Neck Tattoos

I see it everywhere, nowadays here in Los Angeles.

Exactly what is the end game with having a neck tat? I wager you really limit your options when you have something run the length of the side of your neck. Congressman isn't one of them.

My guess, you either got out of prison, going into prison or work at a prison. Either way, you aren't going near children, nor are you qualified for jobs which require that you don't wear turtlenecks. There is just an insanity that comes with this. A sort of..."I've made a decision in life and I'm sticking to it." I mean, you could be in a rock band, if you played an instrument. Or were any good. Or live on the road. You could be a carny where I can't imagine one without a neck tat. But you're not going to be a nanny. Nor will this ever get you a gig at a place that requires you are clinical, precise or require common sense. In other words, you better work for yourself.

I don't really care that you got it done. What I am interested in is how forthright this is. That you deny and reject society's view on you. Jobs...scratch that...careers are near impossible these days. Why would you do this to yourself? Why would you permanently take yourself out of the potential of something you'd want to do in life.

I had a co-worker who had sleeves of tattoos and near full body. He's planning on more. He works in the entertainment business. He is from South Dakota. If he ever went back home, he'd be visually qualified for a few things (that come to mind): Harley Davidson mechanic or tattoo artist. They aren't going to hire him to edit the nightly news. Nor would they trust him to. People with this next thing don't realize they've also put themselves in a place beyond poor decision making. The best part is the attitude. Don't judge a book by its cover. I understand if you were born with a birthmark that looks like Florida, but to purposely do a snake eating another snake up around the side of your body is asking for people to discount you from society. I don't trust a lawyer with this. Don't trust them anyway. But, imagine if your defense attorney had a dragon that ran the length of his shaved head. Would anyone take him seriously?

I feel the minute someone does this to themselves, they're not telling the world what an individual you are. You are throwing away your identity and subsequent future into a garbage can. And making others have to carry your burden. Don't do it.

Dyin' 'Aint Much Of A Livin'

--so said the outlaw Josey Wales

“Do you have family nearby?” the doctor asked.

“No”

“Friends?”

“Well, when I gave up drinking, I sorta’ distance myself from people in general.”

“I see”

Then it occurred to me…if I die in L.A. I will die alone. That is a sad thought, considering it will most likely be in my apartment. But worst, that my rotting corpse won’t be found until my rent is due. So hopefully it’s going to be close to the end of the month. THEN, what with litigation happy tenants these days, most likely I won’t be found until they rent is overdue by half a year. God forbid they knock on my door.

Dying alone is what we all have to go through. Alone-alone is different than alone-around-family. There is something a noble about dying alone. Atop a snow covered mountain. Accepting the fate that is on us. The Japanese do this. Go up to the mountains, no more of a burden to their family. My Grandfather did it. He was trained around Japanese.

You do have to wonder sometimes…when you die, and if you die alone, what would people piece together in what you’ve died around. Not like you would care. But it makes me look around and judge what type of person the investigators would think. Sometimes…you wonder if being murdered would be so much better. Especially by a loved one. If they truly loved you, hopefully they’d hide your amassed shame (“Garbage Pail Kids” collection, high school love letters).

Social Anxiety

I am a painfully shy person. You may not know it from what I write in these blog entries. But I am. I find it difficult to talk to people normally. A lot of the times, some of the humor here comes off bad in the “real world.” In fact,  let’s just say all of it does. I think it may be that some of my deeper darker moments tend to  upset some people. A lot of people really think you have it together. When in reality, when you don’t it makes people uncomfortable. As a guy, it’s tough, because you are required to keep things together. To be tough. I’ve given out a perception sometimes of this toughness. I think drinking booze it bridged that really weird gap of inhibition. Being drunk meant that you could express yourself, without the filter of what people thought of you. In your mind you may believe being frank with people draws you closer. In some cases they do. But what you end up with is a LOT of people you don’t want to be around. Other broken people like yourself.

I’m not implying that you should fake being a good person. I think everyone is. Deep down inside. But, if you’ve lived a long life of being hurt or felt a constant pain that you were owed something that wasn’t delivered, you’re going to find yourself in a VERY lonely place. I suffer from it. I am in my own mind. The type of person I am, is the person I most dislike. They are the ones I point at and worry about snapping. In fact, there a dude I sometimes (frighteningly) look at as my own future when I turn 50 years of age. No family, no real friends, just a shell of a man and his hobbies. He doesn’t seem happy. Doesn’t seem sad. But he’s fixed in his belief system with the refusal to take another point of view. His ideals are disturbingly focused. He is capable of rationalizing bad behavior. And he isn’t wrong in some of his assessment, he’s just a few inches off of center. This is a man you worry about. I’ve worked in other artistic endeavors in the past. I’d get really odd emails from him questioning things that don’t need to be questioned. He clearly has a thing for a model he wanted me to work with. We worked together on another project. Total professional thing. He seemed…jealous. Awkwardly jealous. Stalker-ly jealous. But it’s not forefront. It’s an undercurrent of someone watching you. Yeah, paranoid. BUT, this is the neighbor that always wondered how he could do awful things when he was “such a quiet nice young man.”

I have cleaned up myself from booze. But my decades of abuse has caught up to me. I can only wait it out. Suffering symptoms of what I can only blame myself over. I think about all my relatives and family members. The ones that never knew my addiction. I feel for them, the same as when Elizabeth Pena’s family felt for her. They  may’ve never known the struggle. I wonder, at the age of 39, if I came to the conclusion early enough. She went out at 55. Had I done more abuse in my time, then she did stretched out in life. I think more and more we’re getting substance abuse stories. Elisabeth Vargas on ABC has been suffering recently too. It’s so shocking. Considering there’s probably a TON more people that haven’t come out. How booze has destroyed the inside and the out of us. It’s shameful, considering our industry is all about being social. Which is odd from people with social anxiety. 

The Kid

“Hey,  I promised I was coming back to shoot you. Wait here. I’ll be back” The 8 year old and his sister darted from the sidewalk and disappeared into his apartment. I was sitting outside reading a book and smoking my pipe when the pipsqueak came back. He aimed a screaming neon Nerf gun at me. I put up my hand to shield the foam bullet. Which is when he pulled the trigger. It launched from the barrel and hit my hand. Wow. That thing had a kick. I thought to myself “Motherfucker, you kids play with things like this?” He laughed maniacally. I’d seen him before. With a gang of other punk kids.

I think he was very curious about me. Not sure why. I wanted to be alone. I ignored him in previous outings. He seemed like a precocious spaz. Me at that age. I wish he’d leave me alone. But he stuck around. Most likely bored. He decided to drag back a whole tub of other Nerf brand guns and proceeded to show me his weaponry. A TON of Nerf crap. I really wanted him to leave me alone.

Me: “Say, what grade you in, 2^nd?”

Kid: “No. Third.”

Me: “Dontcha’ have homework to do then?”

Kid: “I already did four segments. I’m in magnate school.”

I didn’t know what the fuck that was.

Kid: “Hey, did you see Hector?”

I didn’t know who the fuck Hector was. That’s when he dragged the fat black cat that’s been looming around the complex back.

Me: “Oh, I thought he had a different name.”

Kid: “No, he’s Hector. I have the same cat. Except skinnier.”

Me: “What’s YOUR cat’s name?”

