Because I'm 93% certain no one reads this anymore...

I'm doing my personal "Best of '09 list.
Keep in mind I saw about 8 movies this year since I was poor as fuck for a good 9 months of the year.
Here they are:
1. Up - I laughed, I cried, and I furthered my theory that porky Asian kids are the best.
2. Ponyo - no, it's not Miyazaki's best. The conflict is questionable, but damn it when you're broke and sad and a million miles from home chasing a dream, there's nothing like Miyazaki and little kids.
3. Coraline - Beautiful, creepy, so much fun!
4. Bad Lieutenant - HERZOG HERZOG HERZOG
5. Public Enemies - Guns sounded good, but they were all badass enough to weild a tommy gun with one hand. Slow, pensive, amazing and CHICAGO!
6. Me and Orson Welles - Absolutely charming, well-written. And hey! Zac Efron can act!
7. Jennifer's Body - Diablo Cody made a fan out of me.
8. Up in the Air - The only "Oscar Movie" on my list, but it really was that good.

The worst:
1. Where the Wild Things Are - Let's not even get started. In fact, see my earlier post.
2. GI Joe: The Rise of Cobra - Seriously? Suits?
3. Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen - Michael Bay showed up at my screening. I love the guy, but damn it if it wasn't like he spat on his audience for two and a half hours.
4. The Lovely Bones - I had to see this the night the Steelers lost to the Browns - bad fucking night.


I still need to see:
Just about everything else. Except (500) Days of Summer - I saw that one, but it's not one of the best. And I Love You Man and Funny People - same stories.

The Things for which I am Thankful

1. An amazing family with two of the greatest parents ever, an awesome younger brother, and an wonderful pikachu little sister.
2. Great friends back in Chicago who have stayed in touch for ten months or longer that include Teenerz, my "brother" Dave, Jimothy, Tall Drunk Tall Mike, Sabrina the best roommate ever, Andy Hannonahnahnah, and the rest.
3. A full-time job with a wonderful company and a kind, patient, and talented producer.
4. Getting to work with my producer heroes Dan Jinks and Bruce Cohen for four months as an intern on the Warner Bros. lot - which is also my favorite studio lot.
5. A good church to call home in Los Angeles and a fantastic Bible study for screenwriters.
6. My cute car that gets me where I need to be.
7. New friends in LA.
8. A comfortable house with low rent.
9. God providing even when I was working only part-time and was whining a lot.
10. Letters from friends at Yale, in the Quad Cities, or in Chicago.
11. Being healthy.
12. Being done with college and sustaining only minimal debt damage.

Life is good. Be Thankful!

Growing Up

So...
I got a job at Beacon Pictures as an assistant. I'm pretty stoked to have a full-time gig. I was pretty certain I wouldn't. Hollywood moves slowly, and I forget.
My 21st birthday is in 23 days. That's pretty cool.
Perhaps I'll buy a camera so I can finally start posting pictures.
It's so weird how I can actually plan on buying things now. My whole life is about to change a lot. I'll have security. I can settle down, establish routine, and create my own world. While I am beyond excited, over the past three days, a little nervousness has set in.
This is a big job, and I'm really young. I am sure I can do the work, but it's still intimidating to walk into a company like this, fresh out of college. Everything felt so transient since I left home and went to Chicago. Now there will be legitimate constancy, not just the constancy of being able to go home for the summer, but a life to myself. I hope I can manage it like a real adult. Some days, I feel like such a kid, and certainly recently more than ever. Samantha has to grow up a lot, and I'm excited, but I think there's also a sense of loss. It's funny how one phone call, one sentence offering me a job, can set a whole new direction for a life.
But I suppose that's how things go. Once moment changes a whole course and negates process. We don't grow up steadily. It happens in bursts and stumbles and small explosions.
This is my biggest burst yet. While I'm certain I will survive, I'm curious to see what I do as an adult, or someone closer to an adult that I was previously.
Good-bye, Little Sam!

November around the bend

So, I'm dreading this November. November away from home and friends is the worst - not that I've ever experienced it, but when I think that I will be 21, not celebrating with people my age in my state, and that I will first have suffered Thanksgiving and a lonely night of recognition, I am not looking forward to it.
In response to November Hell (or in an attempt to make it not hell), I have decided to pen my biography in segments, every day, for this month. Apparently, there are a lot of folks who write in their blogs every day in November, so I thought, since I basically own the month in having my birthday at the tail end, I'll finally lay it all out for everyone. My fantastical, romantic, tragic, hilarious, marvelous, super duper life.

And you're in for a treat.

The Waiting Game

I had a job interview on Friday. It went well. I'm waiting to hear back. And waiting. And waiting. The worst part is that this is a job I want more than any other entry-level position I've applied for in Hollywood. It is an assistant position at Beacon Pictures for Suzann - the wonderful woman for whom I interned in between my producing and directing classes. I love the company, I love their films, and I have so much respect for Suzann. There are people applying with more work experience, but I think I have the best work ethic for the job. I would work so hard for Suzann and this company because I actually care. I also have a lot riding on this. Two of my references are very close to her and the company, and I would hate to disappoint them. I know the company's projects in development since I was an interned and covered all those projects. I could keep going, but it does little good and it makes me more anxious. So I'll just keep waiting.

On the upside, some of my impatience was sated when my shoes and dvds - bought courtesy of the Jinks/Cohen Company - arrived in the mail this week. Thank you Amazon! I got the cutest pumps to match my dress for the Chicago Impact Awards, and I got Baz Luhrmann's Red Curtain Trilogy and Pare Lorentz's WPA documentaries about the Midwest! One is called The River and actually features footage from my hometown. It made me cry when I watched it to see my River. I miss it so much.

So that's it right now. Waiting and waiting and waiting. I'm like Chuck Norris... I don't sleep because I'm anxiety-ridden and waiting for SOMETHING to happen.

I'm Sick and You'd Better Stay Out of My Way

When I'm sick, there are two things that make me feel better: food and yelling at people.
Normally, I have a very small appetite (unless there is a plate of chili cheese fries in front of me), and I'd rather just find a corner and cry, but not when I'm sick. No no. Today, I ate four bowls of three different kids of soup, a turkey burger, sweet potato fries, leftover pizza, cheesepuffs, a Twix bar (or two Twix bars, I guess), and a bowl of cereal. That's like a week of meals.
I also had to drive to the auto repair shop today. During morning rush. Those people can die. I hate Land Rovers. Suck a fat one, Land Rover drivers - you're probably stupid and you'll have stupid babies and you're the reason this world is stupid.
It doesn't help that I had a shit weekend at work in which I got in trouble twice for server's mistakes and manager's mistakes. I hate being at the bottom of the restaurant totem pole. I also hate getting in trouble for refusing to help customers who are rude to both other patrons and my servers. In what world should those people get my time of day?
I'm also incredibly nervous. Friday, I have a job interview for a job I would truly love as an assistant for a woman I really respect. To my readers who are praying people: drop a line to the Big Guy for me (or Big Gal - hell, let's clear this up: Big Celestial Being). To those who don't pray, keep me in your thoughts.
To those who actually read this: really? Awesome.
So I'm feeling sarcastic and pissy and PMS-y (yes, PMS exists, and if you wish to argue that, I wish to punch you in the face. Point proven). Yep. That about sums it up (cough cough, hack hack)

Haha. Have a wonderful night.

Where the Wild Things Are, there is not plot

I went to Where the Wild Things Are last night and just wanted to have a wonderful time. It was a nice time, but the movie just fell flat. I mean pancake or crepe flat.

There was absolutely no plot, it was sad all the way through, and I have so many unanswered questions.
Why did The Bull not have a name? Why didn't he speak? How come he was by himself the whole time?
Little Max had a chance to make things better for the island's lonely monsters, and while he fixed things for Alexander, he fell terribly flat with the poor bull. He also never really had fun on the island. It made me more sad than it did happy, and that's not the spirit of the book. The book was dark and dangers for a bit, sure, but it's not Coraline, and you can respect kids and still have moments of happiness in a film. In fact, every film needs a couple happy moments so people stay engaged. It just got to the point where it felt long. I fell out of the movie world and into the theater too many times.

