Looters

My friend and I have a debate about this. Maybe he’s older and has more wisdom on this. Or maybe it’s me being a hothead. I personally think that looters should be shot on sight. As the son of a small business owner (now retired) I can’t imagine a group of people who would break into my Pop’s place and steal something he’s worked so hard to build, only to be told he can’t defend his business and must look on helplessly.

My feeling is that it would send a message to future looters that this is intolerable. HIS stance was that nothing you own is worth a person dying for. Fucking bullshit. They know it. You have to follow it. And it’s total garbage. I get at the base of the thought, yes…material things do not equate to a person’s life. HOWEVER, that person taking from you doesn’t know whether or not your business  is a matter of life and death. Say you get looted. Don’t have money/insurance against looters. Now you have to restock at your own cost and fix everything that is burned or broken. This would mean you have to ask the bank for another loan. Where’s the collateral coming from? Frustrating that this would’ve been completely side-stepped if potential looter knows HIS life is on the line. This country must be fucked up that you can’t protect your business as logic dictates. The rules imply that you can only shoot if you feel your life is in danger. Honestly, I think if someone is destroying your business they are jeopardizing your life.

You know what REALLY sucks about this? Criminals usually know the laws and the system better than you do. All you have is what you believe at the base of humanity what is right and wrong. We don’t have the luxury of studying what you can get away with or not.

The Things You Do For Snatch

Tough being a dude in this world today. Women really don't need us anymore.

In social media, there's very little of your individuality that can be expressed without someone getting offended and shutting off the pussy pipeline. In other words, the more people you can ensnare in your bullshit the more poon you get. Most of us, if push came to shove, for our views would be publicly admonished for the mean-ness of a dark heart we all possess. Not like kicking a puppy. Or squirting water at a cat. I'm talking what goes on in our minds. The reason why people who express themselves openly and without filter is so enticing is because we'd all like to be that. Whilst their fellow man scoff at them for being loud-mouths, that mouth is down on some hot broad. Meanwhile, go back to sucking up to the social norms.

I found this recently out on social media. I realize a lot of guys wilting at the thought of a high school teacher (female and stunningly beautiful) was carrying on an affair with a 17 year old boy. They're actually a couple now. The hotblooded side of our maleness LOVES that he got himself (relatively speaking) a cougar. Whilst a few kicked in with "What if the roles were switched?" or "What if it were your son." All, it seems to garner the pussy vote. Who gives a flying fuck about the pussy vote? Maybe guys who aren't getting pussy. Like me for instance. I'll gladly roll over like a cheap rug in whatever viewpoint she has in order to get pussy. I'll say Michael Brown isn't a thug and didn't deserve to get shot by a cop...to get pussy to like me. I'll even demonize Cosby for being a rapist for being rich and famous and paying cheap whores money to silence them...to let pussy think I'm really progressive and sane. Hasn't gotten me snatch. Probably kicked me into the basement of non-snatchhood.

A few of you will probably say, it's because I'm disingenuous of my viewpoint. That I lack confidence in my lack of sympathy. That if I really shared my real thoughts, I'd get moving with life. That type of dude doesn't just NOT get pussy. They get old pussy to get on their shit about it. So not only are you not getting laid, you have to hear nagging. Might as well be married, har-har-har.

Anyway...it is what it is. Most of us who can speak the truth...should. Truth, not meaning truth, but honest with yourself. We're shitty human beings. Hot snatch makes you think you should love tofu, yoga and babies. Don't fall for it! Pretending to be someone else is too much work. Let women deal with it. What with facelifts, botox and tit jobs. I think you'd be much more happy with yourself.

Ferguson, MO part 3

“Do you have a gun?” he murmured under his breath looking up to the sky watching a police helicopter fly by.

“Excuse me?” I asked.

“A gun.” His Eastern European accent hung in the air “Do you have one?”

“No.” He looked concern. “I was here in ’92, Rodney King. The animals came straight to my door. I had a shotgun.”

“All the way to Van Nuys? You’re kidding.”

“Yes. It will ignite when they let that police officer off in Ferguson. In ’92, A van pulled right up to the door” he waved his hand at the gate. “Right there. I pump’d shotgun, aimed it at that gate, where they stood. They left. Went down the street. Do you see the Mexican restaurant?”

He indicated towards a vacant building. “Uh…no.”

“Because they burned that place down.” He shook his head “Animals.” He kept staring off as my car battery was charging in his mechanic’s shop. “You have family?”

“No. Not here.”

“Once you have family, you have to think of these things.”

He was mentioning the far reaching effects that the decision in Ferguson was going to make. I’ve never owned a gun, nor do I have the interest. I certainly wouldn’t use it against a fellow man. But we’re not talking about rational moments. He lived through an irrational time. Who would’ve guessed a decision in downtown Los Angeles would stretch to the lengths of the San Fernando Valley.

How stupid was I? Or what memory I had. My last blog about this did have me the parking lot of Kroger when a pack of black teens got in the face of my group of friends. “Go back to China.” The black kid hissed. I turned and shouted “Go back to Africa.” My friend couldn’t believe I’d said that. I was 19 at the time. Balls beyond balls. The kid came up to my face. “What’d you say?”

“You told me to go back to China, I told you to go back to Africa.” Man was I scared. This was going to be a throw down. And as far as I knew, none of my friends have ever fought. “Fuck you.” He disappeared with his friends. Bullies aren’t use to be being responded to.

As I’m older now, all I can do is use rationalization. Los Angeles had its bruised eye and ego. They’ve rebuilt and re-trained. Blacks are harder out here. Harder in the sense that they are much more savvier than mid-western Ohio. If they spent any jail time, it would be a much harsher place than Cincinnati. These are things to consider when confronting people.

The Eastern European guy looked at me, leaned in as a father would to a son “you’re a nice guy. You don’t see a lot of this. They are animals” He flipped open his wallet. It was a detective badge. He used to work in some law enforcement office.

