The three-month beatdown in Philadelphia left me hobbled. Knee inflamed, limited range of motion, arthritis symptoms. Surprisingly, my doctor immediately referred me to an acupuncturist first, with the idea that if my lab results came back suspicious (which they did), then I would see a western specialist at the same time.
I admit, I like the idea of experiencing firsthand the different approaches western and eastern medicine use to treat the same problem. It hasn’t been a totally fair fight, however, since the western representative was fairly useless and I’m in a line waiting to see another.
But I’m not quite sure what to make of the acupuncturist, either. I’ve been three times and haven’t seen significant improvement. The common sense things he has prescribed (detox my diet, eating herbs, light meditation, choosing stretching/yoga over pavement ball and running, etc) are very beneficial, sure, but they really have nothing to do with acupuncture.
The jury is still out on all of the needles.
I’m really not quite sure what to make of it, especially when he is targeting every pressure point on my body EXCEPT the problem knee. Is this new-age sorcery? He even bled the back of my inflamed knee; is that medieval hokum or what?
Perhaps I am just being close-minded…Acupuncture has worked for thousands of years, after all. Does it matter if it’s a placebo if the placebo is effective?
The world is a mysterious place; I can’t claim to understand it all.
Thursday, April 23, 2009
Sunday, March 22, 2009
Beyond Complaining
Law Abiding Citizen is finally coming to a close and I will be returning home in a week and a half after three long months of filming in Philadelphia. We have been working 80-85 hour weeks as the producers try desperately to stay on schedule. This week we may hit 90. It has been cold and it is miserable and disorganized and there is much to complain about.
I say this to explain (but not justify) the blogging shortfall that has once again plagued my annual promise to blog more, but also to say that the complaining on set is out of control.
We complain because we have been served up some perceived injustice and we are powerless to do anything about it. We are impotent. And so we complain. And that makes us feel better. At least for a while.
But what happens when listening to this chorus of complaining becomes more intolerable than the injustices that cause the complaining in the first place? It continues, week after week, month after month, ramping up in pitch and shrillness and urgency. Be silent, I think. You’ve known things were going to be like this since after Week 1. You know where things stand: Either you accept them and stay and reject them and leave. But things will not change so it is absurd to whine so.
I am trying to move past this, to get beyond complaining. To try and remain silent. To set an example of restraint, of stoic impenetrability. To fool myself, to turn it into a game, to play past it, to relish getting yelled at because it means my enemies are unhappy deep inside. Perhaps this is why religion exists. Or therapy. To create a vessel into which one can thrust his or her unhappiness and throw away the key.
Of course, life on this movie is frustrating, but it is nothing compared to actual hardship. We are without disabilities. We have loving families. We are the employed ones, after all. Every week I get a few calls from California camerapeople looking for work. It is very slow out west, but we are busy here in Philadelphia. Most would kill for the bonanza of overtime we are getting now. I remember a roommate in college who told me that his grandparents got filthy rich during the Depression because they owned a bunch of public swimming pools and swimming was a cheap form of recreation that people resorted to during that time. He told this story with gusto, almost glee.
I wonder if his grandparents felt guilty. Every day I feel guilty that I do not fully appreciate my good fortune of being on this movie during a recession.
So I am getting better about complaining. I am learning to stifle it.
The need to complain does not go away, however.
It is right over here, at arms length, watching.
I say this to explain (but not justify) the blogging shortfall that has once again plagued my annual promise to blog more, but also to say that the complaining on set is out of control.
We complain because we have been served up some perceived injustice and we are powerless to do anything about it. We are impotent. And so we complain. And that makes us feel better. At least for a while.
But what happens when listening to this chorus of complaining becomes more intolerable than the injustices that cause the complaining in the first place? It continues, week after week, month after month, ramping up in pitch and shrillness and urgency. Be silent, I think. You’ve known things were going to be like this since after Week 1. You know where things stand: Either you accept them and stay and reject them and leave. But things will not change so it is absurd to whine so.
I am trying to move past this, to get beyond complaining. To try and remain silent. To set an example of restraint, of stoic impenetrability. To fool myself, to turn it into a game, to play past it, to relish getting yelled at because it means my enemies are unhappy deep inside. Perhaps this is why religion exists. Or therapy. To create a vessel into which one can thrust his or her unhappiness and throw away the key.
Of course, life on this movie is frustrating, but it is nothing compared to actual hardship. We are without disabilities. We have loving families. We are the employed ones, after all. Every week I get a few calls from California camerapeople looking for work. It is very slow out west, but we are busy here in Philadelphia. Most would kill for the bonanza of overtime we are getting now. I remember a roommate in college who told me that his grandparents got filthy rich during the Depression because they owned a bunch of public swimming pools and swimming was a cheap form of recreation that people resorted to during that time. He told this story with gusto, almost glee.
I wonder if his grandparents felt guilty. Every day I feel guilty that I do not fully appreciate my good fortune of being on this movie during a recession.
So I am getting better about complaining. I am learning to stifle it.
The need to complain does not go away, however.
It is right over here, at arms length, watching.
Monday, February 16, 2009
Pandora and the Music Genome Project
Those little “wow” moments in life come fewer and farther between every year, but the Internets continue to astonish. It took me a long time but I finally got an iphone and started using the wonderful and brilliant Pandora application.