I guess I'm disappointed. It was a movie made for dirty little hipsters and film students so they can gush over Spike Jonze, not a movie that honored the book and brought its excitement to a whole new generation.

Where is plot? Have writers forgotten how important it is? In my recent readings and watchings, they seem to care more about gushing over how awesome they are for creating the characters and the world and forget to do something with those elements that will make them effective.

Last Names

Yesterday, I had a conversation with my mom. We discussed my cousin and her two daughters and how none of them have the same last name. Then it occured to us how very arbitrary last names are. So, maybe someday, I will legally change my last name. And when I do, I want my new name to rhyme. So I proposed this to my friend Nathaniel today: Samantha Jane Buttrefli-Rayne. Butterfly-Rain has a wonderful ring to it, but the spelling is a little phonetic, and since my first two names are already so very pronounceable, I want a last name that is a little more fun.
So there that is.

On an even happier, more legitimate note, IT'S RAINING IN LOS ANGELES! Mordor is no-more-dor! I love it. Today, I donned my leather jacket and my scarf to buy stationary, then came home, and I'm writing and writing and writing (as evidenced here) and reading Harry Potter for the bazillionth time because I'm super lame.

Bible study tonight; no Jink/Cohen tomorrow - we'll see how that goes. I have a feeling I'm going to miss it more than I realize. But to cheer me up, my dear friend Andrew is flying in from Valparaiso to see me! YAY!

Hebrews 12:1-2

At church on Sunday and in Connect Group on Tuesday, we read, studied, and discussed this passage:
Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw of everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles, and let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us. Let us fix our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy set before him endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand at the thrown of God.

For so much of my life, I have always thought of this as another "Be good for Jesus" verse. These are important, yes, but it struck me in a very profound way on Tuesday that this passage is assurance that there is a path marked for me. The race I'm running is not the aimless Hollywood rat race, whose finish line is "the top" with no reward except a long trip back down. My race is one of reward and promise, and of something beyond this life. Sure, I might not see the reward now, but I do have a path, and right now, when I feel so often like I'm floundering, this is the greatest reassurance I can have. I just have to run with perseverance. This might be the hardest part since I have been blessed thus far in my life with immediate successes for hard work. But yesterday, and this past week, I've been given many reasons to persevere - the little water stands along the marathon route, if you will.

Yesterday was my last at Jinks/Cohen. It was sad to go, but I am excited for what the future holds, and I left knowing I have four fantastic, talented, wonderful people in my corner. I learned so much, and I realized that I am doing better out here in LA than I realized. (Thank you, Michael Milberg for pointing that out!) I've made some fantastic contacts, I've got a decent house and car and friend group, one part-time job (hopefully two soon!), and a steadily growing writing portfolio.
Sure, it's lonelier than Chicago, but I'm also no longer in school, no longer meeting people through classes, and no longer in student housing with other people like me.
Slowly but surely, my friends will start to make their way out here, and I will be able to help them - to do the un-Hollywood and make sure they don't have to go through what I've gone through (in terms of loneliness).
Of course, this also means I need to be more disciplined about my writing. I need to set goals and deadlines, and I need to ensure that I have a well-rounded, well-written set of writing samples when I start looking for management in March.
So Gary will be finished in two weeks - one draft. I already know what about half my re-writes are going to be, but I need to focus on getting this damned story OUT THERE.
I had a really good idea for an action-drama, and I'm going to start researching and outlining that this week. Or now, since the other tab is opened on my browser. I'll give more details as I hash it out, but I'm excited.

Here's to a bright future - one marked out for me if I can just persevere.

Smiling and Clapping

Christine, a dear friend of mine, has been doing the loveliest day-to-day photo documentation of her October. I look forward to it every day and so should you.
Visit:

Wednesday afternoon and Thursday are my last "sessions" interning at Jinks/Cohen. It's been an amazing time, but I think I've been there long enough. Altruistically, I'm going to say that it's time to give someone else a chance to seize this opportunity. Realistically, I can't keep working for free and make rent. I'm sad, though. It feels like I'm releasing my last "live" connection to the film industry. While I know that's not the case, it's also one less thing to brighten my week. This will require some ingenuity on my part - keeping myself busy until I find a full-time job or a second (or third) part-time one.
Already, though, I have written a lot, and I've gotten a lot of work done on various projects with other people. I think I needed to let go of the security to really kick my ass in terms of living in the real world.
I found out that one of my closest friends in the LA area will be making his way back to Chicago at the end of the month. This is a bit of a bummer. And when I say a bit, I mean huge. I'm a little nervous. One less friend means one less excuse for me to get out of the house and live a little. One less friend means one more reason to hide and wallow. But again, maybe this ass-kicking is what I need to branch out a bit here in La-La Land.

Speaking of serious ass-kickings, my little sister, the youngest drum major of the RIHS Marching Band, better known as The Pride of Rock Island, has been doing so well in competition. It's so cool to hear about her flourishing in high school. She's so much better at drum majoring and high schooling than I ever was. It will be great to see her come Christmastime when I go home to visit. I miss her so much, but it's such a bright spot every time I get to talk to her about what she's doing.

Saturday, I think I'm going to walk to the top of a mountain. I've been hanging out in the in-betweens for too long.

One Good Week, The Pittsburgh Steelers, and What is this - High School?

I made rent on my own last week - without help from my parents. It felt good. Until I looked at my bank account. And got the energy and water bill. Biggest joke of my life. God love my wasteful roommate, because I sure don't sometimes.

I quit Jinks/Cohen. This week is my last week. I'm calling it the Samantha Garrison reclamation project. Another joke, right? Who knows.
But last week, from Monday to Sunday night, was a really solid week. No idea why.

I love football. The Steelers finally won! Watching them play never ceases to make me smile, even when they lose. There's just something about football and being a fan and being personally connected to something both intelligent and barbaric - something like controlled war. Love it.

Today, I spent the day applying for non-film jobs. It's like being in high school again. "Hey, can I get a job application? I'm a college graduate who can't find a job in the field for which she spent two years and a gazillion dollars. Wanna help me out?" Hooray humility lessons, right?

On the upside, at least my other part time job at the sports bar allows me the chance to watch football and eat chili cheese fries - my favorite!

Enough complaining. Last week really was awesome. From Monday to Sunday, I felt light, happy. And I made progress with the koala!

In Response to Kanye

I made a post on my facebook this week. A very tongue-in-cheek reference to Kanye which stated that "I bet Beyonce was flattered." Clearly a joke given her face in the video. However, people's responses to Kanye West have been somewhat infuriating. It speaks volumes about the gender and racial attitudes in our society.

A black man cannot cry for attention and receive an ounce of empathy - not even one who lost his mother to a lifestyle he created to support her. Kanye West experienced legitimate tragedy recently, and while he may be a little pompous, he's still a human being. Had we flipped the scenario - had Taylor Swift done this to Kanye - everyone would have been worried for her. People would have talked about her career, her struggles as a teen-age girl, whatever. For the record, she gave up her right to being a teen-ager when she became a public figure. She's also 19, so come off it, folks. As an artist, she should be able to take criticism. The point is, when Britney crashed and burned at the VMAs two years ago, people expressed concerned, yet this irresponsible lump of a human being who could not fulfill her job is a mother of two - talk about failing at the expense of others. Kanye just provided some colorful commentary. So, folks, let's step back and think for a moment. Why did Kanye do this? Why is his attitude so poor? And why can we forgive Britney Spears again and again? Why do we continue to allow women to whine and cry and meltdown on stage?
We are still stuck in a mindset that women can cry and men cannot. That women deserve sympathy and pity, and men do not. Let's remember that equality goes both ways, folks. And Taylor Swift sounded much stupider than your average 19-year-old when giving her acceptance speech. Kanye saved her dumb butt and turned her into a sympathetic figure.

