Understanding In A Car Crash

On Second Thought...

2009-12-22T10:21:00.000-08:00

Did anyone catch that September blog about George Sodini? Did anyone catch the tone in which I chastised the man for his emotional shortcomings? Consider me a victim of karma; I think I've just learned that you really do get what you deserve.

So I'm with this amazing girl that has the most beautiful sense of commitment and devotion, and I can do nothing more than continually question her faithfulness: something that need not be questioned, ever. I become the emotionally weak; trust has eluded me; confidence has escaped me and instead is replaced with fear. This has happened once before, and it only seems to happen when things are good. When things are good, I get concerned that it's subterfuge, concealing the deceit that must be taking place because deceit has plagued every relationship I've ever been in. But not the good ones. No, not the good ones. I always lost those because I was pressing for something that wasn't there. It's almost like I wanted to be deceived so I could feel justified in my wayward actions.

So in my lowest moments I will resort to absurd measures in order to "find out" things that aren't true anyways. I've gone through e-mail accounts that were trusted to me, I've scoured cell phones for texts from old flames; we've all done this, I'm not just the first to admit it either. Everyone does this. Correction: everyone with a weakness has done this. It's not acceptable and it's not productive, nor conducive towards furthering any sort of stability or strength in a relationship. I already know this, I've read emotional intelligence, but did I really grasp what it meant to be emotionally intelligent?

Before you dismiss that as some sort of pop-psychology, or armchair psychologist statement or phrase that is currently vogue; understand what it means to be emotionally intelligent. It really boils down to two things: self control and compassion. You have to be capable of controlling your demons and fighting the urges - be it to explode, retreat, lay dormant, or get passive/aggressive - that attempt to overpower you in an instant. You have to catch that circuit that is trying to fire; trying to ignite the part of your brain that allows you to turn into dynamite the first time your lover mentions the name of a past lover. But it isn't just that, you've also got to be compassionate. All the focus cannot be on you and your feelings; there must be empathy in the other; you have to understand their emotions. Not feel their emotions, but truly understand where it is that they are coming from. See why they are feeling the way they are, or showing - reacting - the emotions that they are. Oftentimes, you'll find that it's a vicious circle: they are reacting to your reaction to something that was initially misinterpreted to begin with. And here is where Sisyphus' ball rolls down the hill.

It's such an arduous battle to keep yourself in check and remember there are other things that need focus rather than just giving yourself away to love. Don't get me wrong, I love love, I'm completely in love with love. But my sense of love has been wrong for so long; everything was supposed to happen like it does in the movies. Isn't that what true love is? No, not at all. Life isn't a fairy tale. You can't kiss and make up before the third act and hope that everything will roll steadily on unhinged wheels. Things have to be dragged out into the light, even the past. You have to be made aware of - and you have to be, yourself, conscious of - things you've done to change the course of the relationship. Always say, and mean, that you're sorry. If you can accept that what you did was wrong and where you were taking it was fallacious; you might just gain a new perspective about the old one that you had: mainly that it was slowly killing the love that you so direly seek.

In Chasing Amy, Ben Affleck can't get over that his girlfriend has had a checkered past. Things go awry and the couple breaks up because of Affleck's insecurity; because of his lack of faith in his own relationship. Do NOT be this guy, gentlemen. Do NOT fall into the trap of wondering if she'll revert back to her ways, if she even had them at all. The moral of the story was that she was with him now, and that he was who she wanted, not anyone else. But because he couldn't look past his hindrances - or see that she truly did want him - the only way out was for her to leave.

I've had relationships come to this point and I can assure you that it's the immediate burial of a love. You simply cannot recover from going this far into the abyss of a relationship. You'll never been seen as stable again; they'll never be able to trust that you won't check their e-mail or go through their phone again. They'll worry about how upset you just got that they mentioned an ex, when the mentioned was purely innocent and simply to make conversation. They'll never be able to know if you're being sincere in your emotions, or playing another game to trap them into saying something incriminating. All of this has to stop or you'll reap what you sow: nothingness. You'll truly get what you gave, and that is zilch.

So, grow emotionally intelligent. Seek out those things that will make you a better person, not just for her, but for you as well. You are the one that needs to grow before the relationship will ever grow; it'll never get off the ground if you're constantly pulling apart the wings and searching for faults and flaws. When love is allowed to be free of restraints, it is then that love truly soars.