Kid: “Little Dragon.” So much for real names like Hector.

Me: “You know what I think, dude?”

Kid was curious now. What could a long haired Asian guy possibly come up with here. “What?”

Me: “I think you’re procrastinating.”

Kid: “What’s procras…procras…procr…?”

Me: “It means you’re wasting time because you don’t want to do your homework. I know this trick. I’ve done it.” Maybe if the shit went to school, he’d extend his vocab.

He looked down, studied his gun. CAUGHT YA’ LI’L FUCKER!

Kid: “No. I already did four segments.”

Me: “Some…is not all.” Jesus, did I sound like a douche.

He seemed genuinely impressed though. That I was that alert to his scheme. I was a kid once too. A LONG time ago.

The rest of the time I spent the conversation attempting to get him to get me some candy when he goes Hallowe’en trick or treating (it being a week away). I had to convince the shit that I was too old to go. Then I bribed him to trade candy for candy. I would get a bag of candy and he’d go out and get the loot, bring it back to me and we’d trade. There was a huge caveat here though:

1)   NO FUCKING CANDY CORN. That shit sucks.

2)   No hard candy. No peppermints or butterscotch old lady shit. No one eats that crap.

3)   Get as much Skittles as you can

The Kid agreed. And disappeared. So I thought. He came back later knocked on my door. Scratch that. Pounded the shit outta’ my door to open it. I dragged myself from the Bronco/Charger Thursday night football game. He was holding up the stupid black fucking cat making it wave goodnight to me. I rolled my eyes. Great. Looks like I made a friend. Hope he brings me my candy. I shut the door in his face.

SuperFudge: We Were Raised By Retards

I recall reading this book as a kid. There was a baby named Farley Drexel, but due to the fact that he hated his own named, renamed himself "Fudge." As a kid reading it, boy did I laugh. Laughed my fucking dumb brain off whilst most likely eating paste. This is what kids do.

This kid is a retard. And we loved him for it.

In Judy Blume's book, the kid eats a turtle. Swallows it whole. Which would kill any normal kid. Not so for retarded kid. This kid ends up shitting it out. Of course reading this as a child, I understood this to be how science works. Much like when someone drinks a gallon of water, by stabbing him, the water will siphon out in like a garden fountain. These are universal truths to retarded kids. And I fell for it. Like a retard.

I make fun of kids today for the shit they watch. You know what though, at least it's a purple dinosaur dancing and singing and not some retarded kid getting into mischief. I mean, with the dinosaur, at least he stayed in one place. ALSO, the Barney was also landlocked. Your impression of him was based solely on the edges of the set frame. Meanwhile, Fudge is all over the neighborhood causing trouble.

And this was okay. Cause he was a kid. I was a kid. I realized there really was a retarded kid in my neighborhood. I forget the guy's name. But his mom would constantly give him excuses for retarded behavior. I was really insensitive at the time (if you can believe that). This kid reminded me of Fudge. He'd hide behind a large piece of plywood while another kid would throw shruiken throwing stars at him. It'd embed itself into the wood. And he'd come around it laughing his face off. I'd sit there, even at 9 years old, just confused. Or jealous. I mean, the joy it must have to have sharp metal being thrown at you, when the world looks like a fucking Barney nightmare.

Matt was his name! Matt Sasser, I think. Wow. Maybe I'm not really retarded, but autistic. Like that fucking retard Rain Man.

Elizabeth Pena R.I.P.

Elizabeth Pena died at 55 years old due to alcoholism. It's strange how little we see of people or how we perceive them when they're around us. A lot of people, probably her immediate family saw this self-destruction. People probably think I'm lucid and sharp. But I'm anything but that. I wake up in the morning so ill sometimes and disoriented, I have to drag myself to the toilet where I try not to faint because I my lower gut hurts like a mofo. This is AFTER having stopped drinking for close to 7 months now. Her symptoms are very clearly similar to my own. Most nurses in the medical field would brush me off (as they have) that they wished internet didn't exist for certain hypochondriacs. Because they believe if they read something they immediately believe they have it. I don't think I fall under that category. I didn't even know I was really sick until these moments. In fact, I refuse to believe it. But most think I'm too fit to suffer from these things. That my face hasn't puffed up to pumpkin size (because it's actually my real head size). I guess in their world, if they're wrong, the least that can happen is that I'd be dead, and they'd shrug and say "my bad."

Her situation scares the fuck out of me. Drinking booze will eventually become a lifeline. Some will begin to not function without it. Their bodies will reject it. I'm telling you...I didn't even know I had an issue UNTIL I stopped. In fact, I felt so fit when I was drinking. Off the sauce, I feel like shit. How is this possible. Because it's poison. Poison you will have to live for if you don't quit. Living to 55 is not the way to go. Imagine all the fun and love you're leaving on the table.

You're Going To Leave A Mark

Ever since I got a blu-ray player I revisit a lot of movies. The ones that pre-date a decade shot on film and re-transferred to 1080p is ridiculous. Let that be a lesson to you digital shooters, YOU’RE MOVIE IS NOT GOING TO LOOK GOOD 10 YEARS FROM NOW. This is a fact.

I’m also a very cheap sonuvabitch, so I basically go to the library to get movies. I’m really at the mercy of whatever they have. Tonight I checked out “Stir Of Echoes” A Kevin Bacon movie written and directed by a writer that did “Jurassic Park.” His name is David Koepp. I recall reading the script for.

As I was watching "Stir...", I thought to myself that it held up nicely. I’m not one for ghost spooky movies. Because they’re mostly corny. This seemed to focus more on the family aspect. And there are a lot of funny moments. It really enjoyed the idiosyncratic nature of family. In stressful issues, it’s not wrong to crack wise here and there. Or draw attention to the silly. It’s a silly ghost movie. But it’s also an amazing tightrope to negotiate. The movie does so expertly. Not to say it doesn’t have issues, and most of the time it’s frustrating, but it was a great watch. Enough for me to watch again with David Koepp’s commentary.

As I was sitting there, for whatever reason it never dawned on me when this movie was made. So I looked at the jewel case. I couldn’t believe it. 1999. The year was 1999. I was on my way to graduate school. In fact, I vaguely remember the VHS box at the video store (young folk…Google VCR). It was amazing. There is a five year old in the movie. The fucker is college age now. I kept wondering how was it possible this movie that looked relatively fresh (had you never seen the movie before) passes for something that could’ve been made today. The look was fine for today’s audience. There is nothing in the frame that you could latch onto that would pin it to any era (like the movie “Singles” ages BAD). It also got me thinking about what you do in life does have a long reach. I think most people grow insane in this business because it’s basically a time capsule of disaster. Potentially. Imagine if for the rest of your life, you are pinned to an event. I’d hate to be Leo from “Titanic.” I’m sure Leo can’t stand Jack. Probably never watched that movie since. You see the terrible acting. And, for a movie that is a period piece, it ages bad. Because of that fucking song. You know the one.

I think a lot of people in my business want to make something that is timeless. Yes, it’s near impossible to create something in its time that doesn’t eventually conjure up a period of time in someone’s life when they watch it. But there is a universal truth filmmakers want to reach. The “perfect movie” if you will. I think some would watch “The Godfather” and latch onto the universal truth of family and the American Dream. For me, it was always “The Apartment” (1960) Jack Lemmon, Shirley MacLaine Best Picture winner. This movie spoke to me in different periods of my life. But the reoccurring idea is that life will give you what you need, not always what you want. Disappointment is a lifelong thing, but there are also moments of sweetness. That is genius. Watch it if you haven’t.