Pandora deconstructs songs using hundreds of minute criteria (from angsty lyrics to wet mixes), and by doing so is able – given any song/songs or artist/artists as a starting point – to spin off recommendations for similarly constructed songs.
I’ve barely even scraped the surface, but already I’ve been exposed to dozes of fantastic musicians I’ve never even heard of. Pandora learns about your tastes and so gives more and more accurate predictions the more you use it and teach it using a simple thumbs-up, thumbs-down interface. And that is beautiful.
I believe there’s an online version that anyone can access. And it’s free.
How cool is that?
Pandora deconstructs songs using hundreds of minute criteria (from angsty lyrics to wet mixes), and by doing so is able – given any song/songs or artist/artists as a starting point – to spin off recommendations for similarly constructed songs.
I’ve barely even scraped the surface, but already I’ve been exposed to dozes of fantastic musicians I’ve never even heard of. Pandora learns about your tastes and so gives more and more accurate predictions the more you use it and teach it using a simple thumbs-up, thumbs-down interface. And that is beautiful.
I believe there’s an online version that anyone can access. And it’s free.
How cool is that?
Sunday, January 18, 2009
Sick
I have been sick in one way or another for about four weeks. My illni seem to have gone through four different stages, linked together by tentative three-day periods of semi-wellness and false hopes.
-An upset stomach in Chile begat:
-Modest flu-like symptoms between Christmas and New Years, which begat:
-Hardcore symptoms (hacking up green matter, fever, weakness, chills, headache, sort throat, malaise, etc. etc.) after New Years, which begat:
-My current cough and sore throat; sinuses alternating between freeflowing and plugged up beyond belief.
These periods of illness directly coincide with cross-continental flights, where the great unwashed masses cough openly into the stale economy class air and wipe their noses with the backs of their hands.
A floating germ factory, yes. An international overnight courier of disease.
In spite of a course of antibiotics and a daily cocktail of over-the-counter (folk) remedies, I still feel unwell. And the only thing worse than being sick is being sick and alone, which is what I am since I am now in Philadelphia waiting for this damn movie to start. Go Eagles.
I recognize that discussing one’s illnesses is about as interesting as discussing one’s dreams in public, but in the interest of keeping a blog I must write about what concerns me most, and what concerns me most is the rather existential notion that I will never be well again.
It seems to me that two hundred years ago people probably lived with a lot of things: poverty, sickness, short life spans, rotting teeth, etc. I wonder if there was more of a notion of playing through one’s pain back then, of just living with it. Now we take the opposite tack, wherein if one feels sad or lethargic or overly exuberant, he or she can find a chemical remedy and normalize quickly.
Being sick for so long alters your perspective on wellness in general. Will I ever be well again? What was it like to feel normal? To be young and have energy and to run without being winded? To sleep through the night without coughing one’s self awake?
A little dramatic perhaps, but it reminds me of a more theatrical time in my life, when I caught an illness in New Orleans, and so curled up with Proust, ate Madeleines, and pretended to be a Francophile until my good health resumed and I had no real reason to battle with his digressive narrative anymore.
That was the romantic angle, anyway. Now I just grumble.
-An upset stomach in Chile begat:
-Modest flu-like symptoms between Christmas and New Years, which begat:
-Hardcore symptoms (hacking up green matter, fever, weakness, chills, headache, sort throat, malaise, etc. etc.) after New Years, which begat:
-My current cough and sore throat; sinuses alternating between freeflowing and plugged up beyond belief.
These periods of illness directly coincide with cross-continental flights, where the great unwashed masses cough openly into the stale economy class air and wipe their noses with the backs of their hands.
A floating germ factory, yes. An international overnight courier of disease.
In spite of a course of antibiotics and a daily cocktail of over-the-counter (folk) remedies, I still feel unwell. And the only thing worse than being sick is being sick and alone, which is what I am since I am now in Philadelphia waiting for this damn movie to start. Go Eagles.
I recognize that discussing one’s illnesses is about as interesting as discussing one’s dreams in public, but in the interest of keeping a blog I must write about what concerns me most, and what concerns me most is the rather existential notion that I will never be well again.
It seems to me that two hundred years ago people probably lived with a lot of things: poverty, sickness, short life spans, rotting teeth, etc. I wonder if there was more of a notion of playing through one’s pain back then, of just living with it. Now we take the opposite tack, wherein if one feels sad or lethargic or overly exuberant, he or she can find a chemical remedy and normalize quickly.
Being sick for so long alters your perspective on wellness in general. Will I ever be well again? What was it like to feel normal? To be young and have energy and to run without being winded? To sleep through the night without coughing one’s self awake?
A little dramatic perhaps, but it reminds me of a more theatrical time in my life, when I caught an illness in New Orleans, and so curled up with Proust, ate Madeleines, and pretended to be a Francophile until my good health resumed and I had no real reason to battle with his digressive narrative anymore.
That was the romantic angle, anyway. Now I just grumble.