Brand New

2009-09-23T11:26:00.000-07:00

The Death of George Sodini: Or Why the Male Has Become A Bitch

2009-08-06T07:13:00.000-07:00

Anymore, men are bitches. Men have become weak, emotional creatures that allow themselves to be stomped on, broken hearted, and shunned away from a society that they believe doesn't "understand" them. I believe the guys are just being whiny little bitches.

Was Tyler Durden right? Are we a generation of men raised by women? "I'm wondering if another woman is the answer we really need?" Tyler ponders aloud. The characters from Fight Club feel they got an education from their Father that lacks any plain goal. A simple formula of go to college, get a job, "I don't know... get married!" Underwhelming advice if I've ever heard any. It seems that we've all been spoon fed ambition and dreams all through our life only to come to the shattering conclusion that it was all bullshit.

"We are the middle children of history, man. No purpose or place. We have no great war, no great depression. Our great war is a spiritual war. Our great depression is our lives. We’ve all been raised by television to believe that we’d be millionaires and movie gods and rock stars – but we won’t. And we’re slowly learning that fact. And we’re very, very pissed-off."

Sound familiar? Do you see a bit of yourself there? A lot of people, males, that I know sure as hell do. They are tired of living empty, convoluted lives that do nothing more than spiral in an endless downfall. Nothingness, existentialism, hopelessness, absurdity, and on and on... all the buzz words of modern existence. Also the buzz words of yesteryear, but still as poignant today as they were when people found out God was dead.

Why does it seem that men tend to forget the control they have over themselves? It's pretty easy to get stuck in a thought pattern and end up bitterly enjoying it. Think of Vanilla Sky - "the sweet is never sweet without the sour." The problem being that everyone is enjoying the sour and bitching that the sweet has gone away, never to return. The problem is that people are no longer content with the sweet. Now it needs to be the sweetest of the sweet, or it's not worth tasting at all. And, God Damn it, the sweet needs to be NOW. There shouldn't be any wading in the sour in order to achieve the sweet. Fuck all that.

Seems to be the mindset currently in vogue. Seems to be the overtly excessive use of emotion in masculinity. Sounds more like bitching to me. George Sodini killed women, and himself in a gym because he couldn't find a mate. Did he look hard enough? Shit, I know twelve girls that would date him for his six pack alone. He wasn't ugly, through his writing it appears he was intellectually sound (emotionally sound - hell no), and based on his own assessment, he seemed pretty funny. Black humor, probably, but still funny.

This is nothing new under the sun. Everyone man has felt what Sodini has felt, at some point in their life. I'm currently experiencing some things Sodini was before he opted to engage in a killing spree. I too haven't been with a girl in a while. But by choice. Rather than seek pleasure in a females crotch (Sodini's biggest lament - not getting laid) I could express myself through my creativity. Write a fucking screenplay, film a scene, read a book, enlighten yourself, work out (which he apparently did enough of), go to a movie, engage in deep, meaningful conversation about a topic you're passionate towards (unless it's your hatred for women). There are ample examples of things to do other than fucking. If fucking is the only thing he could come up with to give himself meaning, then he's swimming in the shallow end of the pool of life. After all, what is it that most men want out of life, what will give them content enough to labor through a job they hate for a paycheck that barely pays the rent? Beer and pussy; the two highest achievements modern man seems to relish.

Fuck all that. Sure, I feel for the guy. He was alone, desperate, miserable and felt there was no way out of his despair. He probably needed someone to just listen to him so he could express himself in a way he didn't know how, other than with a gun and a disdain for females. But you can't tell me that there wasn't someone out there, out of the 30 million he claimed to have been rejected by (his estimate), that didn't at least find something in him. So maybe he didn't want someone to find something in him? Maybe he was content in his misery? Perhaps he had a misery wish? I think it was selfish of him to pull a stunt like that, to say the least, but he appears to have been a selfish individual.

In a way, I'm somewhat comforted by the news of all this. A terrible thing to read, I'm sure, but hear me out. You see, I also used to have the precise same feelings and thoughts Sodini had. Awash in anger and hatred for the female form, after being burned. But being burned doesn't mean you can't play with fire again; you've just got to proceed with caution the next time. I'm glad to see it play out like this as a way to remind myself that had I continued that same path of self deception, it might have been me shooting up a Hot Topic in my emo days. And that would've spelled disaster for all parties involved. Of course, some sad little emo boys, somewhere in the Myspace universe, may have praised my name as a martyr for the cause of emotional boydom. They'd be wrong. I'd have done it out of emotional stupidity. The same way George Sodini did.