I just want to make a movie where it does come off as honest. I really rack my brain a lot about plot heavy ideas when I should really be dealing with characters. To be honest, I think a lot of times I’m too shallow to dig real characters out. Character is SO engaging. Plot driven becomes the bargain bin dual feature on some car wash DVD.

Entertaining people is great. Longevity, if you can 

You Work Too Hard

“You work too hard.” The little fractured English voice said. I spun around from messing with a massive 2K Mole Richardson Supersoft. It was a small Spanish woman. I’d seen her around my complex cleaning the different bungalow units. “Huh?”

“You work too hard” she smiled.

I was confused. “Who me? I just do what I do.” She looked confused. English wasn’t her first language. Certainly wasn’t slang. “Yes. You do.” The model was in makeup getting ready. I’d been sweating. But not because of fucking around with the light. I was hung over and a bit sick. I nodded and smiled. It was sweet of her to say so. It dawned on me…what people perceive and what is reality.

To me, as I move around with all my equipment, I seldom realize what is work. I’m way too focused on what’s in front of me to know what people see. To me, it’s just trying to get through the day.

I wonder…what I’m even doing in L.A. a lot of the times. It seems I’m doing what I want. People seem to respond to what I do. It was weird, since I consider the woman who cleans bathrooms to have it infinitely harder than me. I really wonder what people consider hard work. Most people would see working with pretty woman fun. It was really refreshing to know that someone saw the pain that goes behind it. I guess what I’m getting at is when you do something that you feel passionate about, it really doesn’t feel like work.

I came out to L.A. thinking people owed me an audience. I was super arrogant and came out swinging. I was shitty to people. Didn’t care what others thought of me. To a certain extent I still don’t. But it’s a terrible attitude. Not that you have to care about everything or what people say behind your back, but this town has a way of making you feel really self-conscious. That everyone knows your business. It’s damn near impossible for people to know anything about you. Doesn’t help that you have to balance it with internet presence to promote what you do. It’s a weird world. Like you’re constantly online dating. 

You just want to attract the attention of the ones you want attention from. I fucked up somewhere. There was a miniscule line between my time on “Saw” to what could’ve been future work in production. Incidentally, the way things are going cinematographers are about to be extinct. I’ll follow up with my theory in future entries.

Ferguson, MO part. 2

I was wrong.

There is a HUGE divide. I did not realize how big this was until I was looming over two separate Facebook sites. One directed towards a general public one by D.L. Hughly. DL is a really cool comic. I’ve always liked his silly side. He seems so accessible and fun. Chris Rock strikes me as really smart. Closer to my sense of humor (and fed up with the world fun). But I never considered DL a political person.

On his message board announcing the Ferguson cop talking about how Michael Brown (the unarmed teen shot) was at close range. Which means he was at least a few feet away from the officer who shot him. This changes things, since the assumption now is that he shot Brown while being close then fired at him as when he was wounded and retreating. This is finding by the department. For which the African-American gallery exploded with comments about civil rights, profiling and so on.

Let’s be honest. Of course cops profile. They’ve admitted it. I’ve been profiled a LOT. I’m sure not to the extent of a black man in a Lexus at 10pm in Brentwood. But, it’s aggravated me. In my neighborhood it was mostly having money versus not. I drove a shitty VW through tawny neighborhoods. With a white t-shirt and torn jeans. Until they found out what high school I went to. They let me go. It wasn’t black and white (or in this case cinnamon). It was green. Money. Money changes the game. Money isn’t that you pay off cops. But they expect that your folks keep on the low down. That they don’t want to be sued. Or lose their place in status. This is what chains most people with money to civility. The inner city, and what seems like in Ferguson, lower middle class working people. There is low connection to what the law deals with. There is a huge suspicion with the police. Even though there was a low boil to their already tempestuous relationship. It’s like that crazy woman that you married and you step on eggshells not to break anything. Or have her explode on you with craziness. But your back is up against the wall. Both sides, really. The frustration of upholding law and stepping on civil rights keeps authorities really bound and jittery. Whilst on the other side, the African-American public in Ferguson is constantly wondering when the police will crack. Or waiting for something terrible to happen. This was it.

All eyes are on this town that can barely be bigger than a town in Los Angeles. I feel bad for EVERYONE involved. The officer who shot the kid, I’m most certain, regrets it. It’s an ugly situation. There was no reason for it to go the distance. And the rest of the world cannot get over why an officer of the law who’s had ZERO background of racism, violence, arrogance (see: Mark Furhman) would empty a magazine into this dude. It just all doesn’t make sense.

Either way, like I said before, if we’re in a police state, I haven’t seen it. I feel if one side is expecting something terrible to happen, it’s just going to happen. Or some are going to want it to happen. I almost think it’s that moment in “Tombstone” where they’re all at the OK Coral, then a small movement causes chaos to break out. It just seems like that’s where we’re headed. I hope not.

Cunty Women You're Not Even Banging

Cunty women you’re not even banging.

The worst.

A lot of them have come out to L.A. to be talent. This is overlooked by everyone. Their talent. So they think. Nor do they bend to criticism. Even if it means they don’t have a fucking clue what their doing. The worst, is that it translate to getting defensive. Never works I wonder if I come off as defensive. Probably. Most likely it’s what kept me from working in other movies. For now.

Anyway, topic at hand, this was the message from me wishing a “model/actress” a hearty “Good luck!” on a shoot she was doing with someone else (a really bad photographer…I’ve got the cojones to say it, this person is awful. iPhones do better).

Her: “Luck? I’ve been modeling and acting for years and years. Luck has nothing to do with it.” I was being kind, cunt.

Yeah, how is constantly complaining about being broke? Is it working? Whatever you’re doing OBVIOUSLY is failing miserably. You’re whining and crying about never working or having jobs. And no one seeing your talent. YET…the moment someone wishes you luck? This is your response. Tells me you’ve no clue, have a chip on your shoulder, and most likely will die angry and miserable (maybe like me). I know this “talent” has never done anything with substance. You can tell what is professional and what’s not. Some people who have a jump on my skills probably thinks the same of me. And it’s fair. Shitty, but fair. They work, I don’t. Not that hard.

The next step is to wonder why and how it works for others. Certainly not get shitty with someone when they extend a collaborative olive leaf. Yeah…you’re not good at what you do. You may have bullied certain people to deal with you at some point, this is the real deal. I would take advantage.

Maybe…she’s trying to convince me her talent. That people want her. That she’s wanted. This is very much the type of women that come out to Los Angeles to work in entertainment. And it grates on you. I feel sorry for them, actually. Most of us will be better off behind the camera rather in front.

Hot For Teacher

I recently saw this thing on “60 Minutes” about this female physical education teacher who had sexually molested a girl who was in high school. Her abuse went on for 3 years to an extent where the girl, now woman, had really awful nightmares. Without going into detail, it’s a horrific scenario. This is me saying this, so you know it had to be awful.

