Saturday, May 14, 2011

Re-alignment

No picture, just a straight-up rant.

Been scarce in all aspects of online persona except for FB and random Twitter updates lately.

I have been doing the 9-5 and thinking this whole thing through.

The Mediasaurs was a lot of fun. I saw more film and put my shoulder through more doors that I thought possible. But the truth of the matter is that I am tired of film. Hollywood has gone limp and weak. There is nothing new under the California sun. I had wood for the independent scene for a minute, but do you know what that means? Some of the mediocrity being shopped as "independent film" is enough to make me want to take the stairs at a highrise and start shooting at random people. It hurts me that much. Just because a motherfucker has a camera and a few hundred dollars in the bank doesn't mean that he should have the right to subject me to a half-finished product and expect me to write something positive about it. If I learned one thing, it was that when an independent filmmaker hits you up to send you a free DVD, it is a complete conflict of interest for the writer. This indie dude just busted his ass to put a free DVD in the mail for you, and now you are forced to go through this piece of shit and find a worthwhile ingot within this frothy mess that you can say something positive about.

I HATE THAT GAME. I did my best not to play it, but the temptation to soft-pedal the cold facts is a great one. You don't want to burn your bridge down because this guy might be on the come-up. And when he gets his million dollar payday, you want to be there to review his "real" Hollywood project. I am fucking done with this.

So what do I do? I have 3 serious writing projects that have been in various stages of fertilization and birth, and I need to get back to them. I had the abrupt thought a bit ago that they are all combineable in a post-modern sort of way, and that might have to be the direction that I go in. Seriously, if I combine these works, they will come off looking like one of the most original pieces of fiction that I have ever dealt with. Am I tooting my own horn? No. I am just saying that I have a writing project that has nothing to do with the public style of writing that I have been doing for the past few years. I need to get to it.

So in the back of my head I have to wonder about this Mediasaurs project. D0 I let it free-float in cyberspace, like that dead astronaut in ENEMY MINE? Or do I yoke it back, hammer it into something else and make it a living breathing thing again?

I honestly don't know. The idea for that thing hasn't hit me yet. What I know is that I am through writing and researching film that is ultimately intellectual bullshit and drawing free attention to such nonsense. If I sit on the mountaintop and scream profanities about Nic Cage and his lame career, I just draw attention to Nic Cage. Hollywood isn't what it was when I was a kid. The magic is gone. There was a moment in history, where a fifty to hundred million dollar movie starring your favorite actor meant something. That day is gone, and I don't see it coming back. There needs to be some new game, some original thought, and it is not out there.

There are some good independent filmmakers out there, and when they came across my path, I fucking gave them their props. Most notably was Kely McClung, who I would consider a personal friend outside of the hustling that we both did to push his product. But goddamn, people, either get me in there to rewrite your fucked up scripts or go back and rewrite them yourselves. When you are dealing with people like myself who can in one sitting tick off 500 movies that they have seen, you had better be doing something with your homages embedded deeper and with better thought out plotlines. The shit that passes for cinema that we are supposed to pay for these days sickens me. So much so, that I don't even want to mention the names of the movies in the cineplex right now that piss me off. I can't do it anymore. I refuse to give lip-service to this anxious whirlpool of mediocrity any more. I am fucking done.

All bitterness aside, I am going to start blogging a bit more. I write a lot, but I don't publish it. But this blog has been here forever and I might as well feed it.

Later.

Casson and I

SPRING BREAK 2011
This picture is a metaphor on so many levels. Casson and I have walked through crowds with the same looks on our faces for decades. People get out of our way. Back when we had hair, little kids would cry and ask their parents if we were trolls. But what is really going on in this pic is that we are in the line at SMALL WORLD at DISNEYLAND and he is carrying his daughter. The truth in this picture is that we both look fucking scary, but we aren't. Floating through both of our minds are a bunch of thoughts that are basically concerned with our kids and a more innocent time of life. Casson's entire life has been plagued by people who look at him and assume something about him that is inaccurate. My life has been similar, perhaps even moreso. Its a color thing. Its a size thing. Its a societal thing. More often then naught, it is just an ignorance thing. God forbid we open our mouths and use words that person doesn't know. We come from some educated stock. Whatever, I am finally at a point in my life where I could give a fuck what a random person thinks about me when I walk down the street. But what a road I have had to walk down to shake such shackles.

PS. I still have that rash on my neck that I am rubbing in this pic. Travel brings out the worst in me. The worst in diet, the worst in sleeping habits, and the worst drinking habits. Obviously I ate something that I was slightly allergic to and I have to hydrocortisone it into submission.

Saturday, February 12, 2011

IMG00227-20110212-1434.jpg

Sent from my Verizon Wireless BlackBerry

Friday, January 14, 2011

My GOLDFISH KILLAS

I cleaned the fishes tanks last night. Lots of scrubbing and a few filter changes. Matt, the survivor, was irritated with me being in his space, and swooped up to taste/nip me a few times.

Here is a text session between me and my wife (she was cleaning house in prep for the weekend):


Her: I dunno but I am kicking filth's ass,

Me: I did that for los pescados unidos last night. No flip off-fins for me today. The water gangsters are happy.

Her: How can you tell?

Me: They turned their backs on me and ate their food. No whining. No bubbles. No lewd gestures with thier genitalia.

Her: What genitalia?

Me: You obviously haven't been on the bad side of these fish. Did you know that they can mouth the word "motherfucker?"

Her: I did not know that.

Me: Water gangsters, dude. I knew I was in trouble when I was watching PIRANHA at my desk and I turned around and they were all jockeying for better viewing positions.

Her: Oh for heavensake.

Me: I don't know where they got their little grills. I think it is just one pair that they pass around, but the little buggers nipped me hard last night while I was cleaning. I didn't want to scare Illy, so I bled silently and alone.

Her: really?!

Me: Water gangsters dude. I pulled my arm out in shock. They all looked up at me like, "Human, you'd better not say shit." I only feel safe texting you right now. I don't think that they can read this.

Her: Your rediculous.

Me: Its not me, its those damn fish.

Her: right.


It goes on. But I am sure you get the gist. My fish are currently swimming in a WESTSIDE formation. Total water gangsters, dude.