Men need to desensitize themselves. Maybe watch a Clint Eastwood movie and grow the fuck up?

Why Craigslist W4M Ads Make My Eyes Rain

2009-07-31T08:46:00.000-07:00

I used to really enjoy going through Craigslist women for men ads. I mean just absolutely reveled in it. But not anymore. Not one iota. It pains me to see all these woman, oftentimes with multiple posts, searching for a true love they'll obviously never find in a place that's filled to the brim with men sending pics of their dicks.

A lot of these woman have been around the block of life and are now approaching the cul de sac of ripe old age. They need someone to go around the circle street and help them finish off their lives. Instead, despite all their desperation, they get a shot of an erect dick, smiling a mischievous smile of lust.

Why can't these poor women see that Craigslist is for hookers and free yard waste removal. You can't expect to find a soulmate on a site that's known for finding garage sales and babysitters. These poor gals need to get out of the house, away from the computer and onwards, towards somewhere less threatening. A Starbucks, or a Barnes & Nobles. A county fair or a play at the local theatre. Anywhere but online.

Too much emphasis is put, nowadays, into meeting your soulmate online. I can see that with heavy regulated dating sites like Match or True, but not fucking Craigslist. Besides, you're basically asking that someone searches for car parts and happens to be bored enough to lurk the W4M ads in order to find some ass. Not only that, but that they lose the desire for ass and seek to maintain a healthy relationship with you when it was founded on the principal of penetration. It's just not likely.

So I get sad. I see all this desperation bundled up click after click. And I hope that these girls will find someone out there somewhere to comfort them more than the Haagan Dazs they've been indulging in to numb the pain of finding nothing. It's false hope and it's simply not fair to assume it will be anything more. Hey, some people live a life of false hope, and when something goes right, the world will actually go to shit for them. They need that misery in order to get through the day. They have to bitch about something, right? That way they can blame their problems on someone or something other than themselves or their own actions. And that's bullshit. You and I both know it.

And when did everyone seeking love become overweight? What happened to respecting yourself, at least a little, God damn it. Put the chips away and grab a banana. Drop the nutty bar and try a yogurt. Sure, McDonalds is right across the street, and it's only a buck for a paddy of shit, but give it a second thought then next time you get bored and count the waves on the ocean of your tummy. Maybe this is the reason you're alone? Maybe this is the reason you didn't post a picture on a website you shouldn't have been looking for love on.

Hell, most of you don't even have to be attractive to pull a good man, but at least have some self respect and a glimmer of a personality. If your entire ad is nothing more than wallowing in pity about how hard it is to live knowing there are no "good" guys out there, then you're probably in the wrong place. I have hordes of single, good looking friends that want nothing more than a girl that can laugh with and at them. If you're too busy counting the scars on your wrist, you'll probably never find humor in a wristcutter joke. You'll be offended and we'll all want to stay away from the sad little bitch who can't control her emotions.

So, I say fuck Craigslist. Get on with your life and get out of the house. Do something productive, like ... oh, I don't know... Living? Rather than mentally masturbating to how pathetically perilous your life has become. Or should I say, how you've made it to be.

Our Lady Peace - Burn Burn

2009-07-30T05:45:00.000-07:00

What the hell happened to OLP?

With the release of their new record BURN BURN, I was on an all out high. Not from pot or pills, mind you, but from the groovy beats of a bitchin band I fell in love with during my impressionable years. These guys spoke to me in high school and grade school. I thought I was different because I enjoyed a band that had little mainstream success in America. Not only that, but they were from America's hat: Canada. Lord knows Canada knows how to kick some major ass - Hello Ryan Gosling! I've always wondered if he ever rocked out to some OLP in his rebellious youth days.