“I just like to think the best of people. When I can.”

“Good luck.” He seemed to roll his eyes.

My car battery was charged. I headed out into the urban jungle heading right to my home to sleep. I woke up this morning, they'd burned and looted Ferguson anyway. I was right. Nothing in L.A. But I was also wrong.

Hannibal Burress & The Cos

Hannibal Burress. I heard a podcast with him. Seems like a guy who really went with the flow of things. I actually like his work ethic, if what he says is true. Traveling on train to do comic sets in New York City. He’s not really known, until he blasted Bill Cosby for being an alleged rapist.

Here’s my gripe with Burress.

The angle he took on it, was the final message. It was that Cos was a hypocrite. Wrong.  What Cos is accused of doing has ZERO to do with what he said about the black community. In fact, if you wanna’ really be honest, Hannibal probably went into comedy the same reason Cos did. To get babes.

Now it was a different time in which Cos did what he did. A TON of guys would love the leverage to be where he was. What Cos said, was that he wants young black men to pull up their pants, speak better and get an education. What Burress countered was, why should be listen to a rapist. When it’s boiled down to those basics, are we really talking about the same thing?

Cos gained a lot of power through close to four decades. And when guys of his caliber get to that height of success and fame, there are rules we’re unaware of. The type of rules that get OJ acquitted. The type of rules that acquitted Robert Blake. The type of rules that Axl Rose rolls over and we don’t understand. The things I could tell you about celebrities that have done terrible things. A lot of them are shitty human beings. Why should they be like us? They think they’re better than us. And we want to destroy a man’s legacy because of something the industry understands to be true? Let’s get something straight, when you get to a level, you get away with idiosyncratic behavior. Is it fair? Fuck no. And it’s not right. But there are TWO sides to the situation. Most of which we will never hear. So I find it ridiculous that we wag our fingers now at Cosby. Maybe because he’s perceived as a father figure. I’m not sure. But, Hannibal didn’t stop to think how it effects him. There’s a HUGE target on his back now. His behavior is under the microscope. If you think he can get away with bad-mouthing the Cos and not have the Scarlett “A” on his chest, he’s mistaken. If he’s not on his best behavior, he’s going to be shredded by the press for every move he makes. Then he’ll realize what the Cos goes through. Because it’s never fair. For people who put themselves out there.

Porn Names

Lately, I’ve been really fixated on porn stars and their real names. I have no idea why it’s fascinating to me, but after a few searches, I’ve found a few. I think it has the similar effect to me as finding out the real name of outlaws. William Bonny sounds pretty bad-ass. People think Billy the Kid is cooler, I think his real name is boss.

Jenna Jameson has a really cool Italian name. I think it’s more bad-ass than the name she chose. Her porn name seems to soften her a bit. Her real name sounds like it should be in the mafia. I get why Czech porn stars should change their name. Too many syllables. The “Zs” and “Ts” together are too much. And I can’t imaging banging one of these Eastern European actresses and having to pronounce their name. They also pick the craziest names. Jenna Darling. Really? It just seems like they pick American words that they think sound like sexy words. They’re not. They’re boner killing sweet. Like some little kid is learning new words. I think they may believe it gives them a young angle.

The one that cracks me up completely, is the one that has never changed her name. Holly Sampson. She is under the MILF category. And has ZERO problems with people knowing she was on “The Wonder Years.” The confidence she has is amazing. AND, she still looks great too. She owns her name. And there’s nothing silly about it. Rachel Roxx is clearly too weird. Sometimes, even a name that sounds like a name is weird. For instance, Sasha Grey.  In her case, her real name is pretty harsh.

I’ve watches some UStream video a few years ago where a porn star had mentioned why they chose porn names. It’s pretty obvious with the stalkers. Online, it’s hardly a secret anymore. You can find anyone’s real name. It’s a bit scary. I think also, they like to have some anonymity in case a few family members/relatives find out. There’s a former porn star recently who has shared her terrible experience in the industry. My contention is that sometimes they change their name so they can tolerate the shit that they go through. Like an actor, they can play a role. A few of the girls had mentioned that it didn’t matter what they called you, sometimes the pain is immeasurable. The depravity, abuse and attitude is gripping. Damned if you do damned if you don’t.

When I first graduated from film school, I was out looking for a job. Anything. I thought there was an editing opportunity at a porn house. I actually stumbled across this place in the valley. When I got to the receptionist, I asked if they were hiring. She eyed me up and down. And checked a laugh. I think she thought I was there to audition to be a porn actor. I really was tempted to come up with a porn name. I don’t think that fast on my feet. Otherwise, she’d have met Dong Lancer.

Bill Cosby

I never watched his show. Never thought he was all that funny. But I completely understand why he is who he is. What I don't understand is how all these people are coming out NOW and accusing him of rape.

If you've ever worked in this business or really any office type setting, you understand that you have to watch yourself nowadays. Nothing is what it seems. And people aren't as naive as you believe. A lot of celebrities hides themselves deep into their entourage. When I first started out, I use to laugh at these pretentious goons. Who are they trying to impress? It wasn't that at all. It was to keep as many witnesses as possible in case some groupie made their way into your room. They can't live like we do. We don't have a lot for people to think we're worth accusing of rape or assault or whatever. That doesn't mean you should. Just means on the other end, we also don't rape or assault. No money in any of it. The minute you put in a billion dollar face into the picture, then it elevates this to another level.

Take in point, Janice Dickenson. Self-appointed first super model. In her day, she was a stunner. Men probably threw gold at her. Must be tough. She claims Cosby invited her up to Lake Tahoe with a promise to further her career and then plied her with wine, pills and then sexually assaulted her.

