Holidays, Stress, and Writing Through It All

I finished the marching show. It was too long. They're "bastardizing" it. Such is life.

Sunday, at around 4:15 am, I will leave my apartment for a 6:00 am flight from LAX back to Illinois. It's been about a year since I've been home, and I'm excited. And oddly nervous. It's been one hell of a year. And it's gone by so quickly.

On the upside, being home means I won't have a car or too many plans - I'm a total homebody when it's that cold - so I should be able to get a lot of writing done. I'm hoping to work on the treatment for Paul and get it into shape so we can start on the script in the new year.

While I'm excited to see my family, being home always freaks me out. There aren't many pleasant memories from high school, and I haven't kept in touch with too many people from ol' Rock Island. :-P Chicago is the main event, even if it is for only two days. I love that city, and I love the people I know there. It will be great to see some of my closest friends - people I talk to nearly every day without actually seeing. To catch up in person will be wonderful.

And through it all, I hope to get a lot of work done. I want 2011 to be more productive in terms of my writing than 2010.

A Year of Wishes

Because 22 is 11+11, Paul declared it was a year of wishes. According to The Rules, he says, I get a wish every day. I think he made it up, but I've decided to keep a journal of my wishes - to pray about them - and to see which come true.

Tonight, I'm going to focus on the marching show. I have some of the music and a breakdown of the movements, so I'm really looking forward to writing it.

A second draft of the treatment is due by Christmas.

I'm hoping to find some time to lay down an outline for my Job story by New Years.

Goals!

I survived my birthday, and I'm really looking forward to the Six Flags trip on Saturday. Hopefully, everyone will start getting back to me about the driving situation!

Now, to work off the massive amounts of food from the past week.

(Adjective) Thanksgiving and the Obligatory "I'm Thankful For..." List

Tomorrow is Thanksgiving. While I'm stoked that I have 4.5 days off work and live in California where the weather is perfect for hiking, I cannot help but look toward tomorrow with immense trepidation, fear, and all-out loathing. Celebrating with a vegetarian-friendly bunch of hipsters in Koreatown, only half of which I know and a quarter of which I can tolerate, two-thousand miles from my family is not the way I would have chosen this day to go. But people close to me in my life have this nasty habit of ignoring me in November. It's been a recurring theme throughout my life, always ending in extended-family dinners where I am invisible and birthdays (mine is in November) that I'd rather not remember. Thinking back, as I've been inclined to do lately, I realize that November Incidents are about 20% of the reason I spent so much time in therapy. Haha.

HOWEVER... and this is a huge and wonderful HOWEVER...
In the sentimental and true spirit of this holiday, I, in my snobbish, bratty reluctance to enjoy tomorrow at all, believe that I have more for which to be Thankful than anyone else I will be celebrating with tomorrow. Yes, I said it. I have lived a life that has been primarily free of struggle. At lunch with a friend today, he brought up the idea of "rich people problems." He was referencing how people in third-world countries have almost no food allergies despite being hungry most their lives. Though I am not wealthy, the obstacles I have faced in my life have been products of blessing and privilege. While this in itself is a reason to celebrate, I'd like to flaunt my blessing, if only to make myself feel a little better about being lonely in a crowd on a holiday... again.

1. I have an amazing job, in my line of work, with amazing coworkers. Yes, it can be stressful, and yes, I'm "just" an assistant, but I'm an assistant to a President of a prolific and successful company. The other assistants in my office are good people who have shown nothing but kindness and patience as I have struggled through my first year not only at this company, but my first year working full-time at any job. I've also got a boss who has integrity - such a rarity in this industry. She is also incredibly kind, and has given me an opportunity that few other people would have. And she bought me a Kindle for my birthday, which is pretty great. :-P

2. I live alone in a comfortable apartment in a great neighborhood. When I am home, I answer to no one, and it is a dream come true. My neighbors leave me and each other well-enough alone, but also have the courtesy to keep the building clean and say hi when passing on the stairs. The rooftop view is perfect, and I have a parking space... in West LA. And like I said before, this is Southern California, and I can hike any time of year.