It got me to think about two female teachers I had in middle school to high school. I think there are a LOT more female predators than we realize. The only difference is that, in my day and age, it was a great conquest to bag a teacher. I remember one teacher. Ridiculous hot. I mean she could be in Penthouse magazine. Suzanne is all I recall her name being. In her early 20’s. I called her Miss something. Can’t remember her last name. All the guys had a crush on her. She dressed pretty scantily. For middle school boys just getting boners, she had a good idea what she was doing. She’d bend over and grab pencils. Man…she was that attractive. I learned in school she also had a job at the mall selling clothing. I think they were exaggerating when the word “lingerie” was thrown around. I think it was a men’s store. I was never brave enough to find out. It would’ve been too enticing. I wonder one day, that could be a fantasy I could share with a girlfriend. Like she’d play retail store owner. I’d walk in shopping for a codpiece. Fuck you, it’s a medieval store. Anyway, she’d come back to my place to try it on. I like being serviced, I guess.

There was also rumors she’d hooked up with some of my fellow students. I doubt it though. I think she just really loved the attention pre-pubescent boys gave her. I think she got off on turning us on. I can’t recall a single lesson from those days. In fact, I’m not even sure what she taught. I think it was remedial something. Since it had a LOT of criminals in it. I know, I was in the class, and reluctant to do homework properly. She followed us through the ranks of 6^th grade to 8^th, finally ending her connection to us by high school years. Man…my junk would’ve surely exploded had I knew what to do with the images she conjured.

The second teacher that, looking back, knew had a weird fixation on me was Miss Hurd. She would rub my back. Tell me certain things. Be GLOWING about stupid stuff I’d do. She loved the small things I’d do in a class I had with her. I hardly remember what class she taught. Only that she did make me feel uncomfortable with the attention. Because I didn’t think much of myself back then. I think she may’ve sense one of two things…since I was quiet and a rebel, I wouldn’t say much had she made a pass at me. She knew that no girls really liked me in high school. At least none that I knew. One day, I do recall a group of popular girls did ask me who I liked. I was so awkward back then, I said I don’t like anyone. In my mind I HONESTLY wondered why anyone would want to be my girlfriend as I didn’t shower much. My face was peppered with pockmarks and fat zits. I was pretty gross then. I mean more than I am now. Girls have a weird sense of what they’re attracted to. Anyone, I think I thought maybe because these girls may’ve liked me, Ms. Hurd did as well. I really don’t recall what would warrant her attention. Though I spent a very small moment with her. Years later at my high school graduation, I ran into her at the banquet tent. She gave me a really long hug and glowed about what a student I was to my mom. I was confused considering I only had ONE class with her. My mom was pleased that my teacher seemed to think I had potential. I was just wondering what her angle was. What I’m getting at, really fell in place with that sexual predator physical education teacher. The student, in a sting, called up that teacher (we’re talking more than a decade later) to make her admit to her crimes. Shockingly…not only did she admit to it, she knew she was being trapped into admit it and STILL admitted it. I’m not sure what insanity this is. But just hearing that voice of that phys ed teacher getting almost excited about her victim was unnerving. She still professed love. Wow. I wonder about Miss Hurd. I’m sure I’m not on her radar, but it’d be weird had an inappropriate relationship had occurred between us, what it must be now. I think “30 Rock” had episodes of this topic with Susan Sarandon as the teacher and Frank (Judah Friendlander) as the student. It’s hilarious.

You ever wonder why the female teachers are always smoking hot. The ones that molest the 13 year olds. Go ahead and do a search of female teacher predators. It’s a murderer’s row of women who could all be in some skin magazine. They’re hot. And I think they just want adulation. Turning on 13 year old boys is as big a conquest as winning at celebrity “Jeopardy.”

Incidentally, this assistant band teacher (guy) when I was in high school was let go due to inappropriate behavior with a student (16 year old girl). I knew the guy. I knew the girl, Knew he was dangerously close to doing what I knew he would eventually do. He doesn’t teach anymore. As far as I know, Miss Hurd is still in education.

All Women Want To Get Married

All women want to get married. You can be the hardest angriest feminist cunt in the world, but they will eventually feel the need to either be needed or need. To women, marriage is ownership. Think of it like this…we guys want to ruin the future for future guys who end up with our exes. This is also a fact. We want a woman to think the guy she does eventually ends up doesn’t have a chance in making her happy as much as her memories of you. Women want that too. It’s called a marriage license. This is hard proof that they (the wife) has ruined other women for you. That they are the last pussy they will hit. Without it, there is always an escape plan.

This dawned on me when I was on the tail end of my grad school. My friend Ed ended up going to graduate school. I wrote his recommendation letter (if you can believe that). He hooked up with a girl in his class. A very tied-to-her family girl. She didn’t have the slightest motivation to get married OR have children. She would be the LAST person on Earth that you’d think wanted children. She’s said it. Her closest friends were blindsided when they had a kid. Or maybe that was just me. I knew, if she could be broken down, ANYONE could.

I was shocked even being at their wedding. I was such a shit (you can believe that). My friend and I were buds since our film struggle days from Ohio. So it bummed me out that he found someone that he was so focused on her. I look back at those days and think the assholic way I treated the relationship. Openly criticizing her. Was very awkward being at the wedding. I met her folks then. I have NO idea why the idea of marriage wasn’t in her wheelhouse. I got the feeling that she, being an only child, may’ve felt that she had idosyncrasies in life that wouldn’t appeal to men. Certainly not one that could deal with her shit for life. Also, if you’re a driven person in life, having to deal with others is a pain. Their goals are most likely not yours.

I feel that way. That I’m not marriage material. I have so many weird tics it’s not advisable for me to include anyone. It’s really selfish for me since I operate on my own time. I despise having to make other people priority.

I do miss "playing house" though. One of the few things I do miss having a girlfriend was bouncing off my crackhead thoughts off on them. I think stupid things, that I’ve posted here. I don’t expect anyone to agree with me. But one of the coolest things women have over men, is that they can make life better. They will be your rational sounding board. To prevent you from doing boneheaded things (as your friends tend to encourage boneheaded things). They can be your biggest fan of your work.  I recall showing the trio of short films I made in film school to a girlfriend. Midway through I’d fallen asleep. When I woke up she was still watching them. The tape ended. She just looked at me with pride. “It’s good. You’ve very talented.” It made things better. It really did.

Beverly Hills 90210

I was re-watching an episode of “Beverly Hills 90210” (you do a LOT of stuff to rebuild your memory when you’re off booze). And in one instance the father could only send one or the other kid away to a private college. His reasoning was that business was tough and that they were going through a recession. The year was 1991.

It got me thinking about cycles. I think, in America anyway, we live in cycles. And they always come around again. There’s the cycle part. I think in a lot of ways, we’re always living in different parts of what was once our country. If you think about it, some things have never gone away from us. Real estate market sucked then, but was a lucrative business. It sucks now, but people found ways to make money from it (say for example, if you rent out your home).

I truly believe there is about to become a resurgence of 80’s type living. If memory serves, it was a very carefree style. It was stupid fun, casual sex and really terrible music. So far, we have 2 out of the three. I’m just waiting for the stupid fun.

See, the 80’s seemed to be the result of a really terrible 70’s. We hid ourselves in darkness, since Vietnam War casted a really dark moment of political strife. People were so angry. There’s racial tension. We got sick and tired of it. I think we’re due better times.