It's Amazing What a Little Sunshine Can Do... Or Maybe It Was The Pittsburgh Steelers

Troy came back. Then he got hurt.
But The Invincible Superman will return. Here's hoping for three weeks out instead of six. Troy Polamalu is the Michael Jordan of football. There is something in watching him play that just inspires. He can do anything, and he makes the whole team perform better. There is just something about him - he's got a fire in him that gives him a superhuman vibe. Or maybe it's just the superman cape of hair he's got. Who knows? Regardless, despite having to watch by myself, I love watching football. It makes me feel a part of something bigger than myself.

Now that the sunshine has melted Mordor, LA looks a little better too. I had a job interview yesterday, and another job presented to me today. Here's hoping one works out for me! There are also several potential projects on the horizon, many of which I hope work out. Everything holds so much promise, espcially compared to last week.

My koala has grown substantially and currently resides on the one-liners of multicolored notecards on my wall. Slowly but surely he is coming to life, a manifestation of the power of human imagination. And his villains - the nightmares we create when we're scared of an unstable world - finally revealed themselves to me. I love meeting villains, especially when I know their demise. It's wonderful to create something only to destroy it - that pleasure of being a little kid with Lincoln Logs and some dinosaur toys. Build build build and RAAAAWR. It's a triumph all around, creation and destruction.

I need more though. A new idea. Salvador Dali has become an inspiration. Looking at his paintings - feeble online replications - is like watching Troy Polamalu. It is a talent that gives to those who can take the time to appreciate it. I found out there is a Dali Gallery not too far from here. I think I'll be making a trip sometime in the near future. I like getting lost in my head and spilling it onto paper. I need to take a weekend and immerse myself in Dali and Ginsberg and Beethoven and watch football when Polamalu gets better. I need to be inspired on all fronts. I need to fill myself up with beauty so I can make my own.

So here's to an exciting fall. I suppose I could quote F. Scott Fitzgerald, but instead I'm just going to say that I like the smelling of burning leaves and life taking a break, and I wish I could replicate those sights and smells and sounds for you, but I recommend you just get your ass to the Midwest along the Mississippi River and experience it for yourself.
Excuse the run on sentence and have a wonderful night.

Living in Mordor

One does not simply walk into Mordor. It's black gates are guarded by more than just orcs. There is evil there that does not sleep. The great eye is ever watchful. It is a barren wasteland, riddled with fire, ash, and dust. The very air you breathe is a poisonous fume. Not with ten thousand men could you do this. It is folly.

One does not simply walk into Los Angeles. One drives. And badly. While there aren't orcs, there are plently of orc-like Armenians who would rather kill you than tip you for any service. There is an evil here that does not sleep - traffic. It is a barren wasteland with skinny squirrels, no rivers, drought, in addition to the standard fire, ash, and dust. Taking a deep breath any morning this week is like breathing in a poisonous fume. Tens of thousands of people come every year, only to watch their dreams crushed. It is folly.

The only difference is that LA lacks any sort of great eye. Instead, everyone is invisible but massive. We run into one another, but not in a Whitman-esque sphere-of-the-soul way. We run into each other as invisible duffelpods like the creatures in the Chronicles of Narnia. Single-minded, sad, and living in some mass status quo that not only crushes dreams, but manipulates those that survive into something even Langston Hughes could not have imagined for his deferred dreams.

Yes, I live in Mordor. And I have no Frodo to my Sam, and nothing vice-versa. I entered the black gate alone, so no one will know if I survive or not.

Perhaps I should figure out what the proverbial ring is in my life, that way I have, at the very least, a goal for its destruction. As it stands right now, I'm wandering the wasteland, breathing in the toxins, and all I think of is the home I may or may not see again.

But then again, the hobbits made it out alive, so why can't I?

The Man-Hating Entry

This week, I think I hate most men.
If anyone says anything more about how I look, I will proceed to tell any and every man I know everything that is wrong or unattractive about his physique in the most emasculating way possible.
I'm serious.

Between working at the bar and existing as a woman in Los Angeles, I want to punch someone in the crotch.
Sunday, at church, I met a friend from Bible study. Dinner after church - a pretty normal occurence - turned into a date. I'm sorry, but I am not a fan of public displays of affection with even my friends - why would ANYONE possibly believe that they could hug me or - better yet- attempt to kiss me while downtown. Seriously. This happened. And I left. At first, I was too much in shock to bother. Now, I'm just mad. And I have Bible study tonight. Should be interesting.

Yesterday, at work, I had one man tell me I needed to grow my hair out - that I was too cute to try that artsy crap. Again, no joke. Another guy sat behind the hostess stand and offered me a few compliments on my rear end. And yet another called me sugar and kept winking at me while he played pool. Go die. All of you. Curl up in a ball and atrophy. Become the object you seem to think that I am.

That's my venting session for the day. I'm pretty angry, and I miss my Chicago guys who didn't care how I looked as long as we could play guitar and xbox and wander around the city.

This is poorly written and angry, and I'm sorry, but it is what it is.

Invisibles, Fight Nights, and WHERE THE HELL ARE MY COFFEE FILTERS?

I'm out! I don't know what to do. I'm going to have to go into work early to drink copious amount of coffee before I begin my shift not because I enjoy the caffeine, but because I need routine. And they're coffee is so weak! Ahhhhhh! Things to do today: GET COFFEE FILTERS!
Also, I'm thinking about investing in a French press if I ever get a job.

Yesterday, I went to the post office. Whenever I've gone to a post office, whether it be in Milan, IL (population... something like 6,000)or Glendale, or Downtown Chicago, I expect to wait. And in California, espcially, where the state motto should be "Hurry up and wait," I was fine with the near 25 minutes that I spent in line. After all, it's a Saturday, and I didn't have to work until 5, and I was the lazy ass who could not get out of bed earlier to arrive when the line was shorter. So, I waited patiently after ensuring that my package was perfectly prepped for shipping. There was one woman working the counter - the nice little Asian lady with a haircut like Rose's from The Golden Girls - and she was dealing with a beligerent Armenian. I know - an Armenian in Glendale being beligerent? - but no, he was. A woman steps in line, a typical California woman whose entitlement is all but written on her forehead. She waits probably a minute and says "Why is there only one person working this counter on a Saturday? It is like this every Saturday." The little Asian woman, not wanting to slow the line any more than this Armenian man already has, sorta mumbles something about someone being on vacation and keeps going. So the bitch-lady yells "This is rubbish!" and leaves. I clapped when she left. The idea that this woman was so self-important and self-absorbed that she thought her complaints mattered totally baffled me. Get to the post office on your lunch break during the week, stupid woman. And why is complaining at the sweet lady up front who does not determine post office scheduling and fudning going to help any of us?
I'm tired of how people treat other people. I'm tired of anyone providing a service being invisible. Why is our tendency to treat those on which we depend as though the are less than us? It happens at the restaurant all the time. To the servers, the bar tenders. This gross sense of entitlement people carry with them almost makes me cry. And it really makes me miss home. So many people in Los Angeles exist invisibly - I feel like I'm one of them. Three million people and we cannot connect because we're either too good or not good enough. The concept is so frustrating, so dehumanizing. I don't know how much more I can take. I know that deciding to go into film, to embrace the industry, means deciding to be invisible for years. Hollywood runs on castes, and it's tragic. It's also the reason, I think, why film is becoming so empty and stupid. By the time someone has established enough credit to make a film all their own, the person is either too jaded or too far removed from the reality in which the audience lives to connect on anything more than a superficial level.

Let's make it a goal this week, then, to treat each other as equals and fellow human beings.

I'm Taking Today Off

I don't feel like loving or hating anything today. It's Saturday, and it's been a long, boring, and bitter week.
Read something else (not that anyone reads this. :-P )

Remember that Scene in The Magician's Nephew?