3. I have minimal student loan debt due in part to amazing parents, in part to some scholarships, and in part to obtaining my BA in two years.

4. I have an amazing immediate family, and, for the first time in my life, I have a solid relationship with my younger brother. My parents are together, they love each other, and they love my siblings and I. We may fight sometimes, and we may disagree, but at the end of the day, we have always had each others backs. My little sister is growing into a beautiful and interesting person, and my brother has finally found purpose and direction in his life. We also have two of the greatest beagles in the history of beagles - Snoopy ain't got nothin' on Jack and Lola.

5. I have three friends that I only see a few times a year since moving out here, and I still manage to talk to them at least every other day. Nathaniel, Christine, and Jim - if you're reading this, I love you all. These are three people who are immensely intelligent and talented, but who actually think I'm worthy to be privy to their thoughts. It blows my mind that I should be so blessed with people who have stuck by my side despite distance and difference.

6. I am in good shape, and in even better health. Although I HATE doing it, I work out several times a week, and I have been seeing results. I've also limited my cheeseburger, beer, and soda intake to a much healthier amount and am currently focused on not being a social-smoker. Tomorrow will test that, but I am glad for my health and fitness.

7. I've finished a draft treatment, I'm meeting with the writing partner to discuss it tonight, I'm making headway on a marching show, and I'm actually following through with this Job idea - even if it hurts sometimes. Finally, I'm becoming a writer.

8. I belong to a socially-conscious, growing, and living church that seems to truly pursue Christ-like goals. While I believe my home church is getting there, being in Los Angeles has electrified my faith. This church has provided me with a support system. And because we are all the church united by God's love, it's the one place where I feel like I'm right at home.

9. I have a small circle of people out here that I feel comfortable calling friends. This is more than I could have said a year ago. Whether it's Todd who has been kind enough to take me to Dreamworks events or Lizzie who just gets me out of the house for some "girl time," I'm finally finding a social life that doesn't make me squirm in LA. Tomorrow notwithstanding, of course. I'm also attempting a relationship - something very new and altogether terrifying for me. And he's a good guy who puts up with as much shit from me as he gives out himself. (That was a terrible sentence, and I apologize, but I'm not fixing it.)

10. Tuesday I will be twenty-two. Everyone else at this bullshit Thanksgiving will be older than I am, and most of 'em don't have half this list. HAH!

UPDATE: Today was rather spectacular, and I feel a bit bad about being such a brat all week. The food was good, the people charming, and there were bagels and salmon spread. In all, a very good day.

One is the Loneliest Number, but It Gets More Done

I finished the treatment on Monday, sent it out on Tuesday, and wasn't read until this morning... after I left to go home. The argument has happened, I'm over it, but it's part of the process, so it's being published.
Working with another writer who is reluctant as I am to sit down and get to work is going to be a tricky business. I'm sure this is the first of many arguments, but hopefully it will all lead to a final product that works better than we do. Haha.

I'm Finished!

Okay, so it's far from over, but I love quoting Daniel Plainview any chance I get. Though, it is slightly ironic to be quoting him in regards to a treatment for a script that I'm working on with a partner.

It exists in some sort of workable form, this treatment. It's like a shoot of a tulip. They look so stupid trying to climb out of the ground, a little weak torpedo amongst the melting snow. Then, after a few months and some melting, tulips! Probably not a great analogy, but you'd never guess those stupid little shoots that always seemed too weak to survive the last throws of winter could ever become one of my favorite flowers. That's this treatment. Weak, thin, sort of pathetic, but with loads of potential to be beautiful.

Today also marks my year anniversary with my first job in the film industry. It's pretty amazing - one year, and I still learn more in some single days on the job than I did in all the time I spent in film school. One year. So much has changed, inside my head and my heart, and outside in the parts of the world where I exist. It has gone so fast, and yet so much has happened, I feel like it could easily have been two or three years.