Friday, January 02, 2009
Supra - or - The New Domesticity
Karen and I hosted her annual New Year's Bash the other night, and I spent much of the time in the kitchen. I made Dr. Write's famous Caesar salad, sweet potato stars baked in orange juice and nutmeg and brown sugar, a Chilean chicken stew called cazuela de ave, brownies, and Pisco Sours for all of the guests. To what do I owe this New Domesticity?
After midnight, someone posited the question of New Year's Themes, and what were they for everyone? Not resolutions or goals, necessarily, but themes. Can you distill everything you'd like to do in 2009 into a one- or two-word theme?
This held some appeal for me since I always have a long list of specific unattainable goals, instead of an overarching theme.
To follow Dr. Write's lead, here were my goals from last year:
1. Create a new branded web presence (no)
2. Take 2 trips (yes! Boulder Utah, Seattle, Chile)
3. Make $xxx and save half (no)
4. Finish Way of the Puck (no)
5. Rewrite The Secret Unbelievable (an old script) (no no no)
6. Live an Interesting Life (no)
7. Be Happy (sometimes, yes near the end)
Actually, looking at these 2008 goals I realize that they were much broader and more achievable than in years past. But still I did not meet them.
So, confronted with this idea of a New Years Theme for 2009, and lacking anything clever to say, I declared that my theme is:
Supra
or... Supra Blank
Transcending... whatever.
Pressed for specifics, I said that I would like to transcend the notion of success and failure, whatever that means. This binary framework is largely unproductive, but it is pretty much the sole metric with which I have traditionally judged my worth. I would like to play past that and just try to have fun this year.
And blog more, of course.
Some others at the party were:
-Enjoy
-Strength
-Sit With It
-Make It Happen
-Etc.
What is your New Years Theme?
After midnight, someone posited the question of New Year's Themes, and what were they for everyone? Not resolutions or goals, necessarily, but themes. Can you distill everything you'd like to do in 2009 into a one- or two-word theme?
This held some appeal for me since I always have a long list of specific unattainable goals, instead of an overarching theme.
To follow Dr. Write's lead, here were my goals from last year:
1. Create a new branded web presence (no)
2. Take 2 trips (yes! Boulder Utah, Seattle, Chile)
3. Make $xxx and save half (no)
4. Finish Way of the Puck (no)
5. Rewrite The Secret Unbelievable (an old script) (no no no)
6. Live an Interesting Life (no)
7. Be Happy (sometimes, yes near the end)
Actually, looking at these 2008 goals I realize that they were much broader and more achievable than in years past. But still I did not meet them.
So, confronted with this idea of a New Years Theme for 2009, and lacking anything clever to say, I declared that my theme is:
Supra
or... Supra Blank
Transcending... whatever.
Pressed for specifics, I said that I would like to transcend the notion of success and failure, whatever that means. This binary framework is largely unproductive, but it is pretty much the sole metric with which I have traditionally judged my worth. I would like to play past that and just try to have fun this year.
And blog more, of course.
Some others at the party were:
-Enjoy
-Strength
-Sit With It
-Make It Happen
-Etc.
What is your New Years Theme?
Friday, December 26, 2008
We Be Betrothed
Well, the gf and I are engaged to be married. I guess she's the moved on from being the gf, and is now the f. And soon, the w. Or just W.
I proposed in a neat little tapas place in the boho Bellavista section of Santiago, Chile. I fed her too much wine and she said yes. Now it's too late for her to take it back.
Getting married is expensive. I wanted to utilize the Dallas-Fort Worth Airport's chapel (DFW chapel, who knew there was one?), but it was Christmas Day when we went through and it was closed. So we will settle for some exquisite SoCal outdoor environment instead, probably in early summer.
I will miss my dark one-bedroom apartment (not really).
I proposed in a neat little tapas place in the boho Bellavista section of Santiago, Chile. I fed her too much wine and she said yes. Now it's too late for her to take it back.
Getting married is expensive. I wanted to utilize the Dallas-Fort Worth Airport's chapel (DFW chapel, who knew there was one?), but it was Christmas Day when we went through and it was closed. So we will settle for some exquisite SoCal outdoor environment instead, probably in early summer.
I will miss my dark one-bedroom apartment (not really).
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
Since U Been Gone
I am a blogging failure. I apologize.
I will resort to a list of things that have occurred since the last time I blogged.
1. Moved in with the gf.
2. Signed on to a movie called ¨Law-Abiding Citizen¨ that will shoot in Philly for three months and take me away from my new place. That hyphen in the film title is mine, btw, we´ll see if they actually use it. Jamie Foxx, Katherine Zeta Jones, and others.
3. Flew to Chile where the gf and I have been kicking around for a couple of weeks.
4. Saw the atrocious ¨Cadillac Records.¨
5. Baked a mincemeat pie.
6. And other huge important things.
I will resort to a list of things that have occurred since the last time I blogged.
1. Moved in with the gf.
2. Signed on to a movie called ¨Law-Abiding Citizen¨ that will shoot in Philly for three months and take me away from my new place. That hyphen in the film title is mine, btw, we´ll see if they actually use it. Jamie Foxx, Katherine Zeta Jones, and others.
