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.
Thursday, July 30, 2009
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
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.
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.
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
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!
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!
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
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!
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!
Monday, May 18, 2009
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.
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.
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
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.
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.
Monday, May 11, 2009
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.
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.
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