The one where the sky is red and the sun is dying and thousands of tall and beautiful people sit unmoving as their world crumbles?
Today looks like someone spoke that deplorable word. Forest fires have blocked the sky and made it toxic. It's so apocalyptic.
On the upside, the unthinkable happened... SOMEONE ACTUALLY RESPONDED TO ME ABOUT A JOB! It's for a receptionist position at Marvista, a distribution company. Not necessarily where I thought I would end up, but if I get the job, I'll learn about a part of the industry that I haven't been exposed to yet.

So, day four of loves, hates, and leaving or not

The fourth love: ASTROBURGER and IN-N-OUT BURGER! I love burgers, and these are amazing! And the sweet potato fries at Astroburger are out of this world.

The fourth hate: I NEVER SEE THE SKY! See above. And in general, I haven't seen stars or clouds in months.

Today, I feel less down, but really lazy. And I can't hike because my lungs would probably explode. Or shrivel. Or mutate into frogs and jump out my throat.

Yesterday, or rather, last night, I watched Dan in Real Life. It was charming. More than (500) Days of Summer, which was also pretty good. Probably a strange comparison, but they're both little movies about relationships, and I they're the last two movies I've watched.
I like little movies about the ways in which people relate to one another. And right now, I'd much rather hear about family than about romance. Plus Dan in Real Life had the dad from Frasier, my favorite sitcom ever!
That's about it. The sky looks orange instead of red. I suppose its clearing up. Perhaps I will get to hike after all.

Hiding in My Room Until My Roommate Leaves for Work

I can hear her walking around the house, and I really love getting up by myself, making my coffee, and drinking it in peace. Oooooh, I can hear her car pulling away.

Give me a minute to make my coffee. A couple minutes...

Nevermind, Georgie already made some. Awesome! This makes two awesome tidbits in my morning. The first is that, since my cell phone is broken, I had to download an alarm on my computer, so I got to wake up to the acoustic version of Coldplay's Lovers in Japan. Although I'm not a huge Coldplay fan, I LOVE THAT SONG, and it's awesome waking up to it. The coffee is another perk. Yes, pun intended.
Today, I also get to go to Jinks/Cohen - best part of my relentlessly boring week.

And before I go further: yesterday was my mother's birthday, and I feel like a jackass for not mentioning this since my mother is, in fact, the most amazing mother in the world. You can talk until you're blue in the face about your mother, but you'll just be kidding yourself. Mine is the best and she gives the best hugs, and she's coming to visit me in 22 days. So there. I'm sticking my tongue out at you like I'm five and you're four and I'm right and you're wrong.

Now, day three of loves and hates in LA-LA Land.

The Third Love: MOUNTAINS! (And Griffith Park) Being able to hike to the top of the foothills (still mountains by geological definition) and say "I climbed a mountain today" never gets old. Being able to hike nearly every day has been my saving grace for both mind and body. I've seen rattle snakes, coyotes, other snakes, and all kinds of cool California birds on my hike, including little hummingbirds! It's also equipped me with a better sense of direction and a feel for the actual lay of the land. This might be one of my greatest loves, like my River back home. That might be wrong, though, since NOTHING will EVER compare to the Mississippi River at the one spot where the sun rises and sets over the water called Rock Island.

The Third Hate: THE SOCIAL SCENE! Sexist, disgusting, superficial, and uncomfortable, I should probably get used to it, but I'm just not ready yet. No matter where they are going on a weekend, people dress to go out. And no matter how nice or decent or sane a guy is, if he's out in LA, he will treat any woman like some kind of prize for the duration of his time on the town. Maybe I'm nuts, and maybe I've been reading too much into feminist literature, but I was and did before moving to LA, and I was able to go out in Chicago without worrying too much that I looked good, without my goal being to attract as many fauxhawked douche bags as I can, and without having to dance. Even bars aren't like bars in Chicago, where we all went to drink or shoot the shit. People expect so much when they go out, but refuse to create fun for themselves. Forget it, I say. I miss nights on the shores of Lake Michigan when all we needed was a guitar and something to drink. I miss walking and talking and laughing - those times were more fun than the actual parties and gatherings and events. I miss three-flats in Wrigleyville and smokers and non-smokers alike mingling on patios too small for fifteen people. I miss cigar tastings and hookah bars (hookah bars here are SO WRONG) and the Music Box Theater. Maybe I'm missing something in LA, and maybe I just had good people anywhere else, and maybe I just hate driving and dressing up, but LA's social scene is as cliche as it is portrayed in the movies, and I'm tired of it already. I'm almost dreading turning 21 because my excuse to stay home will be gone.

Cell Phone Drama, Plus Loves and Hates

Yesterday, for no reason that I can discern, my cell phone screen went blank. It still makes and receives calls, but I cannot see anything. How annoying. And I have US Cellular. The nearest store is in NorCal. You sponsor a baseball field and you can't have a store based in LA? Really? I hope the White Sox kick you to the curb. Punks.

So, day two of Sam Doesn't Wanna Go Home Loves and Hates.

Love Number Two: THE BEACH! It's so weird that I can just go whenever I have a few hours to spare, but I love it. Parking costs less than a movie ticket, and I can sit for hours, resting, people watching, play in the water, or walking around in the sand. It's always at least 10 degrees cooler than The Valley, and it almost makes me forget that it never rains in LA.

Hate Number Two: THE TRAFFIC! It makes getting to the beach difficult - or getting anywhere. This might be the bane of my existence, the one thing I hate most. Traffic makes a monster of me. One time, I actually roared in my car with frustration. Embarrassing, yes, but I'm sure anyone trapped in LA traffic has been there.

So that's it. I'm going to go throw a pity party for me and my cell phone!

LA, je t'aime... Or do I?

Today is August 25th. I'm supposed to have a job by Sept. 1st or ... EEE!

SO, I think I'm going to do a countdown of the things I love and hate most about Los Angeles. One love, one hate every day. Today, I'm going to start superficial, boring, and small. My heart is a little broken with boredom, and I don't think I can be any more fair than judging this city by its weather.

The first love: no winter! I left home on a day that was so cold, my car battery froze. A frozen battery! I'm not kidding! It's so exciting that it's August and I'm not dreading the fall and winter ahead. In fact, I think I like the winter months in LA better than the summer ones. It's nuts!

The first hate: no rain! It's hot, it's dusty, it's gross. Althoug F. Scott Fitzgerald's Valley of Ashes was an East Coast metaphor, sometimes I feel like the eyes of Dr. T.J. Eckelberg should be mounted near the Hollywood sign, looking over the dusty, ashen city. Although I love sunny days, they start to lose their lustre when they don't start with a thunderstorm and a rainbow.

If I do get a job soon, I'm driving north to find rain.

Morbid Plans

While talking on the phone with my mother one day, we discussed how I would be notified should any of my family members or good friends back home died. While these are legitimate discussions, once I hung up, I went on a jog and played out other scenarios in my head.
What if my brother killed someone in a car accident?
What if my dogs died?
What if someone found out they had cancer?
What if Dad got hurt in a SWAT situation?

This last question is the subject of my most recent children's script, believe it or not. I suppose it's always been a fear of mine, and the resulting course of action never changes: I'd go find him. Life-threatening or not, that would be the one incident that would send me home faster or as fast as death. If it was a life-threatening scenario, the reason is obvious. If not, that is one story I wouldn't miss. I'd walk if I had to, I think, to hear his account of the thing. Me and my dad have a relationship built on stories and sports television. It would be incredibly unfair if I didn't get to see him just because of something as trivial as distance.

But anyway, the whole thought of not being able to see my family during times of need really bothers me. Last night, my grandma went into the hospital. It turned out to be not-so-serious, but I felt the 1800 miles between here and Rock(Is)land like 1800 punches in the stomach. Too stressful. Too isolating. It's not even that I was worried about a worst-case scenario, it's that I was not there to help. Any information was delayed, through text message or phone call, and I felt truly helpless, almost like a nuisance, begging for news. This distance will always feel a little unsafe, I think.