A few common sense issues...Yes, I realize he was Dr. Huxtable, but he wasn't in 1982. He was a comedian from Philly. Last I check, Janice isn't a Catskills huckster. Exactly what would furthering her career mean, if it wasn't shaking her stuff for men? Not an excuse, just...common sense. Also, Tahoe? If you've ever been, it's...quaint. So quaint people have quickie marriages there. Sorta' like the west coast Niagra Falls. People can't seem to NOT get married or do bad things there. Both are a spit away from Canada. Suppose that may have something to do with the behavior. But it is a romantic spot. Moreso in the 80's. Common sense.

Now, decades ago, the Cos paid these people to go away. I think the number has gotten over ten. And I stand by what I said in previous blogs...once you get paid, you're done. We can't help you after that. An abused woman who goes back to their husband (fights tooth and nail sometimes to keep the guy from being incarcerated) can't help you, once you take the money. Not a judgement about who you are, but the way you see your life. I don't expect anyone to help me if I go back to drinking. Of course, people would be concern. But I can't waste people's time if I choose to constantly put myself in those situations.

I feel bad for Cos. He's done a lot for the community. He probably did do what people said he did. But they took the money and now destroyed his career. His legacy is that of a predator. Good or bad. Most of us guys, based on what we've said in the past (most definitely in entertainment) should be incarcerated for what we've thought. He's really supported education and helping inner cities. He's a LOT more savvy than I will ever be. Again, I'm not apologizing for what he's done. Just seems that, once again, something that doesn't really effect us one way or another gets so much outrage. Of course, I'd be accused of not caring about victims. I'm sure if any one of us (man or woman) knew these people, we'd drop the act fast.

Adrian Peterson

For those not in the know, Adrian Peterson was a former running back for the Minnesota Vikings. One of the best in the game. Probably on track to be in the Hall of Fame. It was derailed on the day he'd been accused of child abuse. He'd admitted to taking a switch to his child's legs and beating him for something the child did. He didn't get prosecuted for child abuse only causing the harm to another. Semantics.

I do NOT believe in this type of behavior in the least, but it seems lately...punishment through the public justice system is extending its way also into a man's livelihood. I often wonder, in a situation like this, if at a certain point the public doesn't realize what ending his career may do. I'm not sure what AP studied in college, nor could he ever get a job outside of pro sports that would allow him that much money, but chances are there are limited opportunities to earn that much in short amount of time. This is to support his family. Again, I think it was wrong for what he did, but now...because of John Q. Public, he is suspended for the rest of the season, without a paycheck.

I'm really not sure what the solution is here, but I can say...because of the pressure of opinion, we've really not done much to help child nor mother. In fact, I can surmise that we've probably set them back. It's not that he made a mistake and is now paying for a lapse in poor judgement, it seems the country won't be happy unless he suffered as much. But by punishing him in such a way, we're already punishing the family again. It seems so...counterproductive to some who believe rehabilitation does work.

I really don't care if Adrian Peterson will play in pro football again or not. Nor (not to sound harsh) what happens to his family. I wish them well. But to destroy a man's livelihood when it's so specialized and sending him back into "the world" with nothing else, is truly stupid on our part.

If you feel you must hurt the man, what would be the alternative? Certainly isn't debilitating the family.

Settling Into 40

It'll almost happen overnight. Around in your 30's. The joints start to ache. Your back hurts bad waking up every morning. Recovery for workouts take longer. Suddenly you are looking at younger stronger version of yourself at the gym, or park or whatever. And you have to realize...you can't turn back that clock.

Bitter as it is, my doctor told me a few things. 1) accept that you can't get what you lost 2) make new goals and live in happiness in front of you

No, he's no guru. In fact, I thought he may've been reading off their own promo pamphlet at Kaiser Permanante. But it's true. I can't get the six pack abs I once had. I guess I could, but then it would negate the 2nd part of what he said. Which is to live in the happiness in front. I like that I've gotten a little less amp'd at work outs that I use to. The guilt of not going to the gym subsiding. I think this is like an old house with new tenants settling in. The building will come to a stop under the pressure of the people and things gradually moving in. There is a sense of freedom that you have no one else left to impress. The girls at your age have long since let that go. The ones below your age party to hard for you anyway.

I'm even beginning to smell like an old person. Full of Tiger Balm and ointments. Pumpkin spice candles. And fermented vegetables. Boiled and steamed food permeates the home. What I suggest to people around my age, is to embrace the good that you can do for yourself. I like the short walks in the park. Stepping out into a crisp autumn air as the sun sets around 4PM. A good warm soup while watching a classic movie. My party days are over. What seemed like me going kicking and screaming into this serene living, just fizzled the way of a 4th of July sparkler. It's nice to know that I don't have to swing for the fences as much. But I do still feel the urgency of more accomplishments ahead. I want to let go of bitterness. For the people whom I thought slighted me. It's a waste of time. I'd like for a short trip hanging at the gym watching fit younger women bust weights and blast core to be all the joy I need for a day, like some dodgy old perv. I'm not too opposed to getting older anymore.

Lillian

I haven’t been with a girl almost a year now.  Some of you might be saying glibly “big surprise!” But, what I mean is that I haven’t had a relationship in a year. And I think it’s probably good that I haven’t. When you first give up booze, AA tells most of its members not to date in the first year. I understand why. A lot of triggers happens within this year. A lot of changes too where you can’t really gauge certain emotions that can be explained by your brain re-wiring itself. Remember that scene in “Austin Powers” where he was having trouble with the volume of his voice. That’s sorta’ how I feel right now. I have a really bad problem with gauging how I feel. I’m not sure. Before when I was drinking, I did as I pleased. There is no social barometer to a drunk. I recall “drunk dialing” girls in college back in the day. I wouldn’t call them. I’d call them at home. To which I would be screaming at their Dad.

I remember an Italian girl named Lillian. Man was she beautiful. That type of Euro hot Italian. Pale skin, black hair and an accent that could melt butter. She’d wear skirts that would show that she was wearing a thong. The type of shit corn fed Midwestern girls bristled at, and the same male counterpart jerked off to in their dreams.