I think the younger generation is going to start being a little less interested about the dark parts of adults (as if they cared all that much to begin with). They will go for a simpler life. No worries about being in the world. Come up with terrible music, which later people will love on a kitsch level. We already have a ton of new Madonnas (Britney Spears) and Michael Jacksons (Justin Timberlake) could use a new Prince. Better yet, a great new version of Huey Lewis wouldn’t kill you. I look forward to this time coming up. I know we can get back to that world of just capitalism that was fun. Instead of capitalism that hurt people.

To live and die on the front end and the back end of a cycle must feel like déjà vu.

Sean Penn Smokes In Elevators

The idea of celebrity cracks me up. I’ve never had it, but I’ve been around it. In Los Angeles, we’re such a fame oriented society that dining tables are reserved in a pecking order of who’s movie did what at the box office. This is unreal. Even subpar celebrities got the same treatment. Remember Robert Blake had his own table at Vitello’s. And Lemmy from Motorhead has his chair at the Rainbow Room. NO ONE sits in it. People know it’s Lemmy’s drinking chair.

I’ve had brushes with it. Nor for myself but people around me. Johnny Depp’s been in our office. I got star-struck of course. Won’t admit it. Most people in this business don’t like to admit they get star-struck, because we’re too cool for school. Even though deep down inside, we’re flailing our Teen Bop magazine at them begging for a signature and never washing the hand that touched him or her. I’m talking this type, and NOT Kardashian. They’ve lived under the limelight of being the daughters of a shyster lawyer who defended O.J. Simpson. That alone should’ve cursed them like the Kennedy’s. Nope. They grew in reality. And media built them into who they are now. If you think press can’t build a celebrity, you may want another look at that hopelessly talentless family.

I ran into Sean Penn in an elevator at work one day. I was escorting a client outside to get her film. She was a low budget independent producer. Pretty girl. I thought I could smooth my way into her graces. We both stepped into the elevator when all of a sudden a hand shot out to catch the doors closing. Sean Penn slipped thru the doors apologized and stood…smoking a cigarette. In an elevator. In a weird way that my brain was wired, I glared at him. “Really, asshole?” It didn’t register who it was and why he was there (working on “Into The Wild”). He looked at what he’d just done and chucked the butt. He was absent minded and in a hurry. I turned to the girl and she was in a far off place. Her eyes glazed at the closeness of Penn. I was fucked. She stuttered “Was that…? “Yep” I interrupted “fucker was smoking in an elevator.” “My God he’s really handsome in real life.” She continued, oblivious I was even there. “I would totally go out with him.” (even though she was in her 20’s) Why didn’t you ask him, you dumb fucking broad. Is what I thought.  Celebrity gets you pussy you didn’t even know you had.

Anyway, Penn’s hooked up with Charlize Theron now. Whom I joked years ago with a girlfriend that I would leave her for Charlize. Even her name gave me a boner. But Penn’s banging her, probably while smoking a cigarette. It really soured me to her. Not because I think Sean Penn’s a douche. But because…well, Calgon take me away!!

Celebrity does have a great byproduct no one ever considers. It does bridge a culture gap. I recall my cousin asking me about Steven Seagal. A guy who speaks little to no English but has seen all his films. He lives in Taiwan, at the time in the 90’s had very little media. He sought out Seagal movies. Seagal is still big in Asia. Forgotten in America (unless as a joke). Which is odd considering the guy kick the shit out of Tommy Lee Jones in “Under Siege” a movie people forget was nominated for Best Picture at the Academy Awards.

It was neat talking to my cousin about movie making in Los Angeles. He had a quiet curiosity towards Hollywood. He, like me, spent a LOT of time in a different era. He had a pompadour ala James Dean, like I did. Felt he was a 50’s greaser, because of the movies he watched (as did I). It was weird how similar we’d grown up from two different countries but responded to the same things (thank God he sidestepped New Wave). Movies and t.v. do have an impact. Most of us now don’t really see it, since we’re all just trying to keep our heads above water.

To me, hanging with my cousin and having common ground in movies was worth the darkest days I’ve spent in Hollwood.

Weird Ramblin'

Me: “Yeah, they pushed the film two stops. It’s gonna raise contrast with punchier colors. I can tell they stacked the matte box. You’re getting halo effect. Both those filters are going to cause that issues if the filters are sandwich’d tight.”

Colorist: “You sound like you know what you’re talking about. Did you use to shoot?”

Me: “Yes. I was once a cinematographer. Look at my IMDB credits.”

He never did. Why should he? I’m just a lowly film scanner. The last of a dying breed.

I often think to myself how very little I’ve accomplished with what I set out to Los Angeles to do. But I battle that thought back a lot whenever I take stock in what is in front of me. I think of gratitude a lot. And I am very grateful for the opportunities I’ve had in life. Most people chalk this up to a ton of chutzpah and a dream. I’m not sure where or how I got it, since both my parents are very simple people. In fact, my Mom has never put pressure on me that most Asian mothers do. Yes, she says the typical things. But she has a really decent sense of humor about things. Her response to me going to grad school was a simple “Don’t you think you’ve learned enough?” It was cool that Mom came to my graduation. One of the few memories I wished I remember feeling. My memory is off.

I look back at the arguments I’ve had in life with Mom and regret the things I’ve said in the past (as I’m sure my nephew will with my sister). I’m sure most people when looking back at their teens. I was a shit kid. I should’ve been whupped by either Ma or Pa. I see my nephew has a similar angle. I can see it and it’s aggravating. Mostly because I recall my Ma use to get under my skin by saying how much I was like my grandfather. The guy, from past stories was a grim bastard. I don’t recall the guy ever smiling. Or laughing. He was in Taiwan during World War II occupied by the Japanese. Him and his brother learned Japanese and felt the Japanese were the more higher class. I disliked him a great deal for that.

Anyway, maybe my bastard approach to things and the take-no-prisoners attitude does come from him. I know so very little about him. I have heard murmurs he had depression issues. But I can only attribute it to seeing war. Most people who survived seldom have anything to laugh or smile about. What do I have to complain about?

If I count the things I’ve been involved in, some would see it as mind boggling. I was the first to see footage from the new “Star Wars” movie coming out. THE very first. That included the director. The movie is going to make a gazillion. And here I am still wondering why I haven’t done enough. I think a lot of us in the movie business want that respect from others who are struggling so hard. We will NEVER get it. Two things. One is that no matter what you’ve done…you will eventually fade. Two different models whom I’ve shot photos with didn’t know who Steven Seagal was. Imagine that. My friends have concluded they were idiots. Considering he was only the top earner of 1993 (the same year in which these girls were born), I find their ignorance inexcusable. Considering they want to be in show business. I blame the fact that they were raised by artistic wussed out parents. One where the dad is more the wife. Pussy.

I mean, I shouldn’t be so hard on them. What if someone were to tell me they worked with Tyrone Power. Could I name a movie he was in? Probably not. We all fade.

The other thing is that, because people who want to work in entertainment no longer need to trek out here to Los Angeles, EVERYONE thinks they can make a movie. So they sidestep the system. The lesson to be learned here is that, yes you can produce your project. HOWEVER, just because you can doesn’t mean it’s any good. Or anyone will look at it. In fact, all you do is cloud the pool with your crap. Not to say what I make isn’t crap. But it is supported by a lot of trial and error. A lot of pain. And a ton of sacrifice. Not that you need to sell your soul to win the race, but you do have to have realistic ideas of where you stand. Most young people out here do not. They don’t seem to have the same fear about their goals I remember going through. That might be my perception though. I recall being 22 years old and fearless. Being brazen enough to hang with celebrities and thinking they were lucky to know me…the new face of Hollywood. When you get past 30 years old and you’re thankful the sandbox is still open to you, you really get humble fast. Good luck lasting the rounds in the entertainment ring.