3. Flew to Chile where the gf and I have been kicking around for a couple of weeks.
4. Saw the atrocious ¨Cadillac Records.¨
5. Baked a mincemeat pie.
6. And other huge important things.
Tuesday, December 02, 2008
I Keep Finding Money
About a week ago I was going through an old box of travel items and came across $80 wrapped up in a Xeroxed copy of my passport. Three days ago I found six 50-dollar bills mixed in with some old mail. Yesterday I found $42 in another box.
Is the beginning of an new era of good fortune? Or is this a harbinger of doom, since good luck comes in threes?
I hope for the former. God, I hope for the former.
Is the beginning of an new era of good fortune? Or is this a harbinger of doom, since good luck comes in threes?
I hope for the former. God, I hope for the former.
Tuesday, August 05, 2008
Meat Train Derailed
Midnight Meat Train opened last Friday on 100 screens nationwide. Lionsgate wanted to just dump it to DVD, but they had to fulfill the theatrical component of the deal, so they put it in bargain theaters outside of city centers without any advertising support. The movie already has quite a cult following, so what gives? It appears that management has changed at Lionsgate and that the new regime is ditching many of the pet projects of the old, purely as a political screw you.
In other words, the goal, on this one, is to lose money.
That is why they put it in bargain theaters. To make as little money as possible. To think, we slaved for months on a tax write-off. Hmmm.
The MMT camera crew drove the 25 miles out to Norwalk on Saturday to support the cause, and ended up at a tiny little 8-plex hidden from the world behind a strip mall. I felt like I was back on South Tacoma Way, watching Return of the Living Dead 2 with Middlebrow, for a couple of dollars. There were two Bollywood movies, Meat Train, and something the marquis labeled "Hulk", which could have been either the Ang Lee version or the newer "The Incredible Hulk" - there's no way to know for sure.
We paid $2.75 for tickets on opening weekend, and ten dollars for some questionable nachos. The screen had been patched up and the sound was tinny. We were in a buoyant mood. There were five-year-olds in there, sobbing, and people talking openly with each other, and even someone pointing a laser pointer at the screen from time to time. In short, we were watching the film with savages, a scenario that would normally fill me up with rage. On this night, however, it was perfect.
Well, the movie was terrible, of course. "What did you expect?" laughed P. I couldn't answer. I guess always held a secret hope for this movie... its dark and gritty cinematography, its Sam Raimi kineticism, its offbeat Japanese fusion of horror and comedy... Maybe it'll actually be kind of good, I wondered, in a trashy way.
It was shit. Doesn't mean horror fans won't love it, though.
For me, I felt like Barton Fink at the end of that movie, when the studio head tells him that he will remain under contract by the studio, but they will make none of the screenplays he writes. Or like Richard Pryor in the classic, Brewster's Millions, when he has a mansion decorated into a performance-art pleasuredome, then says, "It's beautiful. Now take it all away."
Or something like that.
Some kind of purgatory.
Or maybe the best movie reference is Trading Places, when at the end you discover that the entire plot of the movie (ruining Dan Akroyd's life) was the result of a one-dollar bet between two wicked rich men.
Life can be meaningless, sure, but when it rises up like this and confronts you head-on it can be a little hard to take.
What kind of effect does your labor have on the world? Do you make any mark whatsoever?
Here's the Variety review, if you're interested.... [LINK]
Here's some fanboy wrath, if you're interested... [LINK]
In other words, the goal, on this one, is to lose money.
That is why they put it in bargain theaters. To make as little money as possible. To think, we slaved for months on a tax write-off. Hmmm.
The MMT camera crew drove the 25 miles out to Norwalk on Saturday to support the cause, and ended up at a tiny little 8-plex hidden from the world behind a strip mall. I felt like I was back on South Tacoma Way, watching Return of the Living Dead 2 with Middlebrow, for a couple of dollars. There were two Bollywood movies, Meat Train, and something the marquis labeled "Hulk", which could have been either the Ang Lee version or the newer "The Incredible Hulk" - there's no way to know for sure.
We paid $2.75 for tickets on opening weekend, and ten dollars for some questionable nachos. The screen had been patched up and the sound was tinny. We were in a buoyant mood. There were five-year-olds in there, sobbing, and people talking openly with each other, and even someone pointing a laser pointer at the screen from time to time. In short, we were watching the film with savages, a scenario that would normally fill me up with rage. On this night, however, it was perfect.
Well, the movie was terrible, of course. "What did you expect?" laughed P. I couldn't answer. I guess always held a secret hope for this movie... its dark and gritty cinematography, its Sam Raimi kineticism, its offbeat Japanese fusion of horror and comedy... Maybe it'll actually be kind of good, I wondered, in a trashy way.
It was shit. Doesn't mean horror fans won't love it, though.
For me, I felt like Barton Fink at the end of that movie, when the studio head tells him that he will remain under contract by the studio, but they will make none of the screenplays he writes. Or like Richard Pryor in the classic, Brewster's Millions, when he has a mansion decorated into a performance-art pleasuredome, then says, "It's beautiful. Now take it all away."
Or something like that.
Some kind of purgatory.
Or maybe the best movie reference is Trading Places, when at the end you discover that the entire plot of the movie (ruining Dan Akroyd's life) was the result of a one-dollar bet between two wicked rich men.
Life can be meaningless, sure, but when it rises up like this and confronts you head-on it can be a little hard to take.