PONYO! and what that means for me

Last night, I saw Ponyo. My friends were late. But my intense anger aside (I HATE tardiness of any sort), it was an AMAZING movie. Amazing not only because of Hayao Miyazaki's ability to create a collective imagination but because of the experience before, during, and after.
Before the film, I had saved four seats for my late late friends. As the coming attracts started to roll, a woman with an adorable little boy asked if they could take two of the seats. I obliged, certainly too begrudgingly on my part. I had, apparently, forgotten what a blessing it was to watch a movie with a little kid. Through Where the Wild Things Are, Toy Story 3-D, The Fantastic Mr. Fox, and The Princess and the Frog, he looked like his day was made. And the movie hadn't even started. When it did... WOW. Hand drawn and perfect, the movie captivated everyone. My late friend barely distracted me. Although, this might have to do with the fact that I literally waved her away when she asked what had happened in the first two minutes. However, I fell in love. The movie took us all on a ride, and hearing the kids throughout the theater react so happily to an animated film simply drawn and without gimmicks made my heart soar. The little boy next to me was so excited throughout the whole film. Sure, I saw that perhaps it didn't have much of a conflict, and certainly no climax. All he saw was Ponyo and Soske on a magical adventure through sea and land, with a wonderful mother (Tina Fey is SO COOL) and some lovely old friends (props to Betty White and Lily Tomlin for being amazing even as animated characters). By the end of the movie, all I could do was smile and continue to ignore my friend. The little guy next to me left with a smile on his face, happy to have seen Ponyo, the little goldfish turned girl.

After weeks of feeling less-than-confident in my chosen career path, I remembered why I want to make movies. I want little kids to see them. I want every theater to sound and feel like that one that I was in last night.
So I went home and wrote eight pages of Teddy and Gary for that little guy sitting next to me.
Today I wrote another eight for myself. It's so inspiring to know that there is room for imagination in this world, for stories for children that don't treat them as less-than-human, as unintelligent. Ponyo is not Miyazaki's best film, but it is one of the best films in theaters right now. And it inspired and uplifted me to actually write.
It feels so good to know I have a place in this industry waiting for me. Like little Ponyo, I know what I want and I've got the magic to get me there. I can write for kids; I pride myself on being able to write and speak to them as people. I'm so excited to continue work on my script. I understand how to write it now. It's catharsis for me. I told a friend earlier, Gary and Teddy's monsters have become my monsters. When I sit down and write about their journey to save Dad, it might as well be me writing about my journey of growing up, of finding a new relationship with my parents, of understanding what it means to be independent, despite feeling like a kid.

So thank you, Ponyo. Thank you, Mr. Miyazaki. In making me feel like a kid for a night, you helped me grow up in the right direction.

In Response to Mr. Ebert, Part 2, but not really...

First things first: this was on the NY Times website this week:
http://www.nytimes.com/2009/08/09/movies/09scot.html?_r=1&ref=movies

Sound familiar?

I'm not going to talk about elitist critics. I like Roger Ebert a lot, even if I find that article to be arrogant.

Instead, I'm going to agree, in part, with A.O. Scott, who believes Hollywood is being lazy. And explain why it's their fault, not ours as moviegoers. We will go see movies as long as something is playing in the theaters. That is a tried and true fact. However, Hollywood is struggling to make anything right now, let alone content that is new and exciting and interesting. So, even though I probably won't see District 9 or enjoy it as much as most critics and fans, congrats to its filmmakers for making something interesting, intelligent, and still flashy for just $30 million. You're awesome.
But to Mr. Bay who insulted me by showing up to Transformers 2, to the good people at Fox who raped Wolverine like they wanted their own Southpark Episode, and to Jerry Bruckheimer for going 3-D with nothing but GUINEA PIGS, I give you...

MY PROVERBIAL MIDDLE FINGER.

I loved you all at one point. Some of you still have my love, but you've got your heads too far up your respective butts to care.

The real problem, my friends, is this: the idea that people in Los Angeles are making movies for the rest of us is about as crazy as a schizophrenic on shrooms trying to give someone sane directions through a haunted forest at night. They are so disconnected from reality that they have only strategy and business, not creativity, to govern their movie-making sensibilities. And honestly, the film business model is so screwy that even that is unreliable (a la Terminator, thank you Mr. A.O. Scott).
Producers and writers are put through a fraternity system before being allowed to make anything for audiences that by the time they have their chance, they are nothing but jaded shells of the creative, bright people they once were. How can we expect a 35-year-old man who has spent the past 10 years of his life acting as someone's bitch from behind a desk to be making movies that are relevant or beautiful?
I know this is my own youth and arrogance showing, but I WANT MY CHANCE NOW, DAMN IT.
Hollywood isn't rocket science, and I'm bored. If I take their path, I will continue to be bored until I cannot create anything but the same trite and true formulaic crap like Transformers 2 that currently dominates the film scene.

If we as audiences, as young film makers, as creative minds oppressed by capitalistic cultural forces (wow, I'm sounding like a crazy hipster kid now), do not step up, then we are to blame. So let's act now before people like Mr. Ebert and Mr. Scott are correct. Let's do the Dylan thing and kill our idols (NOT LITERALLY, of course).
Let's take back the film industry designed for us! Let's become Spielbergs and jump the walls instead of drowning in agencies!
Let's dispel the Hollywood hierarchies that these fatty producers fought so hard when they first came to town.

Remember, film is a mass medium. It's ours to control. It is a democracy, much like the theater used to be. And remember, Mr. Shakespeare wrote for the masses to become immortal. Not for the elite. Let's write for our own people, for our own generation. Let's make the movies we want to see instead of just going to see what the boring, jaded, disconnected folks in Hollywood are making.

In Response to Mr. Ebert, Part 1

http://blogs.suntimes.com/ebert/2009/08/the_gathering_dark_age.html

A friend sent me this article yesterday, and I thought about it long and hard. I'm obviously a little late in my response, but I don't spend all my time in the blogosphere either.

I don't think the American audience is dumber. I think they have too many options. SCANDALOUS you say in a time when I and everyone I know is struggling to find a film-industry job. But think about it long and hard. The idea of a 4-quadrant film is a fallacy. Everything has a genre. Everything has a brand. This immediately limits an audience. The reason people aren't going to see "The Hurt Locker" is because of the stigma attached to limited release. And because of the pretense that comes with a film that was released in major cities first. Trust me, I've been in the small towns that get it last. Why see a movie that was initially designated for "important" or "enlightened" folks living in segregated, crime-ridden major cities? Yes, there are still blockbusters, but even they fall into genres. To call Transformers 2 a four-quadrant film is totally false. It is meant for men and boys. Yes, I saw it, but I was not the target audience. I also saw "Up," and Lord knows I don't have a family of my own.

People are not dumber, but they are overstimulated. With so many choices and so few opportunities for real conversation left in the world, why wouldn't you go see the movie everyone else is seeing. At least the potential for connection is present afterward. And perhaps, with movies like "G.I. Joe" and "Transformers" a chance to reminisce about childhoods that are no longer possible. I don't know a single child who play with action figures anymore. They are all playing with their Wiis an X-boxes. Perhaps online. My former neighbor, only eight, has a facebook! At least with big flashy movies based on our simple toys and complex imaginations, we have a chance to share with this younger generation something they have lost. Maybe.

And maybe we need to rethink our limited releases. Maybe Hollywood needs to stop thinking of Middle America as a cultural wasteland and give them a chance to see "artsy" movies or "obscure" movies first. There was so much I missed before moving to Chicago, cinema-wise, and so much I try to make sure my little sister does not miss. When that rich classmate comes back from having seen an art house film in "The City" (whichever major city is closest), no one in the class wants to see it because no one in that class wants to be perceived as elitist.