Once you deal with a decade of eating as much pride as you can stomach. You look at the shadow of you and your past. The friends who’ve decided their life settled down. I looked at my high school friends. I’ve no idea how they fill up their day if it isn’t raising their children. Or putting their children first. I envy the moments they see people grow. And then I stop…because I’m sure they envy my drive to do things in this town. A lot of people seem to be curious as to what I do. They know I work out here in Hollywood. Are impressed I had the drive. But, again, there’s what they see as the truth, and what is the reality. The reality is foggy. The limelight is nice. Sometimes. When people know. When they don’t, you do a Reese Witherspoon “Don’t you know who I am?!!” tirade. Both embarrassing and douchey. The worst moments are when I’m at work and all these people at work have similar goals as I do. Although I’m actually taking steps back and going into hiding. They’ve still got hopes and dreams. They then proceed to tell me how production is. Aggravating since I’ve been through productions they will NEVER be involved in. It’s a shitty attitude. But they should really be listening to what I have to say about the business rather than tell me what it’s all about. The ones that REALLY get on my nerves, are the ones who quickly forget my dossier within a day of being “impressed” by what I’ve done in life. Lesson to be learned here…you are what people think you are because of your lot in life you chose to be. In other words, no one will treat you as a special director of photography if you work as a scanner of film for real working cinematographers. If pride was really an issue, I’d be out there doing it instead of telling stories to peons.

Now that I do photography work, I wonder how many think I hang out with cute and pretty woman all day. Bored poolside whilst they feed me grapes. Reality is that I sit in a dark room, in my dirty underwear, sweat stained t-shirt typing a blog listening to Smokey Robinson, wondering why I’m getting shocking migraines. I’m also anxiety ridden wondering if I’ve done enough even though, deep down inside I’ve down so much no one gives a shit about.

Women In Front Of Cameras

Women love to be photograph. Though they may first feel self-conscious and awkward, they are usually grateful and happy that someone thinks they're photo worthy. But I think it's something more than vanity. You remember when you would go into the attic and find a box of grandma's stuff. Some dusty cigar box somewhere that had Polaroids of what she looked like when she was young? Yeah...it's that. I think women like to have their grandchildren in the future to look at nicely taken photos and say "Lookit when grans was young and...man she's hot!" We said it when we saw it (though no record of my grandma in their 20's existed...poor folk and all).

It's a really cool thing to see. And I hope I don't come off as judgmental at all. Since, yeah, at some point my kin will look at younger photos of me and wonder "what happened there?"

High School

I know I'm pretty late to this internet stalking thing, but...man looking up old high school friends and acquaintances can give you a strange complex.

I'm so removed from people from my hometown now that it's really hard to remember who did what to whom and why I should care. Mostly, I don't. Or I don't because I don't remember, but looking at people now is strange. I've lived a rough life. But, I've lived them on my terms. More or less. It's strange to see how my classmates have not really budged from their spot. I don't blame them though. Outside the lines of family and friends, strangers are very very strange. Had I to do over and tell people the experience I had while out here, I doubt HIGHLY that the younger version of myself would want to come to L.A. At a certain point, we're all going to be in our own minds. I don't think location or mindset matters. If you're a douche. You can be a douche in Abu Dhabi.

My high school was a place called Indian Hill. The richest neighborhood in Cincinnati. When people heard it, they automatically assumed you were a dickhead rich kid. This was true and false. because of the population of the people who actually lived in Indian Hill, they were mostly rich people who were too old to have kids of high school age. So they opened it up to places like Kenwood and Camp Dennison. Which for the most part is middle class. Class wasn't a huge deal there. But it did still draw lines between people. Strangers outside who came in were unaware popular or unpopular. Rich or poor. All they cared about was getting through school to get on with life. My friend Ashley was that person. A beautiful person inside and out. For whatever reason, she and I bonded. I think she was grateful that a weirdo like me chatted with a new girl like her. But she didn't need me to do that. She was pretty in that way that made all pretty girls in school pissed off. And we had a tiny school. Boys were in love with her. She was also ridiculously smart. We both wanted school to end so we could do more important things. I loved spending time with her. She was so freakin' cool. Her and her boyfriend (my friend as well) would go barbecue in the park. I'm not sure what the other kids were doing but I'm pretty sure they were drinking somewhere, whilst we would sear meat or hide out in some church parking lot smoking cigarettes. We had a LOT of dreams then. In a blink, we're now almost 40. I forgot what we actually looked forward to. This is what people call "hope." We were able to skip through life wanting things for our future. So weird that our future is now.

High school ended. Rather quietly. I had a senior girlfriend. But I disappeared (at 18 years old) into Los Angeles. Ended up missing my hometown. I dropped out of college in L.A. came back to do undergraduate in Ohio. Loved my life there. I see a LOT of pro NFL players still return to watch their alma mater team play. I get that. It was the best years you can remember having hope.

I'm still friends with Ashley. Value her a ton as I don't keep up with a lot of people. As I re-visit, re-find, re-stalk old friends, it reminded me who was here to stay.

White People In America And Racism

"There's so many white people in Ohio. You're from Ohio right? It's weird. I walk into a Subway, and it's white people serving me" Nicole said.

Nicole is a 20 something blonde haired, green-eyed girl from the San Fernando Valley, California. She'd gone on a trip to Cleveland, Ohio.

White people get such a bad rap for racism. I feel sorry for them really, because sometimes you don't even have to be white to get the brunt of slavery. Some Armenian is probably out there wondering how he got thrown into that mix, when he just arrived at Tom Bradley terminal weeks ago. Or some Greek is wondering why he's being made to feel guilty over the naming of a Washington NFL football team.

This is terrible. And I think why people do this. I think they still believe white privilege still goes on. White privilege is where a person is given preferential treatment because they're white. Whether it be a job, college entry or even better treatment at restaurants. This is comedically spoofed when Eddie Murphy went undercover as a white guy. He sees that when black people are around, they are genteel and elegant. But when blacks aren't in their peripheral, they throw parties on a bus.

Personally, those days are long dead. White people have a great attitude about merit. Most believe you have to earn it. Even the gross nepotism of the film industry isn't what we think it is. A very well known cinematographer is friends with my boss. He gave his son a job. In the vault. Which amounts to mean that he starts in the basement. Work his way up. This is the ONLY privilege I see today. That you may get an opening in the door but they better require you stick your foot through it fast.

Nicole's situation is interesting. She mentioned off-handedly that it was difficult for her to get a job, since she speak very little Spanish. Yes, it was a minor gripe. She could easily learn Spanish if was a type of job that required it. But she just brushed it off as if that were where we are in life. Flip the script,  and you have people up in arms that a fast food restaurant doesn't have bilingual employees. The differences of the conversation is as such:
Nicole: "I can't get a job because I only speak English. Man. It sucks."
Non-White: "I can't get a job because I only speak Hungarian. They gotta change that."

