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.