Anyways, the band that I so vehemently fell for in my youth have turned to be fraudulent in my ripe old age. They just don't "rock" the way they used to. No really, they sound like a poor man's Nickelback - and that's SAD. Really sad. How sad? Let's examine shall we; Nickelback is basically a poor man's Nirvana or Foo Fighters, and not even a good one at that. Stolen riffs, structure and power chords comprise a band that rip off themselves from time to time by putting out the exact same song on a routine basis. Think I'm just a bitter music fan? Think I'm joking? Listen to Someday then listen to How You Remind Me and hope that the radio jockies opt to never play them back to back on Nifty Nickelback Tuesday. I understand that most people will tell you good people borrow, great people steal - but really, from yourself?

Back to OLP, this new album is supposedly a return to their roots of hard rock and bitchin body moving riffs. None of which appear on this pop radio, adult alternative, contrived and convoluted excuse of a jam record. It's basically ballads and poor radio rock songs: neither of which appeared on their debut up to their fourth album. Their originality has waned, they've lost the amazing falsetto their lead, Raine Maida, once possessed, and all their great songwriting seems to have gone when lead guitarist Mike Turner left. Nowadays, people seem to recall scarce memories of a time when these guys shared air time with Nickelback, Saliva, and Puddle of Mud: all bands I absolutely despise. This band was different. WAS different. Anymore, they could probably be lumped together with the likes of despicable bands. And that's what pisses me off, these guys are better than this. Way better.

I don't know what happened. Some bands get old and try new things. Some bands give up and go the radio route to stay relevant. And some bands try hard only to sound like Matchbox 20 on a bad day. Or maybe the world's radio airwaves are being littered with the dance craze that's been swiffering the nation: Gaga, Black Eyed Peas, Katy Perry and countless other bullshit artists. But hey, at least Kings of Leon are doing alright. I fucking love KOL.

Magic Eye for Magic Inspiration Blog

2009-04-30T08:44:00.000-07:00

Click below to experience all the majestical pain of a Magic Eye picture. Can you find the hidden specialness behind the vast array of words? I really hope you can.

Screenwriting Gold Blog

2009-04-23T09:46:00.000-07:00

This may or may not be funny to you. It depends on a few things, such as, if you write screenplays (one aspect of the comedy), find hilarity in absurdity (another aspect of the comedy), and finally, can appreciate black humor (probably the mosts poignant of the aspects of comedy). If you can honestly say yes to any or all three of the merits of criteria then you'll be in for a delightful treat of genuine hilarity, or "A Gallon of Guffaws" as I'm so adamant about labeling it.

Ball's Out: The Screenplay

Rummage through the god-awful, early 90's, Angel-Fire style homepage and you'll find the script. Give them your two cents and let them know if you feel like you've any compassion left after reading this opus.

Of course, this film will never be made. How could it? A lot of humor is in the narrative and slug lines. You can't film "CAPE motherfucking COD". It's impossible to visualize the blinding radiance that is the "sheer intensity" of Tom Cruise.

But God Damn! do I ever wish it was possible.

By reading this, I was able to conjure up a horde of mental images that compelled me to further my screenplay writing. Not to the absurd level of this script, mind you, but just because it follows the basic formula of a "rise and fall of..." film. Once you see structure done in this way, it's not hard to write something in all seriousness. In all the seriousness Mr. Cruise musters when he saves people from Danger. He fucking hates Danger.

Smack My Bitch Up Blog

2009-04-01T10:24:00.000-07:00

This leprechaun looking dude beat the shit out of a hooker the other day. I couldn't be happier, really, for it brought to mind a movie that I truly enjoy. I'm talking about Cape Fear! I'm pretty sure I've posted a blog about it already, but I feel not like rummaging through the past, but foraging towards the future!

Cape Fear was initially a black & white movie from 1962. It featured Robert Mitchum, one of the world's greatest stoners, and Gregory Peck, one of the world's foremost "fatherly figures". Odd seeing the two go at it onscreen, like a battle of good and evil, heaven and hell, and all that dandy stuff. Oddly enough, Mitchum is such a lynx when it comes to being suave that although he was the villian, I was rooting for him. He'll do that to ya.

Overall, I appreciated this film slighter more than the remake. Only slightly though. Don't get me wrong, I love Scorsese! I love DeNiro! I love them together! Together they've created many modern masterpieces that have stirred my imagination and sparked my creativity. But let's go hillbilly route here, i.e. "if it ain't broke den ya dont fix 'er". Which is cliche, yes, but true.