The fact of the matter is, there is no single movie in theaters right now that just anyone could go see. Except, maybe, Up. There was a time when people had more freedom, when there was less genre applied to Hollywood. Perhaps "Julie and Julia" could reach a younger audience if it hadn't been so adamantly pushed upon the women 25-50. And perhaps "The Hurt Locker" could reach my girlfriends back in western Illlinois - action-movie loving girls uninfluenced by the gross sexism that pervades major cities - if it had been presented to them before it hit Los Angeles and was branded a "guy movie." A WOMAN DIRECTED IT FOR GOD'S SAKE!

No, Mr. Ebert, young American audiences are not dumb. They are overstimulated. They have too many choices, so they pick the one that will allow them the most chances to relate. They pick the genre that fits into their lifestyle: the "comic book movie", the "video game movie", the "coming of age teen drama", or, my personal favorite, the "event film". They could make other choices, but those labels might be more isolating. The "Oscar film" or the "limited release" or the "indy drama" or the "mid-life crisis" or the "romantic comedy" don't sound like movies one can discuss with classmates in high school or college.

Next entry in response: why critics ARE elitist and how to read film criticism so it does not ruin your movie-going experience.

A Little Part of Me Died... Something Else Took Its Place

Two days ago, my little sister sent me an iPod in the mail, along with several gifts and books from my mother. I've never really cared to own an iPod, but she had an extra lying about, created a playlist for me, and sent it my way. The day I got it, I took it with me to the park. Usually, I like hiking to the sounds of nature, no headphones. I broke a personal rule and listened to some music. Next thing I know, I was breaking another rule and RUNNING up a hill. I don't run unless I'm being chased. But I jogged most the mile and a half trail. When I finished, I felt amazing! I had so much energy the rest of the day. So, I tried again yesterday. Same thing. So much energy. Today, my legs are incredibly sore, but it feels so worth it. The energy seems to still be there.

Perhaps I need to find another rule to break. Mike is in town this week, so it should be easy. We like to go on adventures and make mischief.

I also did something out of character on Friday and left my house for a party. I suppose it was fun to see my friends, but I still just hate parties. I can't explain it, and I don't care to either. I went to a friend's show at Crane's Tavern as well. It was great. Well worth the stress of leaving the house to go into Hollywood on a Friday night. I'll be going to more in the future.

What a strange weekend. Here's hoping today continues the pattern.

Damage: Controlled

Tuesday, the temp agency didn't call yet again, so I went to the hair salon. About four weeks ago, I went in while I had that wicked little eye-infection, so I could not see what they were doing to my hair. I ended up with a cut that was practically a flat-top on the top with really long sides. I had to let it grow a bit before cutting it again, and it was finally time. Now, it looks fabulous! I feel human again!

Hair is an amazing thing. Mine often determines my mood. And I think, once I'm employed full-time, I will be coloring it again. Anyone down with dark brown?

In other news, Sunday begins the three months of visitors! This month: Mike, then Jordan. Next month: Mom and DoDa. October: Andrew. Hooray!

I Get It! and other notes

Last night I watched Office Space. I feel like I've finally been let in on the biggest inside joke ever.

I didn't realize how bad the recession was until I poured my Lucky Charms today. The marshmallows have downsized. They are mini charms, and the two-colored ones lack the cute little details in favor of colored swirls like the generic cereal version.

Yesterday, four chubby little kids came in to eat at Barney's. If I have children (hopefully not), I hope they are portly until about the age of seven.

Mike comes to visit in a week! Jordan comes in just over two! SO EXCITED!

That's about it for today.

Coffee Talk

Low on coffee because I am too lazy to go grocery shopping, I ground together two types of beans: a Nicaraguan dark medium roast and a French dark roast. Add just a tiny bit of French vanilla creamer, and I achieved coffee bliss.
Last night, I went and saw Funny People with my friend Chris. While it had its flaws, it was charming. Certainly it was a movie I would watch again. Jason Schwartzmann can be such a pretentious POS, but in this scenario, it was absolutely perfect.
We saw the movie at the AcrLight in Sherman Oaks. Walking through the shopping center, it was awesome to see people out on a Friday night dressed in jeans and t-shirts. It was casual, comfortable, and a total return to normalcy. Perhaps not all of Southern California is full of crazy people dressed up for no reason but to get drunk and sweat on a dance floor.
There was a glimmer of hope earlier this week in regards to finding a job. Those of you who are praying folk, continue to do so. A job full time job would be awesome.

What's the Skinny?

Me, apparently. Certainly, I didn't mean for this to happen, but LA has taken more than just my energy and my confidence - it's taken my substance!
After a lovely little eye infection, and a visit to the doctor, I learned that I've lost enough weight to make me a tiny bit worried (no pun intended). Then I helped a friend with her Fiesta Mission project, and I saw first hand the black hole effect Los Angeles has had upon my person. While the commercial itself was awesome, as is the Ford Fiesta, I looked like a skeleton: pale and bony.

So what gives? I eat chili cheese fries like they're a legitimate food group, I hate exercise, and, due to these wonky things called heel spurs, I've not been able to hike lately.
I think it's the air around here. It's so dry that it sucks up all the water in my person. It makes sense: I'm thirsty and sweaty and icky.

I miss humidity and summer storms.

This certainly is less optimistic than I feel. Honestly, things are going really well.
Jinks/Cohen has been an amazing experience. I'm writing from the office right now. Last week, I covered the assistant's desk for two days. I cannot wait to be an assistant full time. It feels strange to say so, but it's awesome to be the "fly on the wall."

Yesterday, I had a conversation that gave me a small shift in perspective. Perhaps my priorities are not what they should be. I have spent a long time focusing on goals attainable within a time frame, with quantifiable (and superficial) results. Now that the measuring stick I have used for so long is irrelevant, I see now that I need to focus on the present, not the future. For so long, I've been looking forward, and I have failed to see the good all around me - the sorts of success that are less economic and more human or spiritual. It's going to be a difficult shift, but one I really need to make.

August, I think, will be a good month. Hopefully, I will find a job. Mike and Jordan are coming to visit, and I start temping. I start a Bible study for screen writers, and, hopefully, I'll meet exciting new people and build new friendships here in LA.

Good-bye July! You've been a fun one.

On Fear, Really Graduating, and July!

It's all the same really.
I'm ushering in July with over $15,000 of debt, The Decemberists (guess which song...), and Claire Danes as a falling star.
Thursday, I finished college.
Tomorrow, another Thursday, I get to drive onto Warner Bros. lot as an intern for Dan Jinks and Bruce Cohen. My favorite producers. If one is allowed to have favorite producers.
Yesterday, I screwed up at least 8 times. Or rather, faced the consequences of 8 screw ups. Today I fixed about 5 of them. I know I'm supposed to spell out each of those numbers according to the rules of conventional grammar, but I think 82 should make it better. Yes. Eighty-two makes it better.
I suppose now it is time to either face destiny or live the dream, depending on how one feels about free will. I personally believe in a mix of everything. My work, God's plan, and the intervening universe at large. I suppose, though, God's plan for everything and always is the lovely trump card, and I am reassured.
Yes, I got "religious."

But seriously. I want to work. This week of downtime (and getting raped by banks, catching eye cooties, and crying profusely in between watery eyes) has left me with too much time to think.
I need my koala. He is still tap-dancing. He needs to get on kicking some kangaroo (adult) rear-end.
And Ashley needs to realize Sam is the man for her. Kevin just isn't worth her time.

So I went to see Transformers 2 on the 23. It started on the 24th with MICHAEL FUCKING BAY introducing the film. We were in the same room. It was a big room and we were at opposite ends, but there it is. My wonderful date had to be slightly embarrassed at my giddiness. And at my enthusiasm for a movie that was far less than perfect and possibly straight-up mediocre. But damn it, "Autobots, let's roll" is as invigorating as the Superman theme regardless of the film context.

I'm really sorry about the lack of pictures. Soon, soon.
Please keep reading, the four of you (or so) who do.

Soon I must talk about the beaches in my life. But, to quote Legolas "Fellowship of the Ring", "for me the grief is still to near."