She’d called me a “fah-king douchebag” and I’d get instant boner. My friend J.C. always would rib me about it. She’d refer to the Italian as “Is the Faw-king Doosh-bag Girl” calling today?” Instant boner.

I remember calling her home one day. Not her dorm room, her home since it was some holiday and getting her Dad. To which he replied “Do you know what time it is?” He had an Italian accent too. But as a guy, it was like nails on a chalkboard. “I don’t care, lemme talk to Lillian.”

“She’s asleep you asshole.”

“Whaddya’ call me?”

“You’re an asshole calling this late at night. Fucking asshole.”

“You’re the fucking asshole!” my drunken mind didn’t have a filter to my mouth.

“You fucking punk. Go fuck yourself!”

“I’m a punk now? Fuck you!”

“You want me to come there and kick your fucking ass?”

“Yeah, let’s see you try it.” These were the days of land lines. Good luck finding me in the phone book from Bowling Green to Cleveland.

“You’re just a punk. What’s your name?”

“Fuck you.”

“Well, you can forget about talking to Lillian ever again. Asshole.” Foreigners are funny. They can swear with the best of us.

And on and on until he hung up. When the holiday ended and we were back in school, Lillian never spoke to me ever again. He was a lawyer out of Cleveland. In fact, she disappeared. I looked all around. Don’t remember ever seeing her ever again. Hate to think that that little exchange had him transfer her out of the U.S.

You know, now that I think about it…he wasn’t much of an arguer. I can’t imagine him being an attorney telling people to go fuck themselves. Well, I can and I can’t.  But it wouldn’t be in a U.S. Court of law. And it would probably have a ton of hand gestures.

People Are Scumbags...Nowadays

It’s no secret the really cynical person I am about life. I figure the bigger city you live in, the more you become so sicken by humanity. People find new and interesting ways to irritate the living fuck out of you.

A few things lately have gotten to me. Not anything done to me directly. But just the unaware people in this world.

First, is this old dude at my gym. Whipping his powdered sock around his feet. As if he was buffing them. In front of my face. Like the dust isn’t inhaled by anyone. Not one shred of consideration or thought that maybe, JUST MAYBE people don’t want to puff on your filthy sock. There he was whipping away. Not only does this do nothing, you are just throwing filth into the air. Just great.

Second, is the person who waits at the corner waiting for the red light. I mean, so far off the curb waiting to walk, even though cars take right turns on red. They’re so far into the road, it tempts you to just bump them with your car. Just smash this clueless moron off the curb. Get back. You have ZERO idea who has control of their car. The same person is that person who take their sweet time crossing a street. They know you won’t run through them. Their arrogance makes you want to mow them down. Would teach them a lesson. Me? I get as far away from the curb as possible. I don’t trust drivers on this road, why would I trust them as a pedestrian. I assume people in cars are assholes. There was a recent story about an elderly guy standing on a train platform being pushed into the tracks. Would that person who pushed you have leverage if your back was against the wall? I oftentimes feel uneasy watching these people who stand so close watching for the metro to come out of the tunnel. Does it mean I think this person should be pushed into the tracks? Gimme a break, if you think I think that. I just think, self-preservation would to believe people are shitbags. I don’t give people the opportunity to be shitbags. Your aggravation really starts when you exist in someone else’s space. I elect to leave that person’s space as soon as possible. Keep your head on a swivel. Believe everyone is a piece of shit. Because, deep down inside, we are.

This weekend as I was watching the Bengals play the Saints in New Orleans. The tight end Jermaine Gresham scored a touchdown. He was handing the football to a woman with a Bengals jersey. Needless to say, a very rare person in 'Nawlins. As he was handing her the ball, a Saints fan snatched the ball from her. Not just snatched, yanked. What a piece of fucking shit. The girl begged for the ball back, to which this “gentleman” ignored her shaking his head. Filthy shitbag. Did he care what we thought. Nope. You would think that the team rival who scored on your team would make you throw the ball back onto the field or the very basic human thing is to give her the football, as it was scored by the opposing team. He kept it. Mine, mine, mine. Thanks for reminding us what a piece of shit people can be. Principles mean nothing. A terrible lesson undoubtedly passed down to his kin. He will be blasted by social media. But an idiot like him would embrace being the “bad guy.” That’s what we deal with.

So, step away from the curb. Anticipate assholes. They will never disappoint you.

Script Reading Party

Tonight I went to a script reading a friend of mine from way back in film school days. He’d expanded a short film I’d shot with him into feature length and had gathered actors to read it aloud. Man, did the script suck. I’m not speaking out of the classroom, since I’ve told him already how stupid it was. The idea is really outdated and just…blah. Of course it’s going to make a gazillion dollars since here’s a short list of movies I thought were stupid that made tons of cash:

1)   “Saw”

2)   “Blair Witch Project”

3)   “Fast And the Furious”

4)   “Transformers”

5)   “Paranormal Activities”

With the exception of “Blair…” the rest became a series. Even “Blair..” had a sequel. See I was right…not.

Anyway, I have no idea what makes a good movie. So don’t take my advice. But I was bored stupid. I ended up talking to some lady next to me who was going into production with $12,000 in three weeks with 4 out of 16 locations left to lock down, no committed cinematographer, script supervisor, a few actors to find and…well, not much of an idea of a shot list. I love people with moxie.

Crazy people who make movies intrigue me to no end. Most go into these things with so little game plan it’s shocking. With money on the table, I can’t imagine NOT going into it with as much “free” time I can muster. The lady was middle aged and…I got the impression this was one of her last ditch efforts to make a movie. In today’s market, this is what we get. She has a 112 page script with 14 days scheduled to shoot. With this insanity, of course I volunteered what services I could. I had to have a front seat at a head on collision. I love people this brave and stupid.

Now, I didn’t necessarily give full support. What I said was “Whatever I can do to help.” To which most people rattle off a list of things they need. I naturally stop them there and say “here’s what that means…” And explain that “whatever” to me means whatever is the least resistance between me and when football games start on t.v. To her, it meant down the line, when post production will be needed. To which, if she remembers this empty promise, I can pawn off to someone who actually has the energy to fulfill them. I am helpful like that.