Life is so strange. I try so hard to fit most my days into a routine. Looking back on this past year, though, I don't know how I can have ever been bored.

Singing in the Rain

Did about three hours of writing today on the treatment. It's finally taking shape. Vaguely, but I can see something there now. It should be finished by Wednesday at the very latest. It is still rough, but I understand the story, where it's going, and how it fits together thematically. It will be fun to go through it with Paul and start fashioning a script.

Honestly, though, this treatment shouldn't be as difficult as it has been. My confidence, for whatever reason, has been ridiculously low lately. I really need to learn to relax. I enjoy writing, especially writing like this, because I feel like there are no stakes attached. It's this incessant desire to impress everyone, this apprehension that I will make a mistake with some unknown dire consequences, has gotten to be too much. I'm exhausted, and it's not worth it.

The marching show has been coming together as well - I finished a very rough first draft, and I've been reading Poe to better capture the tone that the band director wants. It will be fun to start working on that in earnest later this week.

Hopefully, my disposition will return to sunny this week. I don't think I can handle this insecurity anymore. It's exhausting. And I don't like crying outside of movie theaters.

Hurdle #1

Before getting to the hurdle, allow me to share some positives and progress:

I've done a bit of research regarding culture and politics of Chicago in the 1970s. It was an important transitional period for the city after the tumultuous 1960s. Even today, the influence of politics of 1970s Chicago can still be seen. Just look at the city scramble as another Daly leaves the throne atop the machine today. It's been enlightening, and I have several good ideas. When I discussed these with Paul, we seemed to be on the same page. Perhaps by November 15th, I will have something after all.

Another writing assignment came my way: writing narration for The Pride of Rock Island's 2011 marching show, Pulling Strings. Marching band has been so important to me for so many reasons, and it's so exciting to be a part of it again, especially during my little sister's senior year as center drum major. This is due by Thanksgiving - it needs to be short, simple, and Poe-esque.

Now the hurdle:

In researching the story of Job, I've found I can only handle the smallest doses. For various reasons, I have been incredibly emotional lately. This heightened state of emotionality, along with the subject matter of an eternal God refusing to share our purpose or the purpose of our suffering, has lead to the first intense panic attacks I've had in months. While these fearsome 15-minute struggles are a part of the reason I started writing this script, they are not any more pleasant to experience. I may have to take this script slower than I had originally planned in order to maintain my sanity.

It's funny - no matter how much healthier I feel since the climax of my anxiety troubles in high school, I can't escape it entirely. Sure, these panic attacks have been a source of inspiration, of enlightenment, but they are so painful, so excruciating. I hope someday I can regard them as an unpleasant memory. Here's to navigating this challenge in the midst of the general insecurities that already come with writing.

So Far, So Failing

I haven't written in the past two days. I have gotten a book for research - The Book of Joby - per the recommendation of a librarian friend. And I am scheduling time tomorrow after work to work. Now I have to follow through with it since I've gone public... right?

I also need to find time to buy my Halloween costume. I hate Halloween, but I am caving into peer pressure and dressing up. We'll see how this goes. My costume is both sexy and witty, so I feel like I will please both the social norm policy-makers and my hipster friends. Score!

On an incredibly mundane note: I bought a permanent coffee filter today. I had no idea these existed, and I'm so happy they do. Coffee accessories should not be this exciting, but here we are.

I'm off to watch Will & Grace.

Let's Try This Again

After a rousing church service tonight, I've been inspired. The past week or so, I've been in a rut - the first of the two I was tired; the second, PMS-ing. If that's a bit too much information for you, get over it.

Anyway, the point is, despite my many faults and falls lately, I have realized a few things: 1) it's been great for my literary productivity; and 2) I am loved.

With both of these realizations comes a certain amount of responsibility, especially since I am taking them public.