What kind of effect does your labor have on the world? Do you make any mark whatsoever?
Here's the Variety review, if you're interested.... [LINK]
Here's some fanboy wrath, if you're interested... [LINK]
Thursday, July 24, 2008
The Vanity of Publishing (Long)
I've been thinking a lot about vanity publishing and how that pejorative term really only applies to the literary marketplace. Everywhere else it's called self-distribution. As many independent film distributors (Fine Line, ThinkFilm, etc) dissolve, the self-distribution of independent films is becoming more and more viable. Indeed, one of Sundance's big winners this year, BALLAST, rejected a traditional distribution deal with IFC Films, opting instead to self-distribute.
Traditionally, self-distribution (like vanity publishing) was seen as a last resort for filmmakers who had no other options. But the idea that a Sundance winner would find the self-distribution model PREFERABLE, is intriguing. I also heard a recent podcast with Ondi Timoner, director of DIG!, who said that in spite of huge international sales and a long shelf life, she hasn't seen a penny beyond her initial advance. She is looking to self-distribute her newest film.
In music there is some fooling around with this as well. Radiohead self-distributed their last album, as did Nine Inch Nails, and others. Aimee Mann went off and formed her own label a couple of years ago.
So when will the literary world come on board? Or is it happening already? Why won't these superstar authors just self-publish and rake it in? They can charge $10 for a digital download and keep it all, instead of getting the $1 per book that they might be making in a normal publishing deal (I just pulled these figures out of the air, in case you didn't notice).
Why is there such an entrenched disdain for literary self-publishing? Well, obviously because this model has provided decades of poopy, poorly edited content, no doubt--these are all books that couldn't get published elsewhere. But it doesn't have to be that way; what if quality writers self-published and self-marketed by choice? I mean, even if you go through a traditional publisher you are still going to have to do all of your own marketing....
Publishers do serve a vetting and culling function, sure, they're the gatekeepers, they're the ones who ensure that quality is going to be up to a certain standard (at least editorially), but who is to say that one can't create his own book, put it up on Amazon, do a guerilla grass roots marketing campaign, and then sell a thousand copies or so through his own effort? Can't this model co-exist legitimately with the old model?
My prediction is that in the next 10 years the film industry will divide into two halves. There will be studio-driven big-budget features and then there will be everyone else, and everyone else will self-distribute.
I wonder if publishing won't also go in this direction.
But look at all the crap you'd be inviting into the world, right? Do we really need more vanity romances and religious tracts and bad World War 2 histories? No we don't. But this is what people objected to about YouTube. Sure, 98% of the stuff on YouTube is a disaster, but 2% of it is sheer genius. And the market does the culling for me. It's not as if I go to You Tube and start watching clips at random. Usually there's a link, or a recommendation, or some viral reason to go there. I don't have to wade through the great unwashed mass of clips that live there.
That wonderful 2% just floats to the surface. And I'm glad there is a surface to float to.
Traditionally, self-distribution (like vanity publishing) was seen as a last resort for filmmakers who had no other options. But the idea that a Sundance winner would find the self-distribution model PREFERABLE, is intriguing. I also heard a recent podcast with Ondi Timoner, director of DIG!, who said that in spite of huge international sales and a long shelf life, she hasn't seen a penny beyond her initial advance. She is looking to self-distribute her newest film.
In music there is some fooling around with this as well. Radiohead self-distributed their last album, as did Nine Inch Nails, and others. Aimee Mann went off and formed her own label a couple of years ago.
So when will the literary world come on board? Or is it happening already? Why won't these superstar authors just self-publish and rake it in? They can charge $10 for a digital download and keep it all, instead of getting the $1 per book that they might be making in a normal publishing deal (I just pulled these figures out of the air, in case you didn't notice).
Why is there such an entrenched disdain for literary self-publishing? Well, obviously because this model has provided decades of poopy, poorly edited content, no doubt--these are all books that couldn't get published elsewhere. But it doesn't have to be that way; what if quality writers self-published and self-marketed by choice? I mean, even if you go through a traditional publisher you are still going to have to do all of your own marketing....
Publishers do serve a vetting and culling function, sure, they're the gatekeepers, they're the ones who ensure that quality is going to be up to a certain standard (at least editorially), but who is to say that one can't create his own book, put it up on Amazon, do a guerilla grass roots marketing campaign, and then sell a thousand copies or so through his own effort? Can't this model co-exist legitimately with the old model?
My prediction is that in the next 10 years the film industry will divide into two halves. There will be studio-driven big-budget features and then there will be everyone else, and everyone else will self-distribute.
I wonder if publishing won't also go in this direction.
But look at all the crap you'd be inviting into the world, right? Do we really need more vanity romances and religious tracts and bad World War 2 histories? No we don't. But this is what people objected to about YouTube. Sure, 98% of the stuff on YouTube is a disaster, but 2% of it is sheer genius. And the market does the culling for me. It's not as if I go to You Tube and start watching clips at random. Usually there's a link, or a recommendation, or some viral reason to go there. I don't have to wade through the great unwashed mass of clips that live there.
That wonderful 2% just floats to the surface. And I'm glad there is a surface to float to.