During this reading, I also ran into another film school guy from back in the day. He reminded me we had taken cinematography class together. I didn’t remember him. Kinda’ wish I did, since he seemed very eager to talk to me. This moment sucks bad. Deep down inside, I didn’t like the guy. Don’t remember why I didn’t like him but I had just an uneasy feeling that I didn’t.  We chatted about movies for a bit. About the script reading. All this time I’m trying to figure out why I didn’t like him in those days. He’s not really giving me ANY clue as to what may have transpired to gain my disgust. Most people who’ve been slighted by me in some way start with “Remember back in the day when…” I want to say I recall this guy being something of a suck-up to teachers. And that I knew he wouldn’t go anywhere with his film making. Something like that. I ran with a crew that was always shooting something. People seemed to trust me with their projects. Even though I often times shat on them (like now). But I got the feeling he was one of those people on the outside looking in. And I just couldn’t remember a damn thing about him. Really frustrating. Being in a fog. I didn’t know who he hung out with. Who he knew. Who knew him. Nothing. Blank. He must’ve thought I was fucking with him. It was a bit sad. I felt somehow, this is eventually my path when I lose all senses of even my closest of friends and family. Heartbreaking.

What was most painful was the realization of how old we are now. We’re both almost 40 years of age. He teaches at a middle school whilst writing screenplays. He’d come to the same conclusion of this business that we all eventually will: you constantly hustle and get nowhere.

He didn’t necessarily get nowhere. He got an agent. Who wants him to hustle. He bristled when I spoke of constantly coming up with ideas. To which his response was a curt “I have plenty of ideas.” The parenthetical to my ears was “yeah, and they all sucked.” Rebuild. Tear down. Start over.

It really isn’t easy for any of us doing this. The sad reality as I looked out into the crowd at this small theater in Sherman Oaks…none of the people there have done really anything in the profession they’ve gotten into. Actors, a few. Not pushing forward to do better. A few my age.  Some girls very young, definitely starting out, and grinding it out at some script reading to feel like they’re doing something. Anything. That’s the life you have to embrace.  The love of the craft.

Again, I count myself lucky sometimes. Gratitude for all that has landed in my lap. Tonight I got the question again…why aren’t you doing what you want to do in life? I guess I could’ve. But I’m not. I’m sitting in the dark, secretly admonishing all these wannabes doing the best the can for a single stroke of luck in practicing their craft in hopes of an opportunity. The sad sense is that maybe one will get lucky. The rest…will fade into obscurity. Or, grind it out in life until they lose the excitement of making movies (as I sorta’ have). It may seem petty to you readers, but I get something of a cruel enjoyment of watching a person who reminds me of myself at that age, have such an amazing look of hope in their eyes and drive, and in my mind realize the path to their success will be soul crushing. Not in the sense that they won’t recover. If that isn’t the definition of “playa’ hatin’” I don’t know what is.

In my youth I use to get catty when I was slighted for shooting someone’s movie. Much like actors, I felt slighted when I wasn’t called to shoot their movie. I would fight or hold grudges at that person for not recognizing my “talent.” These days, it didn’t even occur to me that my friend never played that card. The “let’s shoot something together card.” I am thankful for that. That’s honest. And he was paying attention.

"Mannequin" (1987)

In 1987 I was in middle school. I don’t recall much of this year, it’s that middle of the road in 7^th grade that very few people remember. I do remember a movie called “Mannequin.” There was a theater in Pleasant Ridge that my mom use to dump me off on. The General Cinemas was connected to a mall called Gold Circle. This place was dark. Low income department store. I mean, it actually was a few steps below K-Mart. Anyway, this theater was AWESOME! I loved it. It was a 2^nd run theater and cost at the time 75 cents. I’m not joking. 75 cents. I remember this was playing in the same theater as “Creepshow 2.” I saw pretty much everything here. It was so cheap my mom let me spend the afternoon and into the night at this place as she went shopping. She’d never buy anything. I just got the feeling she liked looking at nice things.

Back to “Mannequin.” I saw this movie in a loop. I think I must’ve saw it three times projected. Just sat in the theater as they ran it over and over. Every showing. Since it was sorta’ a low end theater, very few people would go into it. It would only be crowded when there was a kid’s movie. I thought watching animation in a movie theater was a bit silly. I just remember every single frame of “Mannequin.” I was obsessed with the Starship song. I’m not sure what about that movie spoke to me, other than how insane the plot was. As a pre-teen, I was in love with Kim Catrall too. She was a full woman. She wasn’t exactly obtainable for a guy like me. I figure the girls in my age group weren’t that developed yet. So, it was my escape. I could watch that movie and dream about Kim. The music was typical 80’s pop. It really marked that era for me when I discovered what movies could do. The impression that it made on me was immeasurable.

I really miss that theater. I understand why Quentin Tarantino would want to buy his own movie theater and show what he wanted. If I had enough money, I’d buy a theater, and show all the movies on a loop. I’d show “Mannequinn” the opening night. A loop…three times. For 75 cents.

Hiding Out At Movies

I've been going to a lot of movies lately. Movie theaters movies. And it's great. Mostly since I get out of work in the afternoon, I can catch some flicks whilst kids are still in school. I hate the digital projection but I like the people watching as I amble around soaking in the area around the theater. In particular a theater in Granda Hills, CA I've been frequenting. Has a nice sushi bar nearby. Has a ol' school Ralph's grocery store. And a FatBurger.

The theater itself is old but is man'd by really young folk. When you go to movies in the afternoon and you're below the age of 60, people often wonder what type of scum you are. When I went to see "Big Hero 6" I'm guessing they thought pedophile scum.