As for the first, I think I'm re-opening this blog to examine my struggle as I write to spiritually-based scripts: one on the book of Job, the other with a writing partner on the idea of a reincarnated soul as it learns lessons across lives. I am writing the first because of my struggle with the entire story of Job: that God created us and can, therefore, allow arbitrary struggle in a person's life regardless of his or her works. It's something that has caused me pain, numbness, and an odd sort of comfort and various respective points of my life. The second script will be a challenge in historical accuracy as it takes place through several historical periods. It will also be interesting to see how I write with a friend whose belief systems vary from my own.
At the moment, I'm in the very early stages of both scripts. For the first, I am, of course, rereading the book of Job - always a different read depending on my life situation. I'm also rereading a short story I wrote on the subject while in high school - I will publish a version of it in a later post. For the second, I'm currently working through the treatment, researching politics and social dynamics in the 1970s in Chicago. If I have readers, please share with me any reading materials that you come across that would help.

And for the second realization, that I am, without question, loved, I only write because it brings me a huge amount of comfort as a struggle through this minor bump in my journey.
Today, I spent the morning with my friend Todd. There is a huge disparity in our ages, life stories, former geographies, and yet, we have managed to become friends. He is one of those rare people that I know would have my back without question. And for whatever reason, he has taken an interest in my life and career and has allowed me opportunities that I would not have had otherwise. Even today, just going to see an advanced screening of Megamind, the new Dreamworks movie, is something that would be otherwise off-limits to me without his help. These simple adventures mean the world to me, and his friendship, the universe. I have no idea how to reciprocate this, and the strangest and most wonderful thing is that he doesn't ask me to.
My afternoon was spent with a wonderful person just talking about whatever. The time itself wasn't so profound as it was leaving and knowing that he looks forward to seeing me again. It's reassuring.
I also had the opportunity to take a small step in securing a broken friendship. This friendship means more than I care to admit, especially since it's rough, rocky, and has as many ookie memories as it does good. And it's good to think that it can, to some degree, be restored in the future.
A call to my mom assured me that I am loved across space and unconditionally. Confession: I talk to her every day, and it's my favorite part of my day. When I don't have the chance, my heart breaks a little.
And then to church. The message was both convicting - I do not live my life to the full and beautiful potential for which God created it - and inspiring - God still uses me even when I am completely off course. And he listens - he listens even when I, in my ignorance, complain and struggle to comprehend a world and universe so much bigger than myself. It was in a moment tonight, after the sermon, when music played, that I heard that still small voice so often mentioned. And I am loved unconditionally by the creator of the universe. Not only am I loved, but I am gifted, and I am given an identity, a space in this world all my own.

Even when I struggle and I'm scared and I'm mired in my own stupidities, I still have the ability to work, and I am still loved by so many good people. I don't deserve this, and that makes it even sweeter.

Here's hoping this helps me to stay accountable to my various projects, and to the people who have somehow invested in my little life.

Ugh - March

This month is flying by, and it's been SO BUSY!

First, my friend Jordan arrived in town - I helped him move in. The same weekend, my friend Nathaniel came for a two week visit. Needless to say, the end of February/beginning of March were a bit much. But it doesn't stop there - for Oscar weekend, the crew from Laguna Beach/Aliso Viejo came up, Nathaniel and Jordan came over, and it was okay. It was the Oscars - and my big boss was THERE! Holy cow! The two big surprise winners made me incredibly happy; it only means good things for all involved.
So the next weekend, I went to the Hoover Dam and Vegas to see my aunt and uncle. I'll update and post pictures when I'm not at work.
I got pretty sad the week between the Oscars and Vegas. And I had to speak to a Columbia class. Those two facts are unrelated, but that's what happened that week in between. Work has been busy - and that's all I have to say about that.