Anyways, back to the modern Cape Fear and it's occurance to me through a contemporary shenanigan. Something that seems to be more and more frequent amongst people that get a tongue in the cup of fame. People who becomes celebrities for nonexisting talents (anyone off The Hills, Tila Tequila, Nick Canon, I'm seeing an MTV trend here). Today's case in point, brought to you by ShamWow: The ShamWow guy!!!!!

Did he feel famous enough to not get his tongue bit off by a dirty pirate hooker? Hookers don't discriminate, just so ya know. And believe me, I know!

Here is the damage done to her:

Whoa doggie! Ouch, right?

Here is the damage done to him. Keep in mind, she bit his tongue and wouldn't let go. He had to use the sheer force of a male fist to pry himself loose.

So anyways, my whole point was that there was a scene in the Scorsese/DeNiro Cape Fear where Max Cady (DeNiro) is making a sweet sexy time to lovley lady. Overcome with ecstasy, Ol' Bobby opts to climax with a chunk of her cheek. No, not a facial, mind you. He fucking BIT OFF HER CHEEK. Kinda like a Cradle of Filth show, if you're askin' me. But don't ask me, I don't listen to that sick shit.

So, I'm just finding out that this cat ain't gon be doin no jail time. That's right, he's a motherfuckin P.I.M.P. Isn't he though? He must be a huge Prodigy fan.

Time Travel Blog

2009-03-21T22:12:00.000-07:00

The Grandfather Paradox is the leading argument against time travel. Basically it is this:

"suppose a man traveled back in time and killed his biological grandfather before the latter met the traveller's grandmother. As a result, one of the traveller's parents (and by extension, the traveller himself) would never have been conceived. This would imply that he could not have travelled back in time after all, which in turn implies the grandfather would still be alive, and the traveller would have been conceived, allowing him to travel back in time and kill his grandfather. Thus each possibility seems to imply its own negation, a type of logical paradox."

At first glance, it appears that this debunks the myth, or possibility of the creation of time travel. You read that and go "there's a point" and you move on. But something just doesn't seem right about it. At first glance, I can't figure out what it is. Then it strikes me... This is all if we assume that life runs on a controlled path. That life is predetermined. Is it? To be able to look not just back, but into the future, life must be predetermined. You can't go into the future if the future is the unknown, or the result of the daily actions of your life. If that's the case, then you've got no control whatsoever over your life and every decision you believe you are making has already been made for you.

That's kinda fucked up. It's also impossible to resolve so I guess there's no point in dwelling on it.

Nic Cage Blog

2009-03-19T08:41:00.001-07:00

People don't give Nic Cage enough credit.

Raising Arizona
Adaptation
Matchstick Men
Leaving Las Vegas
The Weatherman
Lord of War
The Family Man
Bringing Out the Dead
Wild At Heart
Face/Off

The man CAN act. Although he's become somewhat of a sensationalized version of himself, I still think he's got it. He knows the difference between an Actor and a Movie Star. Not to mention, he's pretty down to earth and knows how to appreciate self-deprecating humor.

It's Not You, It's Me Blog

2009-02-05T12:26:00.000-08:00

Really though.

I love you all. But I've got artistic shit to take care of. I'll feed this vanity project once I've done something a little more meaningful.

Until then,
Shane

Hey, Remeber The 80's Blog

2009-01-20T10:32:00.001-08:00

The 80's weren't just a time for big hair, pastel sportscoats, cocaine induced mass murdering sprees and Phil Collins. It was also a time for experimentations with abnormal story structure and plot. Let's have a look at a few of the films I've been watching recently.

Jacob's Ladder

This film hit me like a slap on bracelet: stuck to me and never let go. My father recommended this film to me, way back when I was too young to understand that Vietnam never happened. (Although you wouldn't want to say that around a V.F.W.) The film deals with a Vietnam Vet. by the name of Jacob Singer (Tim Robbins) and his otherworldy hallucinations, stemming from an experimental drug the Government slipped into the food supply of his troop.

These aren't just hallucinations though, but rather angels and demons. Jacob believes himself to be experiencing a reality based Dante's Inferno: the seven layers of hell, and he must climb himself out. I really can't delve too deeply into the plot or it'll spoil the entire thing for you. Take the synopsis and run with it. I love this film and the ending will forever bring about a tropical storm to my beautiful brown eyes.