I often get concessions. I use to think they were overpriced and stupid. Nowadays, I can't function thru a flick without that fake butter. Or some salt. I guess it reminds me of my younger days. This day, the girl, who seemed in her 20's, took my request. I knew I wanted a medium popcorn but wanted to make her happy that she up-selled me:
Me: "Small popcorn, please"
No up-sell
Me: (sigh) "Make it a medium."
Girl: "Ya know for a dollar more you can get a hot dog?"
Me: "Wait, what? An extra dollar for a hot dog?"
Girl: "Oh yeah, since you bought the popcorn, add on of a hot dog is a dollar."
Me: "Gee, not sure, I did enough damage to myself this week."
Girl: "Oh yeah, I getcha'. I gotta' wait till pay day too."
Me: "uh...I meant physically. Ya' know health-wise?"
She blinked. Unmoved by what I said.
Me: "The crap I shove down my throat on a daily--not that I don't have the dough...nevermind, I'll take the hot dog."

So I guess to her, I'm the penniless hobo type.

Hollywood Hustler

I ran into an old co-worker last night just watching his short film. A very capable filmmaker. Decent enough person. But he's a mover and a' shaker. The kind that makes you a little apprehensive about this town. Because he speaks in hustler's vocab. "Sky's the limit, you can't get what you want until you try, son." This dude is younger than me, and vastly less experienced than yours truly.

What is really frustrating is this is not unusual. This is actually normal out here. This language is basically, inquire like you give a shit about someone's life, then completely ignore since they already have an answer for you. It's aggravating because it's actually better for uncomfortable silence, then...this.

I guess this is what people mean when they saw we're phony, or not authentic. Or raw. Raw people don't move, shake or schmooze. The lady at the Skyline Chili diner in Cincinnati, doesn't give a shit what you do or what you're doing. She does care about who you are as a person. A normal exchange that I've had in the past included: follow up questions, general concern, focus. We're really self-absorbed and narcissist. Now I'm not saying Cincy is a magical place with amazing people. My sister Jenny is self-absorbed. It's an obvious defense mechanism I've gotten as well. As, I'm more than sure, from my mom. Why else would I write this fucking blog if I weren't. I texted her last night of our nephew's awesome new job. She turned it immediately about herself and her day and some friend. This is me sharing family news. Not some trivia about me. No real interest in who she use to take camping every summer as a baby. Unbelievable. I had to shut that down. I called out her narcissism. She disappeared from the texts. I know she's angry and resentful now. She has that way about her. I may be banned from her life for the next decade. Which, on her deathbed, she will realize holding grudges only  hurts herself. She knows no other way.

I try nowadays not to do what I see others who aggravate me do. Which is mark time before it's my turn to speak. It's rough out here. The minute you slow down your speech is when the other person thinks you've turned stupid. Out here, searching for the proper words is...a liability. I value others ideas. At least I hope I, at least, validate it with some thoughts. Sometimes I just don't have the patience.
The Hollywood Hustler will never understand this.

You're Bad With Money

“You’re bad with money.” This was from a college girlfriend who spent about $60 a week on weed.

I’m not sure what inspired her to say this, considering I was in college at the time. I saved everything I got. I had no money to be bad with.

I lived in a studio apartment that was a house that was reconverted into three different units. One unit had a revolving room for Mormons that were doing their missions. I saw different faces every few months. The second was below me. A couple who had the biggest part. I paid $125 a month. I was making nothing at the family video store. So I knew the value of money. Meanwhile she was getting support from ma and pa in Maryland. It didn’t help that within two weeks she had moved in with me. Now I was paying all bills and spending money to make her happy. Yet…I was bad with money.

I think most men will have this uneasy feeling about earning money. It’s not really useful to us. As Chris Rock said, we’d live in a cardboard box if it weren’t for pussy. I think we just need a t.v. for sports and a place to shit. Creature comforts cost. And it’s not for our benefit. I think there are times when a lot of guys would want to go back to living in their own filth. In some families I think women do eventually give up. My oldest sister saw the brunt of this when she worked with child services. She’d relay me stories of terrible conditions by parents who just didn’t care anymore. Just a pigsty. And this was okay. They lived in it. Or rather, survived. I always thought my own home was a pigsty. My Mom didn’t do any cleaning. Or rarely. In her mind, that’s why she had kids. We did what we could. In our own rooms.

I never thought I was bad with money. I do get really excited about projects sometimes and will sink everything I own to get a cool project done. I still do that. But I guess I make some decent money now in order to do it.

In college, I made some really terrible mistakes though. I was a gangster when I was drunk. I’d buy tons of drinks and charge it. I’d buy books and art supplies (even though I could make due), because I felt like it. I bought expensive meals for women. Would only drink import beers. Or really fancy liquor. It didn’t matter. Drinking was what cost the most for me. And I drank a lot. I guess, in that sense, I was awful with money. But, because I was drunk, never fully comprehended how bad I really was. I think it was just really bored.

I'm Better Than You

I had an ex-girlfriend who'd told me that the reason I drink is because my brain races around too much. That it had to be slowed down.

When I gave up drinking, the realization came that I had to face the terrible thing that haunted me since I was a teen: Validation.

It's really a crazy thing to realize but I ALWAYS had a chip on my shoulder. That I had to always think that I was better than whoever. This is a really insecure thought. Because I'm a short guy and sometimes slow to concepts, I was scrappy when it came to my abilities.

I think a lot of people do suffer from it. That they have to think to themselves that they are better than all of it. This is to protect yourself from things like rejection, and abandonment. I recall when my college girlfriend dumped me, my first thought was "good luck finding someone better than me." Y'see, we all do this. Women and men. We have to protect our ego, otherwise we'd head for the nearest bridge.

The "I'm Better Than You" idea is really destructive. I think the older we get, the less we care. I know once you're full blown adult living life, NONE of it matters. If you're healthy minded, the only thing that matters and the only validation you need is from family. It's strange how much more gravitas we put in the opinion of a complete stranger over someone who loves you unconditionally. I guess that's the point. You can't impress your family. They'd still be related to you, even if you suck at life.