This has been a month of surprises, both good and bad. People surprises. Personality surprises. I dunno.
This week, however, I've felt a lot better. Ever since Sunday, actually. I feel like none of this post is making sense, but there's been a lot going on, and I can't really sort it out in a public forum because it's all in my head.
Maybe once I start to get everything sorted out - once I have a moment to breath - I'll talk more about it.

This weekend, my mom and my little sister arrive in LA for a visit. I'm so excited.

I'll breathe in April.

Adventures on Ventura

The boulevard, of course.
Last night, Jadi, one of my roommates, took me out to dinner with some friends of hers. Good wine, good food, and good conversation. Loved it.
These three gentlemen then suggested we go out afterward, so we went to a bar called Oil Can Harry's. Turns out, it's a gay bar, and it's 70s disco night.
I grabbed a gin and tonic and panicked for a moment - I don't dance, so it was terrifying.
Then I looked around. Middle-aged gay men in the valley can't really dance either, so I jumped in...
and I had so much fun. Blondie's "Heart of Glass" started playing, and I joined Jadi, her friend Jenny, and the guys on the dance floor. Such a strange feeling, that moment when I just stopped caring. But it felt awesome. I've gotta do that again.

Trampled by an Avatard, or Why I Hate Everyone

Last night, I had a ticket for the Writer's Guild Beyond Words Nominees Panel. It was beyond words, all right. Then I went to bed, my anger subsided, and now I'm calm enough to sift through the ordeal.
And I am at work, so I should be able to maintain a socially acceptable level of calm to retell the horrors of a room full of egos, maniacs, and humanity's proverbial dregs.

My evening started innocently enough. There was a group of five poorly and overly dressed 18-20-somethings standing in front of me sounding stupid. Probably from USC. No offense to any USC students, especially since the wonderful Scott Brown wrote and directed Blue Movies (www.watchbluemovies.com - GO THERE), but that's my guess. I chalk up my annoyance with them as me being hungry and teething.
So we go in, everyone sits down. The event starts nearly a half-hour late. The room is set up poorly - cameras front and center so no one can see, microphones for the Q&A set up in the middle of the aisles so EVERYONE is inconvenienced. These mics are wireless, by the way, and could easily be carried to anyone with a reasonable question within the theater. Like those of us who wanted to ask legitimate questions but did not want to sit on the floor in a skirt. I need to do laundry. I wore a skirt. Sue me.
Judd Apatow is a lovely moderator, and the evening begins interestingly. The writers all have interesting answers, they joke, they respect each other, and Geoffrey Fletcher, who wrote Precious, isn't a comedian. Big surprise. The writer of PRECIOUS isn't FUNNY. I'm fucking shocked.
So people don't like him. Writers, unproduced, skeezy writers don't like the guy who lived our lives struggling to make it for years and years and finally got his big break. Because their jealous, don't possess empathy, and probably suck at writing so they're going to keep struggling.
One woman clapped during one of his answers as though she were going to stop him from speakning. This woman, who smelled, was sitting in front of me. I whispered for her to stop. Fuck it - I wanted to hear what he had to say. He's coming from teh most familiar place, so he's probably got some of the best advice. Right? Oh wait - that would be LOGICAL. And half these people were there to see Cameron, so clearly logic is not high on their priorities.
God bless James Cameron, though, for shutting up the stupid nerds with stupid questions. He managed to tell people to stop talking while complimenting his fellow writers in a way that was sincere and showed his respect and love for film making.
And he made it very clear that he makes films for audiences, and it's really obvious to me now why he is so successful. Not that True Lies wasn't enough - it's just cool to see it in person.
Jason Reitman, on the other hand, loves himself, his overblown facial expressions, and his pie chart. Fuck that pie chart. I'm going to start keeping my own chart of how many times Reitman mentioned it. Ungrateful basterd. I'd love to be in a position where people could ask me questions, even the inane, ridiculous, and borderline retarded questions that he must get asked over and over and over again.
Poor poor baby.
Aaaaaaaaanyway, the evening ended, most mercifully, and people milled about. I got shoved into a cupcake, got frosting on my hand, so I decided to escape into the theater to try and meet either Scott Cooper of Crazy Heart awesomeness, or perhaps Lucas or Moore of Hangover fame since they came into speak to my class and I had an original draft of their script. This did not happen because I was pushed repeatedly and then trampled by an Avatard chasing after Cameron. And when I say trampled, I mean he stepped on my foot, but it still hurt and my toe bled a little.
When I tried to talk to other people waiting in line, when they weren't literally shoving their way in between me and the writers, I got asked what I did for a living. I suppose that's normal small talk. Only when I say I work at a production company, it immediately turns into "I have this script..." networking. I don't care if you have a script. So do I. Why would I put yours, which is probably crap because you're unrepresented and pandering to me, an assistant, in my boss' inbox?
Yeah, I can't figure that one out either. But again, logic was in short supply last night.
By the time I got home, I was too upset to do anything but cry myself to sleep.

