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.