We all suffer fragile egos.

In The Big City

I think people have a respect for people who can negotiate through a large city like Los Angeles. I often think about people I've met outside the city, places like Valencia, Bakersfield and beyond and they seem so much more...different than L.A. proper dwellers. I think a lot of it is a sense that they are tough mofos. That the stories of beating the odds to exist in this town is somehow winning.

It is and it isn't. There are a lot of people who live just to live. I see this in the faces. They drearily look out into the world waiting for the bus. Or eating at a coffeehouse. Or service area, living like you would in any other town. Except L.A. For some reason, I keep thinking there should be more "life" into the faces of people who live here. Then it dawned on me...it's not like it was a choice.

For a lot of us in the "entertainment" industry, we chose to be here. So our view of this town seems more skewed towards a drive to make something or be someone. This is enhanced by people on the outskirts who make things away from the big city. Somehow a guy in, say Oregon, who makes a movie and a person in Pacoima that makes a movie will have certain aspects to it that people figure out. Not just subject matter, but a certain feel to their storytelling. "No duh" you may say. But, I don't think too many people really consider taking product outside the walls of a big city and making it in a small one really does affect your movie making. In a small town like Cincinnati, people are so generous and kind. They will support you in whatever ways you can imagine. They would just like to be involved. What this creates is comfort. Comfort is nice when you live. Comfort seems to be deadly when you are trying to tell a story on film. It's uncomfortable, making movies. Because decisions are made that are made under duress. Time and money. Comfort creates lethargy. In a smaller town, because people are so supportive, it's difficult to rush folks. You can't cattle prod them. Or scream. The kindness must go both ways. Eventually, in some cases, this will not drive your project forward. You make due. You settle. You don't want to rock that boat.

This town is pretty cutthroat. But not to your face.

You know the ones I really hate? I mean, it grates on me because they're not even in this town hustling like the rest of us. The ones who were here years ago then give you their take on this town from a town outside of here. Like they somehow felt obligated to be the expert, when they couldn't cut it here themselves. Those are the ones that really get on your nerves. A TON of photographers who talk about L.A. from the past and how they once could've had "greatness." I think it bugs me the most, since I see a lot of that in myself...eventually.

The Right To Die

Lately there's been a debate about whether or not people can end their own lives. Or even have someone assist them in it.

What exactly is the logic of having this law on the books?

Freedom. That's all we live on Earth for. What is the hold up for people who no longer want to be here? Is it religious? Because as far as I remember church and state should be separate. Because, it's not like you can convict a person for taking their own lives. What more blatant proof that you aren't free in life than to take that away from you.

I would hope people would stop wasting ink on these really ridiculous ideas and move onto something a LOT more important. Let people who suffer do what they need to do for themselves. To drag someone through pain is torture.

Letting Your Dreams Go Isn't A Bad Thing

I secretly get happy everytime I hear someone I know get out of the movie business. It’s not what you think. I am happy for them.

I recently listened to a podcast with screenwriters who spoke about this. What they were talking about is following your dreams and working for your dreams. A lot of questions they got was people letting go of what they’ve done in their perspectives lives to pursue a nagging dream of working in storytelling. Two things that I can tell right now. It’s most likely the story you want to tell isn’t worth $1. Certainly won’t make millions of dollars. And second it’s most likely this will be a passing fancy once you realize the insanity that is involved in this business. The smart person will weigh their options and realize how there is no logic to this business and go do something else. The endless line of corpses who believe they had talent and never give up attitude will die with years of bitterness.

The percentages of making it in this business is insane. Everyone likes to believe they are unique and different. But there is a LOT against anyone who wants this career. It’s a career of disappointment and constant voices in your head. It does take a stubborn mettle, but at a certain point, many people don’t allow themselves to just give it up. I realize it is painful to give up what you think you will love in work. But it’s hard work. Yes...work. The very thing you wanted to work in entertainment to get out of.

Many people believe that if it could happen to so-and-so it can happen for you. That’s because the only stories we hear come from the winners. Winners write the history. They make podcasts to push that dream. Let me give you some stories that you may’ve heard:

“I worked as a stripper and worked on my time off. Eventually, I wrote a script about the business and sold it.”

“I worked at a video store. Gave so many suggestions to awesome movies. Eventually a person in the business wondered if I had a script and the rest is history.”

“I wrote ten scripts. Kept sending them to every agent I knew. Every actor I knew. Someone bit. Then the rest is history.”

Bullshit. The stories they should be telling:

“I collected cans to recycle and eat. What I owned, fit in a suitcase and at some point I’m sure I’ll sell it all and go into gay porn.”

“No one liked what I did. They still don’t. My stories sucked. I’m not unique or interesting. Nor can I figure out what is worth making a good story from. Life sucks.”

“I am still a production assistant and making enough money to buy gas to drive home where I’ll go back to living with my parents.”

This is the truth.

Keep trying, if it makes you happy. Stop trying if it makes you miserable. Life is too short.

Cincinnati, Ohio

I was born in Taipei, Taiwan. I came to America as a baby. To Alexandria, VA. We didn’t spend too much time there as my sisters, my folks and I moved shortly to Erlanger, Kentucky. That’s where my Dad opened up a Chinese restaurant with his friend. The place was a converted saloon. It had an upstairs where some of the employees hung out. It was a really cool place. All wood with brick exterior. It was also next to a U-Totem. This was a convenient store that rivaled 7-11. I loved the U-Totem, because that’s where the candy was. We spent maybe a few years there. It was awesome. You’d think people in Kentucky were redneck racist. But I have to tell you, they are FAR from it. They were the kindest, friendliest people I can remember. Southern hospitality was alive and well in 1982. Surprising since there was such a terrible reputation for being narrow-minded. This is so untrue. I think there is a reason why you don’t see too many people from Kentucky out here in Los Angeles. Why would you wanna leave that unbridled kindness.