I did meet Judd Apatow, very briefly. Not only was he an awesome moderator, but he's a pretty neat dude with a funny nose.

So, with a new respect for James Cameron, I still really hate LA, people, and this industry sometimes.
Why can't we all behave like animators?

Weirdest, Most Lucid, Most Narrative Dream I've Ever Had

Last night, I had a dream that there was a zombie disease infestation. People were getting scared because you couldn't tell who was infected and who wasn't. The infection made you smarter, colder, more Hannibal-like, but it also made everyone hungry for flesh. I didn't have it, but I wasn't scared to go outside because I was really annoyed with the people I was stuck with, and the house was too small. I left.
As I was running along, people started hunting me because they thought I was a zombie. Which I clearly was not. I was laughing and smelling flowers and just enjoying life where everyone was off the streets. As people started to threaten me, I ran into this really nice house to escape, and two toddlers approached me. They were very articulate, clearly infected, and they both called themselves Colby. In fact, this infestation was something like a hive mind, an alien, that was one, but took over many humans and used their small brains to enact its small tasks. We became little hands of the bigger whole. A real collective consciousness. I took care of both the babies named Colby (what a STUPID name for a godlike infestation, right?!), but they wouldn't let me get infected and become smart like them. So I just hung out and enjoyed being around the little brains and away from the stupid house. But they found us, and they started to attack the house, so I woke up.
Or something like that. The details are fuzzy now, but it was a super real, super lucid, super narrative dream. The babies were really cute. And they respected me, so they didn't try to eat me. I liked their selection process - sorta like how we treat some animals as pets, eat others, and don't care at all about plants.
But I think I've got to stop eating chips and drinking Stella and watching Henson in the evening.

Asking for Trouble

I saw three fantastic movies this weekend. I've been writing.
I spent Valentine's day narrating The Holiday to a friend via AIM.
I've drank more Stella than I care to disclose.
And I've been very happy and very sad.
Gotta love a holiday weekend.
I realized, though, after An Education, that I need to grow up. And perhaps that means I need to hurt just a little.
I say I want to find a Henry Higgins or maybe a David Goldberg (An Education reference, forgive me) to, as I told my friend earlier, show me the other person inside me and bring her to the surface. I need to fall in love and have my heart broken.
I need to dance with another person and let go of that fear.
I need to live a life that is, for a moment, as idealistic as I feel right now.
See - asking for trouble.
Bring it on! For God's sake, bring it on!
I went from a very small world that didn't fit to a very large world that is so much bigger than I could have ever dreamed, and I'm lost.
Perhaps a first love would be like weight training. It would stretch and tear at that stupid little heart muscle so it can grow. So I can grow.

And there that is.
Good night, and here's hoping for some adventure and a few torn muscles along the way.

