However, it's usually the one disapproving person a person like Robin probably dwelled on. The one person whose acceptance he clamored for. Even though this is easily trumped by the millions, it's the one he couldn't win over. This is murder for people who want everyone to like them. That's the painful nature of show business. Ask any comic. The room would be spinning with laughter. It's the one that sits with their arms folded that they just remember. The one that they couldn't win over. That's the one that sticks in your crawl. And yes, it's not even conceivable how illogical this could be. But, for someone who thrives on making others happy, this is poison.

And so his addiction takes over. And those voices come back. I know the feeling. I've killed so many brain cells, I'm not sure what truth is anymore. I'm not depressed since I can't feel anything. It's possibly worst than depression, in that...you're numb to things. You find no enjoyment in even being depressed. Money doesn't solve it. Pussy doesn't solve it. Drugs and alcohol doesn't solve it. It's just a void. And, if you see it in that aspect, what point is there?

I've told my friend recently, how at the end of the day, you MUST find something to look forward to. Whether it be the laughter of your child, or the warm smile of your loved ones, it has to mean something to you. I implore people to dig deep and honestly believe that the small things in life shouldn't be overlooked. That you should appreciate a good meal with a good friend. That a sunset still holds value. That people's opinion of you isn't as important as your opinion of yourself. And know the good you've done for people. Take stock of your mini accomplishments. I swear, it adds up to a lot.

Wherever you are, Mr. Williams, I hope you found that peace and finally won over whoever held you back.

Last Day Of Shooting

Man, I am exhausted. So exhausted I've gone to boredom. This is the worst feeling. I dropped off my film and now sitting outside of a library waiting...for something. Anything. Not really sure what I'm suppose to do now, except to coordinate the next thing. Which is already a mountain before me.

This shoot took a lot from me. Not in a bad way. But an eye opening way that I should've known better. I feel that with my past history and experience, it would've been easy. It's never easy. If it were we'd all be doing it. But it sometimes sucks major balls. And you're completely alone in feeling it. You can't explain it to most people, because A) they could careless, B) you're boring them.

This is not an interesting life I lead. I function in such a weird purgatory of self-loathing and constant insecurity. Which I'm sure drove my hero (Tony Scott) to similar conclusions (he committed suicide a few years back). We will never fill an empty void, no matter who we think we're trying to impress. We'll never impress ourselves.

It's a shame I stopped drinking. A lot of this would be alleviated if I could just drown out the doubt. But I know it'd be a LOT more anger and pain after I sobered up. I find it to be nauseating sometimes that only a handful understand the constant bullshit people deal with. And...yes, I realize this isn't brain surgery or helping poor distended stomach kids in Africa. But, trapped in your own mind, maybe being the Peace Corps and letting some deep rainforest savage size you up for head shrinkage (and not the MDA approved kind) would be merciful.

We eat a LOT of shit doing this stuff.

Day Two "Poolside" short film

Ah folks, the joy of filmmaking. This time I mean it. It was a nice breezy day. My buddy Sam Tello whom I've made many a film with (usually him as writer/director) showed up. I gotta tell you, Sammy is like a brother to me. Very forgiving for crazy manic behavior. His energy is limitless. A real professional without complaint. I mean the role I'd thrown him in was really tiny. But he picked up the slack and really glad to have him on. Really exhausted but putting together the movie in my head. Feels good. I'm excited about the possibilities now. I'm thankful for this opportunity, even though it spikes my blood pressure and dehydrated me, it still is a nice challenge aside from just sitting on my ass watching shitty t.v./movies.

Spikes in blood pressure, that reminds me. My next door neighbor died three weeks ago. Didn't even know. Died of a heart attack. That's rough. It just hit him hard. And he was gone. The shock alone for me is palatable. I was talking to him, then he is no longer on this planet. So odd. My feeling is, do the most you can with your life. If telling stories through filmmaking is the drive that keeps you moving, do it. Or if anything you've ever wanted to accomplish is in your field of view. I suggest you do it now. The mistakes will happen. Disappointment will happen. Do it now, when you can enjoy it, and not later when you're too debilitated. You will be so much more enriched in life. The steps are a pain, but it makes for a more full life. Otherwise, you'll die on the vine. I suspect my neighbor didn't have much more life to live for. Because he seemed to lack purpose.

Who's DIrecting?

Was really stoked to direct this short. Man...it sometimes goes south. Or rather, people you work with make your life a little more difficult. Part one, do you really even want to be in my project? I've noticed a few things about people who believe they know the business. They don't (including myself). They only feel they know, but in reality...no one knows. However, that being said, there are an army of people who've put a lot of effort and gone through pains to make this happen. Be cooperative. DON'T second guess a director especially in front of the rest of the crew. How idiotic. This is a person who hasn't stepped on a real set. The lesson will be learned. And it'll make life a lot more difficult. Enjoy the process. Look and learn. Be engaged.