Years later I did return deep into Kentucky. As far as Louisville. A wonderful town despite its unfortunate economic state.

In second grade we made our way to Cincinnati. The really tough town of Pleasant Ridge. It was about 80% African-American. This is where the southern hospitality ended. And I learned to fight. I got into a fight practically everyday. I stuck out like a sore thumb. Hated every second there. I remember walking to school with a girl named Amber, whose drunk father had pressed her ear against a hot range. She never said anything, but I heard later from her brother. They were the first mulatto kids I’ve ever seen. They were really great to me. Amber was big. Broad shoulders, really tough and scarred. She probably spent a lot of the time learning to defend herself against her father. She took my side on almost everything. When the black kids would attack me, she’d be the first to pry them off of me. It was totally street. By the way, an occasional ass beating actually is good for you. I think nowadays people would call the cops. In 1982, cops would laugh at you. School wasn’t any better. You had to learn to defend yourself. In fact, most of the time, they encourage you figure it out. We left Pleasant Ridge in 1983. The town now has been reclaimed by hipsters. It’s mind boggling knowing the streets where I use to scrap is now where skinny jeans, vinyl listeners go to hang out and talk music.

I love Cincinnati. Everyone from it remembers it. It really is in your blood. I consider it my hometown. I go back every once in a while and revisit my old stomping grounds. The heavily German Irish community is tight knit. And really friendly. It’s growing faster than I want it to. In my neighborhood, there use to be wooded areas where a kid could explore and disappear for a day. It’s beautiful quiet bike trails. Out here in Los Angeles, it is all man made. It breaks my heart that that bike trail is now a memory. The woods are where a kid could learn the basics in life. We built fires, small makeshift shelters. We hid out from parents. This was at a time when you would go out all day, and your parents never worries. Crime was so far away. It was also a time when kids would take care of other kids. I had so many brothers and sisters I didn’t even know I had. That’s the way it was in Cincinnati. Skin color was only apparent, when someone from “the big city” visited and reminded us there was a big city out there that didn’t like you for that reason.

We’re such proud people in the Midwest. People in Cincinnati do their research. If you’ve made it beyond the walls, there is no hate. They still embrace the prodigal sons. It makes you want to make the city proud. Spielberg was born there. Doris Day, Rosemary, Nick and George Clooney, Carmen Electra, Nick Lachey, Sarah Jessica Parker, Tyrone Power, Julie Haggerty. We’re all so proud of every one of them who’ve made Cincy even a small part of their lives. When I go back home, I do have moments where I talk to the locals. They live, work and dream in that city. They are properly self-effacing of their lot in life. They are constantly curious of who I am and always start with “wow, it must be so cool to be in Los Angeles.” To which I have to remind them that I consider Cincinnati my hometown. To which they reply “why?” We have a good laugh. The city gets in your blood. The people are proud. I like seeing the new younger generation that is coming up. So full of dreams. Maybe some of them will want to go out to the world. I can guarantee you now…they will always consider Cincinnati home.

Wet Brain

Wet brain is a condition where your brain lacks a lot of B1 (Thiamin) and causes your equilibrium to be off. You get dizzy. Lack focus. Have no memory. This is a scary thought, considering it is a long term effect. At least a year to recover, IF your alcohol destroyed brain hasn’t been damaged beyond repair.

This is something that is scaring the hell out of me. Because it occurs only when you halt drinking. You think you will fully recover. But you don’t. Some instances…you will live in a permanent fog. I think…this is similar to football players and their concussion issues. For some, this is unacceptable living. For someone like pro football player Junior Seau, he decided to end his life rather than to live like a muddled brain. Imagine yourself in a lifelong hangover.

Memories is what allows most of us to function. We embrace warm thoughts. Holidays seem so much more enduring when memories are there. Some are sad thoughts. Some are happy. But they are all present. These days, those memories have been killed. I am numb and more than likely will not gauge certain social moors. There was an actor I worked with that had a jet-ski run over his head. I recall how in between takes, he would pull down his pants and walk around waiting for someone to notice. This type of “insanity” frustrates people. Probably himself more than anyone. But he has no motor control. In his mind, this was okay behavior.

I don’t want to ever get to that point. I pray to be sharp again. Sharp and care about things. For the time being, I can’t even get behind things I use to be passionate about. Academically, I can tell that things are off right now. Emotionally, I am a void.

I really hope I didn’t do permanent damage. Being driven in life and not anymore is frustrating beyond words.

Be Interesting

Be interesting.

I notice, that being interesting to be people requires a few simple things. One, don’t say all that much. Two, always seem like you’re tinkering with something.

The minute you start talking, it seems most people already work your credibility backwards. I think because the more you talk the more you tip your hand about your stance on everything and anything. And people want to latch onto whatever they can to get a bead on you. If you don’t allow this opening, people are interested in you. When you tinker with things, people see you as a do’er. You go about your actions without having to break stride. If you were an actor, this is what is known as “business.” It gives you a look into the person’s character. When you’re moving, you’re interesting.

Why else do you think photos of people doing things online are so much more engaging than selfies? It’s because they know you’re moving about. Living life. Being interesting. Women LOVE interesting. Fat, hairy slobs are interesting when they tinker with things. Women see this behemoth move and is proactive with life…they know they aren’t sitting around stuffing ho-ho’s into their face.

People take to me most when I don’t seem interested in talking to them. I constantly make the mistake of talking too much. People like to think they discovered something new. They definitely don’t like it rammed down their throat. Unless it’s a 40 year old porn actress. Discovery is an amazing thing. If people think they dug deep into who you are and figure out something exciting about you, of course this is grounds for interest. Unpredictable junkies get more tail than a Malaysian mule show.

A lot of marriages seem to ail once interest is lost. Most people aren’t that interesting. Or, you hear all their damn stories. Then they shift all their interest to their kids. Meanwhile, interest in our mate dies. Absence makes the heart grow fonder? Bullshit. Absence makes you interesting again.