Slow Day at Work Means Interesting Discussion

First - today is a day I hate folks who went to film school and this new wave of "hipsters" who simultaneous revile and steal culture so that soon we will have nothing but genres.
I love the commercial film industry. It is not evil because we are not artists. Unless we're animators, then art is not our primary goal. And animators could bear that title, and most choose not to. They just love the work. Funny ol' world, idn't it?
That being said, this is a brilliant industry, beautiful as it is convoluted. So -
Understand the system before you criticize commercial film makers, and then take a moment to realize that there is almost no such thing as an independent film any more. Not like we want to think there is. Independent film is as much of an illusion as our cultural ideas of happiness. And I don't mean that as a cynic, I mean that as someone who sees something seriously wrong with the lack of culture, community, and commonality of purpose that used to make us human. Or humane.
And perhaps, selfish being that I am, I am hypocritical in saying any of this.
But today I was stuck in a facebook argument - I'll remark on that tragedy in another post because facebook, like "film makers", has worn me thin.
Big films, broad films, fund little films.
Sometimes, books, such as those by Isaac Asimov, don't get sold unless they can be made bigger, better, faster. Asimov is going the way of the dodo. Emmerich directing Foundations might not be ideal, but if he's willing, maybe another junior high or high school kid will hear about the original books and learn something new.
And hell, if there's an audience for it, doesn't that validate it as film?
A slippery slope, I know, but it's a question, not necessarily my belief.
Which brings me to number 2.
The New York Times had a photo accompanying their article about the Georgian luge racer killed at the Olympics. His last moments of life became a horror photo instead of a tragedy.
Sure, there is free speech. And sure, I don't believe in censorship, but what happened to taste and respect?
Perhaps if this were a film pitch, if this were a story being made about the incident and not a news article about the film itself, then maybe it's appropriate. But as it stands, I'm not sure this is. I think it's sensationalism at the expense of his family, friends, and fellow racers who survived him.
A frustrating day for media. Except for this:


It's a Beacon movie! Suzann Ellis, mentioned as EP in the article, is the woman for whom I work! Go Suzann! Go Beacon! I'm super excited for this project!

The Annie Awards

Last night, my friend, a storyboard artist named Todd, took me to the Annie awards. He's awesome, and super talented, and you've probably experienced his work if you've seen Muppet Babies, Prince of Egypt, some of the Madagascar films, or if you go see How to Train Your Dragon. And he introduced me to some film makers that would be my favorite if they ever asked for big flashy credit.
It was strange - these were the people that illustrated my childhood. I met an artist from Beauty and the Beast - the first movie I ever saw in a movie theater. And another who did Aladdin and Toy Story. I have spent a majority of my time in life as these people's target audiences, and I loved to see how much they loved their work, their community, and hearing from an absolutely giddy audience member.
It's such a different, lovely world from Live Action, and it's someplace would like to be. I believe I am going to make it a point to learn to draw. I really loved last night, and it was awesome.
Minnie Mouse gave tribute to Mickey, who passed away this past year. Goofy and Donald helped, and it was truly one of the most beautiful moments I've ever seen. They changed their voices, and suddenly the whole of their persons changed into the characters I grew up knowing and loving. It was actual magic, and it shows the power film can have when truly passionate and caring people come together in a positive way!