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
Yes, Please, I'll Have Some Schadenfreude With That
Came across this scathing review of James Frey's new book in the Los Angeles Times. It made me very happy for some reason. Dr. Write made me feel okay about feeling protective about outside writers coming into one's territory and writing a bunch of hooey, which is what Frey has done about Los Angeles.
Click [HERE]
This review really put me in a good mood. Then again, since when do I consider myself an Angeleno? Why should I care if Frey gets it all wrong?
He looks so sad, doesn't he? Defenseless....
Click [HERE]
This review really put me in a good mood. Then again, since when do I consider myself an Angeleno? Why should I care if Frey gets it all wrong?
He looks so sad, doesn't he? Defenseless....
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
Wordling
Have been kicking around the idea of resuming the pointless novel (mine) again. I made a Wordle of the first 18 chapters. I'm not sure what it means but it looks kind of cool:
Sunday, July 20, 2008
The Death of the Independent Bookstore
Acres of Books, the largest second-hand bookstore in California, is closing its doors. These seems to be the fourth or fifth LA independent bookstore bankruptcy in the last couple of years, following Wilshire Books, Dutton's in Brentwood, and Book Baron in Anaheim. With a heavy heart, I drove down to Long Beach to say a private goodbye and to help pillage the discounted stacks.
The night before, I typed up a list of books I was interested in buying and priced them on Amazon and half.com. I created a list of twenty titles whose online (used) pricing seemed a little unreasonable, then took this list to Long Beach with the idea that maybe I'd be able to find better deals at the Acres funeral sale.
But it was not to be. Acres of Books is charming, in its own way, but one can't actually find anything there. It's a big musty maze, with the requisite ancient cat, Bach piped in from somewhere, and no computer system to help one locate what he is looking for. There is no cafe, no couches, no fancy greeting cards, no stationery, no magazine rack, nothing. Only books, mostly old, mostly yellowing. Exactly! you must be saying. That's the whole point! There is treasure in there, but you must hunt for it! But wait, is it all really just a bunch of 40-year-old mass market paperbacks?
And wait, what's this, are you telling me that 20% off is the best you can do for your Going Out of Business Sale? Do you really need to get rid of these books or is your greed getting in the way? I was thinking 50%, maybe 75%. But 20% off?
Sheesh.
Well, I felt the need to buy something, anything, but I wasn't doing well with the list. It was only 10:30 in the morning, 30 minutes after they had re-opened to sell off their stock, but I wasn't finding anything good. Had everything been picked clean already? I wound up paying $7.00 for a copy of the Intutionist which is available online for a penny (plus shipping, of course).
Then I bought a copy of Gibson's Pattern Recognition for the gf, and spent $7.00 doing this while there are numerous copies online available for less than a dollar.
Then I spent over an hour battling traffic to get home. The whole episode took about 3 hours, I didn't find anything that I wanted, I had to stand in a long, slow-moving line, the old woman making change on the old register overcharged me by three dollars and then it took five minutes to undo her mistake.
I am conflicted, and yet not. The closure of Acres of Books made me a little sad but I am over it. We must make way for Progress.
Next time I will shop online and enjoy a cool beverage while doing so. I have seen the future, Dear Readers, and it is
www.allbookstores.com.
The night before, I typed up a list of books I was interested in buying and priced them on Amazon and half.com. I created a list of twenty titles whose online (used) pricing seemed a little unreasonable, then took this list to Long Beach with the idea that maybe I'd be able to find better deals at the Acres funeral sale.
But it was not to be. Acres of Books is charming, in its own way, but one can't actually find anything there. It's a big musty maze, with the requisite ancient cat, Bach piped in from somewhere, and no computer system to help one locate what he is looking for. There is no cafe, no couches, no fancy greeting cards, no stationery, no magazine rack, nothing. Only books, mostly old, mostly yellowing. Exactly! you must be saying. That's the whole point! There is treasure in there, but you must hunt for it! But wait, is it all really just a bunch of 40-year-old mass market paperbacks?
And wait, what's this, are you telling me that 20% off is the best you can do for your Going Out of Business Sale? Do you really need to get rid of these books or is your greed getting in the way? I was thinking 50%, maybe 75%. But 20% off?
Sheesh.
Well, I felt the need to buy something, anything, but I wasn't doing well with the list. It was only 10:30 in the morning, 30 minutes after they had re-opened to sell off their stock, but I wasn't finding anything good. Had everything been picked clean already? I wound up paying $7.00 for a copy of the Intutionist which is available online for a penny (plus shipping, of course).
Then I bought a copy of Gibson's Pattern Recognition for the gf, and spent $7.00 doing this while there are numerous copies online available for less than a dollar.
Then I spent over an hour battling traffic to get home. The whole episode took about 3 hours, I didn't find anything that I wanted, I had to stand in a long, slow-moving line, the old woman making change on the old register overcharged me by three dollars and then it took five minutes to undo her mistake.
I am conflicted, and yet not. The closure of Acres of Books made me a little sad but I am over it. We must make way for Progress.
Next time I will shop online and enjoy a cool beverage while doing so. I have seen the future, Dear Readers, and it is
www.allbookstores.com.