I learned something about difficult talent. The ones that are difficult, aren't necessarily linked to the ones that actually show up. The ones that DON'T show up tend to be the ones who are talented. And less difficult. Once they show up, you can't imagine how helpful they become.

Actors need to learn one thing...if anything, there are others who would be much more happier to show up and just "play." Have fun and "play." Unfortunately, this includes being a lot more open minded to what the possibilities could be. Again, telling me as the director something makes them look ridiculous doesn't help. Especially because I'm a fucking stranger. If it helps or not isn't the case. Step one is to actually read the script. Step two was to realize what kind of movie you're in. Not everyone gets this opportunity.

I've had a bad day on my hands. Feel tired, probably. And old. I shouldn't take any of it personally. When it hits, everyone takes credit. If it fails. Everyone runs for the hills.

As is the nature of this nutty business.

Do It Yourself Filmmaking

So I made the decision to make another short film. Man...what was I thinking?

In film school, everyone was chomping at the bit to help each other. And you had access to everything. Sky was the limit. I wish to God, when I was that age again, I could've really taken advantage of it. I think at the time, I felt that I took it to its limit. But may not have.

Now, out of school, it's a struggle for the most basic things. Especially since the money is coming out of my own pocket. It's a lot of second guessing. A lot of stress. A lot of caffeine. Common sense would tell me that I should just get off the caffeine. It's a never ending cycle of ups and downs. I'm jazzed at points. Then, I come to a crashing painful bottom. The erratic behavior is due to having so many details to juggle. Again, I don't have anyone helping. Or they're helping when they can.

I do love that I can bring on my friends to help again. I love feeling that I'm just making something. Everyone at my level seems to not. And I have to keep reminding myself that this is what I originally came out to L.A. to do. I have to just relax and enjoy the process.

I do dig the cast I landed with. I'm excited to shoot this thing. Though really really really skeer'd.

People Don't Fuckin' Listen...

...and they probably don't fucking care. I hope to God when I get to be a certain age, I won't take memory or recall for granted. Case in point, these two dillweeds I work with. One sent something to New York AFTER I told the dumbass that I hadn't tested the gear. Told him straight to his fucking face. He nodded. A lot of yah, yah, yahs...then the I get an email wondering why we would send broken gear. Unbelievable. I'd be more inclined to chalk it up to age, but...this dude is past 60 years of age. Doubt it's hard of hearing. It's hard of thinking.

Second one is this total douche I work with. He's one of those Hollywood phony "listeners" who asks you ton of questions and won't give you enough time to answer. Nor does the fucker digest anything you say. So, here's how it goes...
"I'm shooting a film in the office next Saturday."
"Ah, too bad, if it were this Saturday, my wife is out of town and I could drop by." (like he was fucking invited).
"Well, it's the Saturday after this one."

Cut to, two days later, when I'm about to go on vacation to plan for the shoot.
He said "Well, see you on Saturday."
I thought to myself "I bet the fuckface thinks it's THIS Saturday." Fuck him then. I hope he shows up and no one's there. Wasn't invited, can't listen. What is up with that? It's almost like everyone talks, no one listens. It's not that fucking hard to keep track of things. I oftentimes respect people enough to absorb things said. At least I attempt to. Oftentimes I'll try to get people to repeat, so I don't fucking look like an idiot should anything go wrong. Nope. Not with these fuckers I've been dealing with lately. And it doesn't stop there. I went to buy some camera gear at a rental house. This fucking thing turned into a Marx Bros. routine.
"What did you want to buy?"
"Arri 2C accessories."
"Let me see if the owner is in"
Disappears.
"Guy's on the phone, wait a minute we can get him when he's off. Anyway, what are you doing."
"Buying film gear to shoot a film."
"uh-huh...uh-huh, what made you get into the business?"
"epic movies. 'Gone With The Wind', 'Lawrence of Arabia' etc..." (wasn't expecting 3rd degree).
"Ah...uh-huh" (NOT paying the fuck attention). Oh looks like he's off the phone."
We both walk into owner's office. "Hey, guy here wantsta' buy an Arri 2C"
Before I could correct him and tell him I wanted to buy accessories NOT the camera...owner pipes up "e-mail me a list of what you want."
"I just wanted to know what your accessories are available. I have the camera."
"What? Dave tells me you were looking for a camera."
"I never--"
"just email me a list. We'll see what we have."
My first thought "FUCK YOU and you're stupid fucking company. May God curse you with enlarged sore balls, you fucking deaf shitbag."
I stormed out of there more confused than going in. Who the fuck are these people?

Anyway, I just wish pray and hope, I never become like that. It is a serious disability. Worst than any brain damage. It's like they're proud of getting just the back half of information. Guess we're not that important.

Or, most likely, people just don't give a flying fuck.