Welcome to Church, Enjoy the Show

Today was a strange day capping off a strange week.
I decided to fast because this week was full of shit, and I wanted it out of my system. Starting the week fresh.
I took a hike, worked out for 30 minutes, and I felt good. Bought a desk calendar to remedy a previous fuckup, and I'm set.
So then I go to church - pretty standard on a Sunday. Only my trendy and interesting church pushed things a little too far. This week, we were encouraged to bring friends to church. Okay, great. And they have little gifts for first-time attenders. Personally, it'd be nice if they did this every week. Then people who found the place on their own would also receive a warm welcome, not just those humoring the weirdo at work.
Aaaaanyway - the service continues, and it's pretty neat. Lots of music. Creepy guy who can't clap sat next to me. And then it became showy in a way that it'd hadn't before. Instead of the usual three people on stage, everyone dressed a little hipper, and there was a guy with an acoustic guitar. And a dance team. We've had dance before, but seriously? The service proceeds, and the welcome is overwarm, the entire pastoral staff is there, and next thing I know Michael Jackson's Man in the Mirror is being performed by the choir. Really? Aren't we pandering just a little? When they come back next week and realize we're still church, won't people feel a little duped? I understand putting one's best foot forward, but today was the first time since attending this particular church in LA I felt like a kid back in the Evangelical Free Church in the Midwest at the big exciting rally. Jesus was never flashy. He was certainly consistent in the way he presented people. There was no need to "lure people in." People went to him with problems or went to him when they didn't have anyplace else to go. I feel like that's common enough in LA that as long as a church presents itself as a safe place without judgment, people will come and stay and listen to what it's all about.
But the pandering was obvious, and it was slightly embarrassing. That's not my God, that's not my belief, and even I felt a little intimidated by just how trendy awesome everything was.
Oh well. No place is perfect just like no people are perfect. All is forgiven, and I will, of course, be back next week.

Revolutionary Road

About an hour ago, I finished the film Revolutionary Road. I didn't know what to expect coming into it, but the ending threw me. I got it, I had heard it was coming, but that scene in front of the window hurt to watch. It hurt and it was real and it was honest and it was beautiful all at the same time. I haven't been moved by a film like that since 2007. Actually, that's not true because "It's a Wonderful Life" just threw me like Lincecum throws pitches, but this is too much at once.
Melatonin to sleep tonight. My brain hurts.

I'm Not There

I'm still not back from my trip - at least my brain isn't. I spent no time going out at home and nearly all my time visiting different people in Chicago. Sleep in, lunch, drinks, dinner, night - each with a different person or people every single day. I did not pace myself well, and I did not get to see as many folks in Rock Island as I would have liked. And my visits in Chicago were imbalanced - perhaps I tried to see too many people. But such is circumstance. So much of grown up is lost in silence. We run out of words or we never get the chance to say them.
And now I'm back at work. New year means lots of small adjustments. It's also given me a chance to really reorganize my desk and my cabinets to fit me. Gotta love the purge.
My body aches - I've been working it too hard in my morning workouts, especially after 12 days of gluttony. And I haven't slept. And I read Twilight. My brain is just beyond friend.
Plus, the script I was editing was a real downer. I'm glad to have some time away from it.
Sorry to be so whiny. I'm actually quite happy. Just totally lost and distracted and scared about my first whole year as a grown up. No school, no grades, no classes. Just life.
Oy.

Some Kinda New Year

12 days, uncountable calories, one coat, two gloves, a zillion happy reunions, several fuck-ups, revelations, mystical experiences, tears, smiles, and hugs later, and I am back in LA.

And I'm glad for it.

LA is home now, in a weird "Hi, I reside in Hell." sort of way.

It was funny to realize that I wanted to be here, but I do. I may not always like it, but perhaps that's just the way life is supposed to be. We're not meant to be entirely happy or feel entirely good all the time.
Leaving Rock Island was easy, except for saying good-bye to my family. Saying good-bye to friends in Chicago was easy, but leaving the city was hard. I love Chicago, I love the CTA, I love easy access to everyone always, and I love walking. Even when it's -7 and I'm stuck in the frigid cold lost in Wrigleyville.

I've not felt like myself at all, though, since I've been back. I had a strange Saturday, and everything feels like a lucid dream, not like reality. Which is a shame because it's a reality I'm ready to embrace.

Oh well. I'm going to blame air travel. While still drunk. Or hungover maybe. Thanks mom, for that January 1st flight. I pulled an all-nighter on New Year's Eve into New Year's Day, jumped in a cab, hopped on a plane, attempted and failed to sleep sitting next to a fat person, and then attempted and failed to sleep sitting next to an interesting piano teacher from San Francisco. Then I failed to sleep when I got home because I was not sure how to feel. And in all this, I forgot to eat at all.

Oh me.

Happy New Year!