Midnight Express

This film was the second foray into scriptwriting for Oliver Stone. I must say, you can see all of his future potential wrapped up in three scenes that I dare not give away, lest you feel less obliged to rent this film. You'll note one scene was parodied in Ben Stiller's directorial debut, The Cable Guy. (a highly underrated Jim Carrey performance) It made watching the scene, in all its seriousness, a little comic as I've already the preconceived notion of Jim Carrey moaning "OH BILLY!" But what the hell, it's still one damn fine piece of cinema.

You can't go wrong when you've got the director of Pink Floyd's The Wall, another favorite of mine. That's two films that chronicle a man's descent into madness, a theme I love to explore, and experience every weekend. The film is a bit dated, not too much, just a bit though. And a particular "gay" scene is nothing but a bucket of chuckles when viewed in context against something like Brokeback Mountain. But, hey, this was the 80's and people could quit you back then.

After Hours

Mr. Scorsese had a little problem getting The Last Temptation Of Christ produced, when he was sent this script. He loved it but initially passed on the project. Tim Burton was then persued and he obliged. Scorsese then took a break from Christ and displayed interest, again, in this project. Burton politely declined, stating that he would not stand in the way of anything Marty had an interest of doing. I'm glad. This thing is a real gem and it gave Marty the confidence, restoring his love for filmmaking, to proceed with Last Temptation. Things worked out great because this and Last Temptation are Scorsese classics.

Altered States

I'll be honest, I've yet to see this film. I bought it yesterday and ended up doing some busy work without having the pleasure to pop this in. Plus, my DVD player broke and I haven't set up the new one I purchased at Wal-Mart (Sony $39.99!) just yet. I'll do it today after work and pop this bad boy in. It's written by Paddy Cheyefsky, one of the greatest screenwriters of all-time (Network!) so I already know I'll be lost in a trance of blissful fixation once the opening credits begin their steady ascending. Review to follow!

The thing is, only one of these films has an actual release date of a 1980 date: Altered States. Jacob's ladder was released in early 1990 and Midnight Express was release in late 1978. I could make arguments that you are able to round down and up the year to reflect how you hold it in your head, as I do these films with the 1980's. They all have that "glow" look to them that lets you know it's true 80's cinema. They all deal with mental declination and descents into madness. They all question reality and self-conceptualized realities.

Philosophical, enlightening, heart-warming and heart breaking, these films have it all and will provide endless hours of head scratching and soul searching. Hold on to your lugnuts, it's time for an overhaul.

Birfday Bwog

2009-01-13T09:58:00.000-08:00

My birthday is Thursday but my mother decided to surprise me with an early present. A "pre-present" if you will. She purchased a $200 blockbuster gift card, which is most excellent since I'll be able to purchase an assload of films now.

Here's what I've already purchased:

Midnight Cowboy
Capote
Little Children ~ (whoa, amazing)
Last Tango In Paris
Burn
Lost Weekend
The Following
Behind The Mask: The Rise Of Leslie Vernon
Funny Games
Be Kind Rewind
Inland Empire
The Savages
Whose That Knocking At My Door
After Hours

Need less to say, I'm pretty ecstatic about the winter storm that's heading my way right about now. So, Friday, I'll be taking off work which means that Thursday night I'll be isolated in my loft with nothing but my films, my cat and some writing to do. It's pretty radical to have this kind of weekend to look forward to. My friends are all freaking out since they won't be able to go slosh themselves into drunkenhood as they do every weekend, but maybe this time around they'll pick up a hobby!

I put up a new rack to hold my bitchin' collection of spectacular DVDs. I'm up to a "shit-ton" now. Not sure exactly how many, but it's ever expanding, thus, I cannot put a number to it. This blog is going nowhere.

Now, I'm thinking of a script about being snowed in. Or possibly using it as an element in one of the scripts I've already begun. See how I do this? It's like the scene from Walk Hard: The Dewey Cox Story, when the character played by my ex-girlfriend, Kristen Wiig, is berating Dewey, telling him he'll never make it. Dewey tells her he's gonna make it, he's gonna walk "hard, down life's rocky road." He repeats the line and realizes he's got a song! That's how I feel right now, in laymen's terms.