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
Poetry, Purchased
I don't think I've ever purchased poetry, except for maybe a copy of Pale Fire (does that count?) and perhaps some Robert Creeley.
But this is a picture of something I picked up a few months back, at a monthly literary salon hosted by my friend Chris (who composed much of my music in my long-lost documentary):
Yes, that's right, a series of poems about Fed Chairman Ben Bernanke.
I struck the right tone, this, somehow: the 45 record sleeve aesthetic, the Dawn of the Dead references, the poems about interest rates, the poet himself.
I have become a purchaser of poetry.
And I never would have done so had I not been at a reading.
Coming tomorrow: More sad literary news!
But this is a picture of something I picked up a few months back, at a monthly literary salon hosted by my friend Chris (who composed much of my music in my long-lost documentary):
Yes, that's right, a series of poems about Fed Chairman Ben Bernanke.
I struck the right tone, this, somehow: the 45 record sleeve aesthetic, the Dawn of the Dead references, the poems about interest rates, the poet himself.
I have become a purchaser of poetry.
And I never would have done so had I not been at a reading.
Coming tomorrow: More sad literary news!
Thursday, July 03, 2008
Before & After: Terrible Metamorphoses
I had the misfortune of catching Star Wars: Episode 3 on the Spike channel the other night. It was 10pm and I was in a weakened state of mind. Goddamnit, I wish UFC mixed martial arts had been on instead. I feel so betrayed.
This is a picture of George Lucas before he raped our childhoods. And his own franchise(s).
This is picture of George Lucas on the set of Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull:
This is another wonderful image from my childhood:
This is something a little more current:
This is a picture of Christina Ricci back when she was Wednesday:
I'm not so sure what this is:
Oh, woe is me.
This is a picture of George Lucas before he raped our childhoods. And his own franchise(s).
This is picture of George Lucas on the set of Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull:
This is another wonderful image from my childhood:
This is something a little more current:
This is a picture of Christina Ricci back when she was Wednesday:
I'm not so sure what this is:
Oh, woe is me.
Wednesday, July 02, 2008
New York Doll
This is a great doc if you haven't seen it already. It's about Arthur "Killer" Kane, the bassist for the seminal New York Dolls back in the early 70s. Thirty years later he's converted to Mormonism and he "works" in the library of the LDS temple here in LA. Morrissey invites him and the other estranged Dolls to reunite and play at a festival in England and the movie is about seeing whether this now-meek, mostly broken man will be able to pull it off.
It sounds pretty straightforward, but it's absolutely fascinating, largely because Kane is fascinating. The movie came from the same guys who eventually did "King of Kong" (Seth Gordon, Ed Cunningham, et al), but it has none of the snark and arched eyebrows of that movie. The film feels like a first film -- technically it's a little awful, on par with my movie, I think... the editing and sound and cinematography aren't that great -- but it just goes to show that Finding the Interesting Human is 99% of problem when you're making a doc. Casting is 90% of directing, and that goes for docs too, I guess.
A good watch, anyway.
http://www.newyorkdollmovie.com/
It sounds pretty straightforward, but it's absolutely fascinating, largely because Kane is fascinating. The movie came from the same guys who eventually did "King of Kong" (Seth Gordon, Ed Cunningham, et al), but it has none of the snark and arched eyebrows of that movie. The film feels like a first film -- technically it's a little awful, on par with my movie, I think... the editing and sound and cinematography aren't that great -- but it just goes to show that Finding the Interesting Human is 99% of problem when you're making a doc. Casting is 90% of directing, and that goes for docs too, I guess.
A good watch, anyway.
http://www.newyorkdollmovie.com/
Thursday, June 26, 2008
Back in the SLC
Good times were had. Spent many nights at the Bayou justifying MBs membership there. Played basketball. Got paid. Sold bread with the HSM kids. Hiked in the wilderness. Broke my fast with coffee and Belgian Ale. Hot, very hot. Confronted MBs nemesis at the Red Rock (thought about it at least). There were many activities. Many many activities.
This is a picture of MB kicking my ass at the Sue Rich:
I seem to perform consistently poorly there:
This is a picture of MBs huge feet (huger than mine):
This is a picture of Cerberus:
This is Gus moving in even closer:
This is a picture of the deep-fried Twinkie we ate:
This is a picture of MB and his ale:
This is a picture of the fine putt-putt course somewhere south of the SLC (Dr. Write places her ball)
This is a picture of Ross running ahead:
There was also a batting cage here. We took some cuts. I performed badly, sigh, worse than some 11-year-old twerp hitting the cover off the ball next to us.
This is a picture of MB kicking my ass at the Sue Rich:
I seem to perform consistently poorly there:
This is a picture of MBs huge feet (huger than mine):
This is a picture of Cerberus:
This is Gus moving in even closer:
This is a picture of the deep-fried Twinkie we ate:
This is a picture of MB and his ale:
This is a picture of the fine putt-putt course somewhere south of the SLC (Dr. Write places her ball)
This is a picture of Ross running ahead:
There was also a batting cage here. We took some cuts. I performed badly, sigh, worse than some 11-year-old twerp hitting the cover off the ball next to us.
Friday, June 13, 2008
Condiment and High School Musical Together At Last
I will be coming to the SLC on Saturday to work on a Sara Lee commercial with the HSM3 cast. Too funny.