I think white folk go with the system in place. Mostly because it's not like there isn't an opportunity that they themselves feel they can't get. Others seem to victimize the situation to their advantage.  This is the frustration in life. AND...of course NOT ALL...but most do this. Don't think that they don't.

White folk take the responsibility of a lot of woes in the world. I'd not want to live in Sierra Leone...EVER. And given the outbreak of a crisis such as ebola, white folk step up and volunteer their time and lives to help others. You think someone in South Africa would send assistance to America for even he flu? Fuck no. White folk even go to places they know they aren't wanted to help then get kidnapped than beheaded. It's like the black guy in a haunted house thing. When they hear the devil speaking, they get the fuck out of the house. Meanwhile, white folk go investigate. They're wonderfully optimistic. Sometimes, painfully curious. White people will say things like "I'm color blind, I don't see people and races" Bullshit. But at least they say it. I have NEVER heard an Asian say this. EVER. In fact, Asians look at other Asians trying to figure out which Asian they are.

I grew up with mostly white people. Sometimes felt inadequate amongst them. But I've felt a lot of love from them as well. They've supported me a LOT. They support a lot of things that are outside their wheelhouse. You see white faces march in Ferguson. Support OJ during his trial. Did you see any black or Mexican faces in support when Robert Blake or Phil Spector was on trial for murder?

My girlfriends all happened to be white. White girls have really big hearts. In my cynical world, this is mostly aggravating. But I really like that they are thoughtful (after 30 years old of course). And a lot of times, your dream becomes their dream.

I think what Dr Martin Luther King Jr. in his "I Have a Dream" speech, wasn't directed towards whites. I feel he was throwing the gauntlet down to Americans to STOP the line divisions. Stop acting your own miserable ways and combine forces for something more important. This is so petty. And stop blaming whites for everything. My friend Mark, black guy, has NEVER blamed whites for anything. I've been known to say insensitive anti-white banter before openly to him, he's never. And I've known him over 10 years. Guess what? He thrives in America.

Yes, there are yokels. Even yokels from the south are generous friendly people. I've been there on many occasions and felt more welcomed there than in urban cities. Whites have been the quickest to adapt to the idea of America. Integration for all and we can get along. If we believe in the American ideas, which includes freshly minted immigrants...we will earn having the rep of being the best in the world. We're really not that far off.

Ferguson, MO

This really has nothing to do with the politics of what happened. But, just a curiosity to me is why people tend to riot in their own neighborhood.

I came to Los Angeles at the tail end of Rodney King. There were still stores boarded up with burnt sidewalls. Glass and garbage everywhere downtown. The downtown area back in the early 90's was a ghost town. I use to drive down there just to explore. I could literally walk down the middle of Spring and not see a single car. People split into he different towns OUTSIDE of the city.

Around south Central, it was like an apocalypse. It was bad before. Made worst now that looters and rioters had taken over. I recall the repercussions of watching disenfranchised humans extended all the way out to Ohio. I do remember a group of black kids accosting us in the parking lot of Krogers in Kenwood which is an upper middle class Cincinnati suburb. Me, not one to back down, talked smack to this group. This was OUR neighborhood, and didn't want trash to be brought in. They were upset about something that happened 3,000 miles away. Or rather, probably using it as an excuse for their own frustration with society. Didn't matter who I was. Just that I was out and about with friends. And we weren't black.

Race relations isn't going to change. It's always going to be here. It's a recyclable thing. We've gotten SO much better, but it's never going to be eradicated. Many people understand this situation. They integrate. Learn to live around. And thrive. Some will always find reasons to protest or riot. I question those who have these types of conviction. Because, quite frankly a lot of police action will NEVER be part of our lives. Perhaps the inner city feels that they are the brunt of this. I wonder if any ever ask what they could do to change THAT dynamic. But it feels some may think they are pushing a very large rock up a hill. And it then comes crashing down again. I feel, if they collectively felt enough was enough, and looking within themselves to make the change, I think the culture will change. But, somehow, it seems, it isn't for them to change...but the system. So I think you find yourself in a draw. Where no one wants to back down.

Ferguson, though I've never been there, is a small town compared to Los Angeles. I would think the front lines of race relations could start in a smaller community where people wouldn't feel so suspicious of law enforcement. Trust me, my experience with them was never good. But, that just meant I kept out of their radar.

I hope this works out for the better. I think we've gotten too far to have it all kicked away.

Being Numb

You know, when you get off the sauce, it leaves you with a void that numbs you to feelings. I now feel no real ups or downs. Extreme anyway. It’s really frustrating because when I’m around pretty girls, I feel like I should feel nervous and weird. But I don’t feel anything. No lust. No nothing. Perhaps this is due to the fact that I’m almost 40. I realize things change when they grind on your pole. But for the time being, visually, nothing really turns me on as it use to.

I find this troubling because I’m not sure when this will end, and I’ll go back to feeling how I felt. Maybe…maybe it’s not a good thing to feel how I did before. I think with booze, you really experience life in extremes. You think so many bad thoughts. So many good ones too. In other words, drinking alcohol is a crapshoot to how you feel. The down side to drinking is the physical damage you do to yourself. Today I was at a sports bar. Some loud mouth fucker who was cheering on their team against mine, was grating on my nerves. I think in my drunken days, I’d have really given him an earful. Now…my rational sober self let’s these things go. I’m really more amp’d up about the game then to care what someone else is talking about. Yes, he’s getting an audience with the bar. He’s there with his friends. Talking mad shit as they laughed. But…none of it really is personal. He doesn’t know me. I don’t know him. He has a lot of loyalty to his team. Contempt for the opponent. That’s what football releases. For all I know this is all he has in life. He doesn’t need to know that it was pretty much my Sunday morning. But, I feel more grown up. I just go about my business, cheer for my team, drink my ice tea and relax about life.

Passion is a young man’s game. If I have passion in my relationship. In my work. In my art. I’m really happy. Yesterday, I shot with a model. I feel we got some really good shots. I like spending time shooting with this model. She’s really fun. Interesting that we had a conversation about this very thing. She seems super laid back. Almost go-with-the-flow girl. I mentioned that she was so nice and relaxing to work with. And that she doesn’t seem like anything gets to her. She laughed. She said “EVERYTHING gets to me. I’ve got no idea why people think that.” So funny, because when I was her age, someone had said that to me. My response was the same.

I think I do need passion and excitement for these photo shoots. For now, my numbness, I can’t really gauge anything. She’d mentioned that she thought my work was above par. While…academically, I should be swelled with pride and happy. And I am. At least I think I am. But, my previous self, I would’ve felt like 100 feet tall. I miss that feeling.

I suggest that if you’ve been a heavy drinker and decided to give it up, to remind yourself that you will feel lethargic, tired and numb. This is normal. You will not be able to pinpoint certain feelings. I suggest you half everything at first. In other words, whatever you’re feeling now, tell yourself it’s your brain re-wiring itself to normalcy. It’s a miracle so many people have gotten to the other side. This is a long process, where in my world, I’ve taken myself out of life’s equation. I do miss being a social butterfly. I realize there are some people I know now who’s drinking is part of their social circles. BE CAREFUL. I hope and pray it doesn’t sneak up on you. It doesn’t take that long before you’re a debilitated drunk. Your change in personality is going to ostracize a lot of who you were (or thought you were). Friends will peel away. It’s part of growing up.