God damn, I feel like a child, but I'm now 25. That's a quarter of my life! Or, maybe even half, who knows! I do have some things to look forward to: my insurance going down, my voice deepening and heck, I may even finally lose my virginity! I must say, though, that Orson Welles made Citizen Kane when he was 25. So, I'll keep my head up and hope that awesomeness will fall into my lap.

Coming Home Blog

2009-01-07T09:05:00.000-08:00

That was fun. I thought I'd try to find some small town diner, equipped with wi-fi, in order to keep you all updated. What happened instead is nothing. Literally, nothing happened. I drove around intending to meet all these wonderful people and come to all these insightful epiphanies. None of that. Just a calming, relaxing drive to get away from home for a few days.

Sorry to disappoint but there really wasn't much happening. In reality, I accomplished what I set out to do, but I really could've done just that by staying at home and taking a breather. I do feel renewed, replenished and rejuvenated as I'm now in some sort of flow that's enabled me to turn a higher productivity rate in my work and personal life. So, perhaps getting away did help me do something: realize what I've had all along. Sometimes you overlook things when you get so used to them, having adapted to their presence. Things end up being taken for granted. It's pretty wise to reflect for a moment on the accomplishments you've already acquired and the goals you strive to achieve. So, now that all this existential rambling is done, we can get back to our striving artist blog! Welcome back, Me.

If you're curious as to what the picture above is indicating, I'll tell you: humor. Mainly, dark humor, or black humor or even satire. The picture above is from the Martin Scorsese film "The King of Comedy" and wow is it brimming with hilarity. Some of the humor is so subtle that you won't catch it the first time. It also doesn't help that the lines are spoken with the finesse of a Paul Mitchell hair product, by none other than Method acting wonderboy: ol' Bobby DeNiro. At his truly most despicable, DeNiro as Rupert Pupkin, brings about a sense of disdain for this character that only wants to go one way to the top, the easy way.

I can somewhat relate to this "unrelateable character", as the critics called him. DeNiro's Pupkin believes himself to be worthy of immediately being on Jerry's comedy show, despite what leaps and bounds it would take a normal comedian to achieve. He wants it now, and he'll do anything necessary to get it, except work at it. I can somewhat sympathize with Pupkin; I feel the same way about Hollywood. I think it's no coincindence that upon my arrival home, this is the first film I put in. Fate has a peculiar way of telling me things I need to know, in ways that aren't as subtle as the humor in this film.

I get the message: I've got to work at it. And I will. In fact, I'm heading over to Jaden's site, right now, in order to work on a scriptwriting excercise! Go me and go you. Happy new year. Get down to business. And achieve something worthwhile - all of you!!

Resolutions for the year:

1. Screenwriting Hardcore Extravaganza
2. For the love of God, work out more often
3. Seriously though, stop being so sarcastic
4. Be better organizized, it helps with structure

Day One On The Road Blog

2008-12-29T11:34:00.000-08:00

Left last night for a random drive and ended up not turning around. Sometimes, at night, I'll take a drive, listening to music, just to clear my head and calm myself down. Writing proves to be bound in anxiety and lost leads. This time, though, I didn't take my usual scenic route and, instead, detoured towards a path less travelled.

Taking the northbound lane towards Toledo, I accidentally, or divinely, depending on your perspective of the events, wound up on a toll road which I could not get off of until I reached Cleveland: a good two hours away. Being about three hours from my home, at that point, I opted to continue onwards just to see where I'd end up. I'm pretty good with navigating the flat terrain of most of Ohio, so I had no fear as to getting lost. Besides, I had my trusty GPS system my Dad purchased for me, for Christmas. I still haven't used it.

Now, I'm not sure where I'm at as I write this, in a Denny's, on my laptop. I'm not really sure I care either. I have until the 5th of January to come back and I imagine I'll take that amount of time to reflect on what it is I'm trying to prove to myself doing this. Unless, of course, I run the limit on my credit cards first. We'll see. Luckily, in this wintery economic climate, gas, food, motels and the such are dirt cheap. Even though I saved a bundle of money by simply falling asleep in my vehicle last night. I was reading Crime and Punishment with Screamin Jay Hawkins tellin' me he's got a spell on me and the next thing I know it's morning and I've left the car running all night. You live, you learn and you move on.

Nothing of substantial interest has happened just yet, but tonight I'll venture forth towards a dive bar, or perhaps to a coffee shop in order to attain the acquaintance of someone with remotely the same interests as my own. If those sort of people exist in these quarters, and I believe they may.