I heart Zac!
I heart Zac!
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
Master Blaster
Today is my last day of the faddish 15-day Master Cleanse fast, otherwise known as the Lemonade Diet. I was thinking about blogging every day about it, but lost interest before I even started.
Basically, the Master Cleanse has you take 60-120 oz of a mixture lemon juice, grade b maple syrup, cayenne pepper, and warm water...daily...in the place of solid food. Every morning you drink a quart of tepid saltwater, which then feels something like voluntary dysentery for the next couple of hours.
It is not a weight-loss program, although I did lose fifteen pounds. It is a way to detox your system... and for me, a way to transition to a better eating program, and the oft-maligned CRA (Coffee Reduction Act).
I highly recommend it to anyone. It takes heaps of discipline; the first three days were agonizing to the point of nearly quitting. Days 4, 5, 6, 7, 8 were practically euphoric (probably just a psychological result of being unburdened by the total body pain of Days 1, 2, and 3), but on days 9, 10, 11, and 12, it got a little tiresome. Granted I was working outside of Las Vegas on a dry lake bed where it was over 100 degrees with 50 mph winds, so the conditions were a little extreme.
I felt a degree of perpetual alertness that I haven't experienced since childhood. I would be up until 2 am, wide awake, alert, doing work, and then I'd lay down and crash out HARD for 8 hours, and then get up again. No coffee, no alcohol, no naps, no nothing.
Basically, the Master Cleanse has you take 60-120 oz of a mixture lemon juice, grade b maple syrup, cayenne pepper, and warm water...daily...in the place of solid food. Every morning you drink a quart of tepid saltwater, which then feels something like voluntary dysentery for the next couple of hours.
It is not a weight-loss program, although I did lose fifteen pounds. It is a way to detox your system... and for me, a way to transition to a better eating program, and the oft-maligned CRA (Coffee Reduction Act).
I highly recommend it to anyone. It takes heaps of discipline; the first three days were agonizing to the point of nearly quitting. Days 4, 5, 6, 7, 8 were practically euphoric (probably just a psychological result of being unburdened by the total body pain of Days 1, 2, and 3), but on days 9, 10, 11, and 12, it got a little tiresome. Granted I was working outside of Las Vegas on a dry lake bed where it was over 100 degrees with 50 mph winds, so the conditions were a little extreme.
I felt a degree of perpetual alertness that I haven't experienced since childhood. I would be up until 2 am, wide awake, alert, doing work, and then I'd lay down and crash out HARD for 8 hours, and then get up again. No coffee, no alcohol, no naps, no nothing.
Saturday, May 31, 2008
Easily the Most Visually Impressive Movie Ever Made, Period.
The gf and I went to see Tarsem Singh's "The Fall" a few days ago. This is the movie that simultaneously triumphed and crashed and burned two years ago at the Toronto Film Festival and existed in some kind of purgatory until Spike Jonze and David Fincher found it and championed it into a limited theatrical release.
Tarsem is a commercial director; I believe the only movie he's made is the beautiful miscue "The Cell" with J-Lo, which was apparently wrested from his hands by a meddling studio.
Tarsem couldn't get funding for this movie in Hollywood, in spite of his track record. He financed it all himself, and chose commercial shoots which were at the distant locales he wanted to shoot in. So he piggy-backed his movie behind his commercials, and in this way shot in 24 countries over 4 years (I think).
It's basically a cross between "The Princess Bride" and the original "Singing Detective" with some "Pan's Labyrinth" thrown in. I think it was a remake of a Bulgarian film.
I pretty much hate all-style no substance movies, but this had the guts to back itself up. The little girl's incredibly naturalistic performance, the puzzle-narrative that unfolds perfectly at an emotional end, the conspicuous lack of name actors, the scope... Here is a filmmaker who is trying to do something new, who cares about his craft. His passion comes through in every frame, even when the story is taking its time and wending its way.
This film is not perfect, but the effort is perfect. Why would anybody want to see Indiana Jones 4, when they could watch this? Why do we exist in a world where NOBODY would finance this thing?
Tarsem is a commercial director; I believe the only movie he's made is the beautiful miscue "The Cell" with J-Lo, which was apparently wrested from his hands by a meddling studio.
Tarsem couldn't get funding for this movie in Hollywood, in spite of his track record. He financed it all himself, and chose commercial shoots which were at the distant locales he wanted to shoot in. So he piggy-backed his movie behind his commercials, and in this way shot in 24 countries over 4 years (I think).
It's basically a cross between "The Princess Bride" and the original "Singing Detective" with some "Pan's Labyrinth" thrown in. I think it was a remake of a Bulgarian film.
I pretty much hate all-style no substance movies, but this had the guts to back itself up. The little girl's incredibly naturalistic performance, the puzzle-narrative that unfolds perfectly at an emotional end, the conspicuous lack of name actors, the scope... Here is a filmmaker who is trying to do something new, who cares about his craft. His passion comes through in every frame, even when the story is taking its time and wending its way.
This film is not perfect, but the effort is perfect. Why would anybody want to see Indiana Jones 4, when they could watch this? Why do we exist in a world where NOBODY would finance this thing?
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