The Carcass Of Your LIfe

Recently I visited a friend who does estate sales. This is where an appraiser comes into your home and tags all your possessions for sale. In the case of estates, usually you get to amble through homes and see the previous tenants home life. The layout of their previous remodels. Or how people use to live. Reminds me of "RoboCop" where Murphy (now re-birthed as a cyborg) walks through his previous home and gets glimpses of his previous life.

If you've walked through homes that have life in them, you don't really notice it. But, once the occupants have left, there is a very odd carbon copy of life that was once there. It's a melancholy feel. The two times that I have gone, both instances I realized that the people who lived in those homes weren't that different than me. In fact, they both reminded me of my parents' home. It's usually stuck in some era where the furniture doesn't match the walls. Or that there is just a mish mash of things collected through time that people refuse to get rid of. Books, cookware, personal items as bedding or heating pads. Generally speaking, given the time, I'm sure you could piece together who these people were.

The odd part wasn't that you were looking through a person's home that is most likely dead. It is how little differences there are in our lives.

If you ever watch the movie "Citizen Kane," Charles Foster Kane was a collector. He amassed a castle full of oddities. Items and "stuff" that when you pass, it means nothing to anyone else, besides something to auction off. In his case, you're dealing with expensive oddities. To most of us, it amounts to junk or crap. I have a shitload of crap in my home. All things I think are worthwhile...to me. Crap to others. In the house I visited, there is was a coin machine for a busses. The kind where you throw in change as you got onto the bus. This is completely useless in the functioning world other than a set piece. Or a conversation starter. For whatever reason, this family felt it necessary to have. It's an antique. The value is what you want from it. I have similar items. And am sure when my life is picked over, it will generate the same curiosity. Who is the idiot who thought a Polaroid 95A camera would have ANY function whatsoever. This is who we are.

When I visit my relatives in Taiwan, there is a similar sense. Taiwan is a very pragmatic country. Everything can be repurposed into useful items (or at least what you think is useful). Since it is an island and still has that island mentality, nothing is really discarded. My aunt typically save things for later. Although, a room full of cardboard boxes can only be stretched so far until the only purpose it has is to use to board up windows during winter times.

I think we're all sort of...hoarders. And not hoarders like we have an arm around all our goods and things come in and none go out. But we hold onto a lot of things with sentimental values. We don't like to believe it, but we to live in the past. Some people don't, of course, but the past is the only thing where we can paint rainbows and sunshine on it. If you live in the present, it's hard to ignore that crap is piling up. Or that you'll "get to it later." We all know that never works. And the future is what we can only anticipate.

I remember living with a girl when I first came out to L.A. I couldn't afford a place so I took her on as a roommate. She had a TON of antiques. It filled our space. To me, an old schoolhouse kid's desk with no function but to take up space was aggravating. I didn't see it then. I see it now. To her, the spirit of the thing is rustic. To immerse yourself into a bygone era that may've been simple. To make her environment comfortable.

At a certain point, we will all get old. Not just old, but also tired. This will mean that your life and the things around you will stop. As will fashion and design. When people pick through your life, they will see where you stopped in life. The couch is from the 80's, whilst your carpet and wallpapered walls stopped in the 70's. Not that you'd care how they judge you. But, the generation (such as my own parents) are fading. The new era will bring in flat screens and faux leather sofas. And we'll wonder when my generation stopped re-inventing their space. I think in the "antique" sense nothing really expires. I think our era will. Just seeing a iOmega zip drive for sale at this estate brought that reality into focus. Someone will have to go through "your stuff" eventually.

"Gone Girl" Vs. "OJ Simpson"

Been reading a book on the Simpson trial as told by Christopher Darden. One of the prosecutors on the OJ case. Fascinating read. Concurrently, I'd just finished watching "Gone Girl." If you haven't seen this movie, please stop reading now...

...waiting...
...waiting...
...waiting...


Okay, here goes. Now, I for sure do NOT condone murder in any sense, BUT...there is always two sides to every story. Whilst it's true, in the case of murder, we only get the visage of one side. And it's usually biased. So, we make statements such as "the dead can't speak for themselves." Or "we need to speak for the dead." A LOT of us sympathize with tragedy. In most cases, random acts of murder (such as a stranger killing someone), is pretty straight forward. It tends to be a crime. But a crime of passion tends to bring up a ton of grey.

When I first heard of OJ Simpson, my first response was that he was a murdering crazy psycho. When you start to hear some of their relationship, you start to wonder why...why people just can't drop the other person. The movie "Gone Girl" addresses a bit of this. The constant awful behavior of two people who neither can live with each other or live without each other. It's a painful dependency that exists...I would say, in over 50% of relationships. It's awful. There is a fine line between just pure anger and hate, to love. Being indifferent would be a godsend. Instead, people concoct the worst plans in order to make people feel a certain way. You could walk away, but...then what would you be walking away from? People tell you they HATE drama. While this is true, in the sense that you don't want the spouse to keep nagging you about things, drama is, unfortunately what keeps people in marriages (or long term relationships). Where would you be if drama didn't poke its head into your daily life. Bored, and most likely inebriated.

Drama is the spark that keeps life from being boring. We constantly surround ourselves with it. But it's not drama we like, it's drama we can handle. For instance, I can handle when I was in a relationship that she got jealous I was hanging with the guys on date night. I despised the drama of getting an earful when getting home. However, I LOVED the drama of making up. I HATED knowing the drama will come back the next day. This goes on until one or both either give up or murder the other person. Y'see, Nicole was a cunt. A total cunt. None of us like to speak ill of people, but I would venture to guess, if you were to line up casual people who've met her or served her or whatever, they'd all have reasons to fuck her up. She was a snooty rich woman from Brentwood who married someone famous. You don't think she waved that flag around for leverage? You think if I went into Spagos and told them I knew Nicole Brown, they'd embrace me? Nope. And, if we're to be honest, she has admittedly trashed OJ openly to friends. Have, on occasion called him the n-word. Dared him repeatedly to flex so that she could drag his kids away from him. Fucked that Ronald Goldman guy in a car he bought for her. Basically, smacked him across the face on a daily basis without the idea that she would ever get comeuppance. Does it warrant murder? Obviously not. BUT, you do have to admit, anyone who deals with that neutering would just crack. She just didn't know where that line was. Neither did he.

That's the grey that comes with these types of volatile back and forths. There is a right and wrong, at a certain point. But most people want to see the wrong. The really wrong. Because it sheds a LOT of light on what shitbags we are in life. People are shitty shitty people. Self interested fuckfaces who think we deserve so much more than we actually get. And we will all eventually get ours.

In the movie "Gone Girl" we get a glimpse at two very co-dependent people, who when stress and money problems with psychological issues get together, the means will find a way to the end. The relationship only stands on a foundation of sacrifice. And you do wonder, as far as each of them get...when they will draw a line. Or...in the end, this cycle will spiral into your worst nightmare.  Because, in truth, there is no real wrong or right. Sometimes you can't believe the insanity people will try to pass off, and DO get away with. Your story, their story...it's all a mess sometimes. The truth is thin, it's transparent. Collectively there is common sense. But in the heat of madness, you can't tell any more. And that's when it becomes really dangerous. I hope you find love.

I hope love doesn't kill you.
Gone Girl