Farewell to the security of the classroom.
Hello July!
I love you.

On Jeffrey Tambor and his Acting Class

Last Monday, June 8th, I attended Jeffrey Tambor's acting workshop as an auditing student. He told us to prepare a song and called upon me to sing in front of about 50 people, including 13 of my fellow students.
The result was an experience that has affected me more than anything in recent (or even long-term) memory. The thing is, there are very few things in life that I absolutely hate. Being embarrassed is number 2 or 3 on the list. Feet and being late are numbers one and two, respectively. Having never really acted, and certainly never having sang in front of a crowd, I was nervous beyond all reason. To get the performance that he wanted out of me, Mr. Tambor had me play duck duck goose with the audience while I sang, asked me deeply personal questions, and yes, got the song that he wanted. I think it was fun and liberating for about ten minutes. Then class continued. The professional actors and actresses in the class performed various scenes on stage. They are, for the most part, incredibly talented. However, in order to get the performance, Mr. Tambor gives them the same treatment he gave me, only in a more extreme way. While they go into the class knowing what to expect, I still can't understand the ethics of this sort of performance. Some call it therapeutic, but I think airing one's dirty laundry in public has to do more harm than good. He constantly barges into people's family histories and situations, something, I feel, is more deeply personal than any other sort of relationship in the world. Even negative or "barely there" relationships among family members have such deep-seeded roots in a person's existence that using them for something as whorish as an acting gig seems so wrong. Yes, we should put ourselves into our work, but we should also remember that we, as artists, are only artists because of our humanity, and that part of that humanity must always be preserved and treated as precious.
He also speaks so highly of artists, putting them on unwarranted pedestals. At the end of the day, one's choice to be an artist is no difference from one who chooses to be an engineer or a janitor or a police officer. Everything in this world has merit, and every job is designed to benefit other people in this world. Nothing is entirely selfish, just as nothing is entirely self-less. We are all connected, and to say artists are more in tune with the world than others seems a travesty. We merely see the world from a different perspective and we do our parts, our PARTS, not our separate existences, for our own good and the good of the all.
Needless to say, this class, this June 8th, will remain in my memory forever. Mr. Tambor succeeded even in his failure to appreciate the scope of humanity. Way to do your job, Sir!

On Stress

I don't get home before 10 most nights. Tonight I got home at 6:30 and felt blessed.
I don't have any pictures today because they require a lot of thinking and organizing to place on the blog.
Next week, sometime, I hope, I will write on beaches.
I miss this and need a day off.

AHHH!

On Visiting Chicago

Today I walked in my college graduation. It's strange how soon that came. Two years, two crazy interesting years. I can honestly say I've learned a lot, and a lot of it came from the classroom. Two years ago, I arrived at film school like a little Harry Potter, totally ignorant of the magic that is film. And now I live in LA, and I'm working in the industry.
Today I also saw my very best friends, Christine and Jordan, for the first time in four months. It had actually been five since I saw Christine, and I still cannot believe how much I missed them. I love those two. And I love my family. And my "older brother" Dave, and my dear friend Paul, on whose couch I am writing this. I have some amazing people in my life, and it's good to know that as long as I am with them, I feel home.
It also felt strange to miss LA. I don't want to be there right now, this instant, but I feel it pulling at me. It is home, and my life is there. Plus, I missed an earthquake today, and I'm bummed.
Anyway, it's 3:40, not 1:40, so I should probably sleep.

Before I Try and Turn Out Act 2

Last night, I was discussing the romantic comedy I am writing, a title-less bastard child, with two friends--one via g-chat and one via AIM. They say scripts are our children--our darlings, if you will. And they also say it takes a village to raise a child. I do believe this might be true. I threw half-baked silly ideas at them, and threw our joking and discussion, came up with an enhanced second act. It was great. What started as me wanting to Bay it up turned a simple romantic comedy into an action caper with feminist undertones. Yes! There's way too much going on, and it's still very much a romantic comedy, but I think it's better that I get too much out on this draft, since it's the first, and then cut it from there.
I love that writing is not a solitary experience. To truly turn out a good script, one absolutely needs to be able to throw ideas around, to release them into the world for a time before pinning them to a page.
Now, I must get back to the work. Second act is always a little daunting, but now I know exactly where I'm going and what my plot points are that I need to hit.

And my final note: Three days until I return to Illinois for a visit! I cannot wait to have, on a single roll of film, pictures that include foothills, the ocean, The River, skyscrapers, and the tops of clouds (if I dare to actually look out the window of the plane). And I'll be participating in a college graduation ceremony. That seems so strange. Again, more on that later.

On Santa Monica

Today, miraculously, traffic was at a minimum. Thank goodness since I worked both Beacon and Barney's today. I will be so glad for the day when I can rid my world of some of the alliteration and say Jinks/Cohen and Barney's. It's so much less cutesy.
More on cute later. Right now, I would like to discuss that which has become my new redline--though it's not really close at all--Santa Monica Boulevard. This is where my adventure down SMB begins every day. I'm rather fond of the Star Trek banner. Though, I suppose it will be going away soon. It's great to feel like I am racing a star ship piloted by James Tiberius Kirk every morning. It's a real tragedy that I beat it in LA traffic, though. The thing about Santa Monica is that east of highland, it's pretty gross. I also take it to get to Sean and Jeremy's when I'm hiding from mice or my roommates or their house guests (not that I have a problem with any of these but the mice... I just like to hide). It starts out disgusting, then rolls west, first through WeHo: , the brackish hybrid between disgusting regular Hollywood and Beverly Hills. Beyond Beverly hills, which is too tree-lined and straight to be interesting, I hit Century City, the scariest place on earth. It is impossible to be lower-middle-class in this area. Me and my Vibe (in a moment, please...) try and get through as fast as possible, but folks in Prius and BMWs cannot drive. The Prius drivers I understand. We've all heard the Toyota rants, but the Beemers? Come on... you're in a German-engineered car! Anyway, it's very shiny and sterile and this is the only picture I could take without being blinded.
Eventually, I arrive in Santa Monica. Santa Monica, off the beach and the promenade, is incredibly tacky. I'll save pictures of it for when I can do it justice. The point is, Santa Monica is as diverse as LA itself, and I've only just started to appreciate this after a month of driving it across my known California universe. It certainly beats being stuck on the 10 or the 405, both of which are incredibly boring in their views and move about as quickly. I'll miss it when I'm back to driving Western and Melrose for class. I think I'll miss a lot of things being back in class.
Here's to freedom. Here's to the arteries of major cities, full of the flavor and life of the people they serve, from the Red line in Chicago to Santa Monica in LA. Hooray!

In other news, romantic comedies are fun as hell to write. It's okay to defy logic because no one actually falls in love like that ever. It's more fantasy than Lord of the Rings, and twice the cheese. LOVE IT.

On Sunshine

While I am redder then a tomato right now, I must say, I love sunshine. I love the beach. Today, I finally went into the water--the Pacific Ocean--and actually enjoyed it. Even the scary, fall-into-a-hole-while-a-wave-came-at-me parts.

It occurred to me today that returning to classes in three weeks might kill me just a little. I've established a sort of routine with people who are well out of film school, with offices and lunch breaks, with commutes and schedules. Barney's is going well--I love the waitresses with whom I work, and I love the atmosphere of the restaurant, especially at night when people come to sit at the bar and watch the game. And the WGA... I LOVE IT. That library really is the greatest place ever. I work with three incredibly kind people, I get to read scripts, I get to alphabetize and organize, and I get to be in a creative, quiet, peaceful environment.

My pictures from my first disposable camera are on facebook. I feel like that was a practice run for starting something more with it on here (or perhaps a new blog... haven't decided). Here's a few and what they are in my world:



This one is something my friend and I happened upon. Just a pine cone on a rock. But it looked like the pipe is actually some sort of ray gun bent on destroying this pine cone. But why? Perhaps it's more than just a pine cone... Who knows? The second one is my favorite tree. It's on a mountain, on a part of the path that slopes, so it literally makes you feel as though your world has shifted about 90 degrees. It's on a good trail, as well, which makes it even better.

So there those are. Enjoy.

The Biggest Questions I Have to Answer This Week

What's going to have a bigger opening weekend this summer: Transformers 2 or Star Trek?

Who would you choose if you were in Obsessed: Beyonce or Ali Larter?

Is it more fun to go hiking or to the beach?

Yes, this is bratty, but I love LA and my life here. It's so weird that one cannot make real decisions. I simply act or react and try to stay out of traffic. No one asks questions...
But do answer. Feedback is appreciated. :-P

The Sam Abides

Three weeks until I get to see the Mississippi River.

Three weeks and one day until I get to see Chicago.

I love LA, but damn it, I get to see Christine, Jordan, Mike, Paul, and select members of the rest of the gang.

Phone interview today went well. I will find out on Monday if I got the internship closer to home after school ends.

Script due by May 26th. Freaking out because it can't involve kids.

Talked to a friend tonight and realized I haven't seen the stars since Kansas. And I haven't really seen many stars in Hollywood that aren't cemented into a street. Me, Orion, and the 'Sip have a date, I think, when I get home. Over ice cream.

Tomorrow, going away party for another friend. I'm sad about this.

Next weekend, I might be throwing my own party.

Coming soon: NEW BLOG THAT INCLUDES DISPOSABLE CAMERA PHOTOS.

Family

My mom just informed me that she had a dream about a medical condition. She's been feeling under the weather and believes this might be the solution. Or rather, a means to the solution. I should very much like to dream questions that have answers.

Today, I spoke to my dad on the phone longer than my mom. This might be the first time that has happened in ages, and I was very glad. My dad and I don't talk as much as I'd like.

My brother has also been texting and calling me the past few days. It's funny how the more physical distance comes between us, the closer we are to becoming friends. He and I are two radically different people and probably would never have gotten to know each other were it not for the fact that we were born 19 months apart and spent our entire lives together.

Family, I suppose, is something that we have to define as we grow up; all the while, it defines us, to some extent. Regardless of the situation, for better or worse, our family (or lack thereof) influences us in so many ways--some subtle and some not.
My friend Dave, who calls me sister, often remarks that family has nothing to do with genetic relations.
No relationship, though, is by choice. We can only relate to those in our lines of communication. Circumstance brings us together, as much as we probably hate to admit it. I mentioned this in a previous post, but this concept continues to blow my mind.
Family adds a whole different layer, something I find fascinating. While I love my immediate family, about half of my extended, my parents' immediate families, are strangers. People I would not know at all outside of circumstance. Yet, for better or worse, they are in my life. Perhaps that is reassuring. Perhaps it is terrifying, but it is my life, and, to some extent, beyond my control or understanding.
I love that feeling, knowing that I am not entirely responsible for the conditions of my life. Call it irresponsible, but I think the stress of thinking otherwise is just too much.

And with that, I return to Samland with my koala and my gymnasts.

The Annoying Bit about Hostessing and Other Bits of My Weekend

Shitheads that enter my restaurant and seat themselves make me crazy. It's also infuriating when people wander around the restaurant looking for a table, like I'd lie to them. And when people see there's a list and take a table that is not bussed or finished, do they really think they can keep sitting there?
I'm over it.

I sorta like the amount of sun burn I have, despite the fact that some of it is on my ass, in a way. The sunburn on my face is the sort that doesn't hurt and won't peel and makes me look like I had a lot of fun. More of a glow than anything. If that makes sense. I want to play football on the beach.

Today, I am doing laundry and sitting at my house writing. I like slow nights like this, but it leaves a lot of time to think. I want to watch a movie with anyone or a cat. But I'm very tired of movies, sometimes. Although I love film, I feel like I need a break from it lately. But everything feels filmic. I also hate that word, and I apologize for using it. Back to what I was saying, though. I can't pick up a book without thinking how to adapt it. I can't listen to music without thinking of the story in the song or of how it could work in a movie. I can't sleep without a scene from a script popping in there. My friends are all film types. At least I have Barney's. Sports movies aren't my thing, but sports themselves are, so I don't try and correlate the two. I can't wait until basketball season is over, though. The NBA is so lame on TV. Basketball is too tiny, like soccer or hockey, to be experienced from a TV screen. Oh well. Everything else about work is great. And film is great, too. I just think I'd like a break. And some tacos. But my mom's tacos. Not anyone else's.

I think I am starting to develop actual friendships in LA. Not just the sort where I know people and have to call them my friends because I don't know anyone else. It's very exciting. It makes the whole place feel even more right than it already does.

Chihuahuas shouldn't exist. Especially the one next door on the side where my window is. If it ever finds its way under my tire, I won't put on my brakes and I won't apologize. That is how it has to be.

Writer's Guild this Friday. My week is going to rock so hard.

Here's to an amazing weekend and a good week ahead!

Sunburn

The top part of my legs below my butt is slightly sunburned. It was worth it though. Laid on the beach all day. Didn't move except to roll over. This is the way every Saturday should be.
And I still managed to be productive!

The Death of a Friend

My hair dryer died today. We have been together since the summer of my sophomore year in high school. I'm actually pretty sad about it. What do I do with this dead dryer? Do I throw it away? It just doesn't feel right. Buying a new one will also feel strange.

In other news, in bigger news, the trailer for the web series I produced was in a festival--Tubefilter, a new media group, showcased it tonight at the Avalon Club. After convincing the bouncer to let me in despite the 21+ age limit, it was a great night. The trailer actually got the crowd to listen. Amazing. Soon, I'll post a link so everyone can see it. It warrants being seen.

Today, hike. Tomorrow, beach. Hooray warm weather... finally!

I'm watching Meet Joe Black and eating a burger right now. I love Friday nights.

Love Letter to the Mississippi River

Seeing as it is the only relationship in which I am ever 100% comfortable, I sat down and wrote my first love letter last night to the Mississippi River.
Since It doesn't have an address, I thought I'd just post the letter here and hope it gets to the right place.

To My River:

Can you hear across the mountains when I yell at the traffic? Does my voice carry the 2000 miles through my car windows to shake your waters under the dam? It always happens over the cement creek they call a river—we stop and I stare at the vast dry walls for riverbanks. My heart is thirsty, and even though I’m happy, I don’t yell at the Toyotas, I yell for the right sort of water. The water muddied with the stories of America, the stories of my life before I became Samantha. You knew me as Sam. Sam without question. You never asked what I preferred. You just said so and it was. Nothing here, not even the mountains, can have that sort of assertiveness.

To be clear, I do not miss anything beyond your banks. Nothing that cannot come to me, anyway. The streets were no better, and the people certainly lacked the superficial West Coast Warmth. Superficial used to be a bad word. Now it is a way of life. Never dig too deep because there’s nothing but sand anyway. I think people’s personalities reflect their rivers. I have a certain depth, a certain muddiness, a certain great big connective purpose because I am rooted along your banks. While I have never been happier, I wish most days I could sit and tell my stories along your shore. Couldn’t you reroute my way? I know you’d like it here. I know they’d like you. Everyone likes everything in Los Angeles. But I think you inspire a deeper fondness; one worthy of Kerouac’s ravings, of Twain’s prose, of my own pathetic ramblings.

Even though Los Angeles is my home now, I will forever be a tree planted by a river’s banks, conscious and grateful for strong, healthy roots. You, and you alone, give me reason to return. Perhaps it is crazy to say this to a constantly changing body of water, but I love you. And then again, perhaps it is my favorite relationship because it can never change. We are always going to be Sam along the River; we are always going to hold each other’s stories. So I love you a hundred times over and miss you a hundred times more. Keep flowing, but be kind this year—keep the floods at bay. No one likes them but me, and I’ve already checked it off my list of disasters. Your path is sure. Mine is coming along nicely. Perhaps they will cross, and I will become another tributary in your long and perfect history.

Love,

Sam