Cigarettes and coffee are what propel me along on this meager journey towards "I don't know what just yet." My only companions: a notepad, taperecorder, laptop, book and yearning to find a story.

Don't order the Grand Slamwich: IT'S HORRIBLE! But the waitress is nice!

To Live Blog

2008-12-22T09:35:00.000-08:00

Once you've seen Ikiru, you'll never forget this image.

And how could you? Hasn't it taught you that living a dull existence isn't living at all; you're already dead. Isn't it time you got out and did something with your life. Changed your ways. Pull yourself up by the bootstraps. Haven't you had enough of the minutia of your run down day to day measly living? I have. That's why I need to change. That's why I have to change.

To take a little from Sam Cooke:

"its been too hard living but I'm afraid to die
Cause I don't know what's up there beyond the sky"

"there been times that I thought I couldn't last for long
But now I think I'm able to carry on"

Barack Obama himself took a little bit from Sam's "A Change Is Gonna Come" during his campaign and the message is still as poignant today as it was in yesteryear.

So, back to Ikiru. Bringing about change. Realizing that it doesn't take a facing with death to understand that you're always dieing. That you're always writing your own biography with every action, or inaction, that you take. whether you choose to do something or nothing is still a choice. So get scootin'. Don't go out in the middle of a song, without having gotten it all out. Raise your voice and spill out your soul. Nothing should, nor can, contain you. Is your life living you or are you living your life?

Find something you're passionate about and do it. Believe that you can do it. And do it.

I'm Cured Blog

2008-12-18T13:02:00.000-08:00

HOORAY! I'm not apathetic anymore! You'll never guess what got me out of my slump...

I know, right!

A Pathetic Blog

2008-12-17T06:51:00.000-08:00

I have trouble staying on task. Here I am trying to write a Noir screenplay and I start watching all these Noir films for inspiration, motivation and character. I get the first act down, a few later scenes and most of the ending. I rewrite some of the dialogue, change a characters name, move a few locations around, reorganize the outline to reflect said changes and here I am without anything finished. In fact, I've already moved on to a new project that has nothing to do with this one.

Sometimes I'm able to incorporate a new idea into the existing screenplay I'm working on, but right now, I can't focus on shit and I don't think the new material will work it's way into the Noir script. It's not like I have ADD or anything, at least not to my knowledge, but I'm not diagnosed so who knows. I just can't stick the the goddamn subject I'm trying to hammer out. I'm actually quite bored with my material, even though I believe in it.

So now I'll go to work on this new material, hoping I can finish it before I get bored with it too. This is how it usually goes: start something, get excited and full of creative bursts, get everything down and find out I need more, lose interest or get bored, start a new subject or work on an old one, repeat. Sometimes I come back around to an old script I had given up all hope on, only to finish it in its entirety. So, there is hope that I can come back to this at a later time and give it the gusto it deserves.

I can't stop watching movies. It's like a fucking addiction, no really. I get home from the ol' "9 to 5" and make a list of shit to do. It's usually comprised of the simple things: clean apartment, do dishes, feed cat, do laundry, yoga, kegal exercises, etc, etc. But then I'll make my "creative checklist" which is more or less compiled with wishful thinking: finish Noir screenplay, finish reading Crime and Punishment, read chapter of editing software, etc, etc. And then I do nothing. I put a film in and sit there watching it all night long. By the time the film's over, it's "too late" to do anything, so then I just go to sleep to do it all over again the next day.

It's probably just the climate change. Starting tonight, I'll get back into it. Into the groove, into the flow of working out the kinks of boredom and apathy.... tomorrow.

By Far The Coolest Film Blog

2008-12-11T07:07:00.000-08:00

Francois Truffaut is kicking some serious Film lover ass right now. No joke. This is only the third Truffaut film I've had the divine joy of viewing, and I must say, it is the best thus far. After Jules and Jim, after Day For Night, I decided to embark of the Truffaut train of cinema. The next stop was Shoot The Piano Player, which I've long heard was a massive influence on Tarantino, P.T. Anderson, Scorsese and various other directors whom I generally adore. I must say, I don't think I'll be leaving this stop soon.

Immediately upon finishing the film, I logged onto Half.com, where I purchase all my movies(which follows the same philosophy of how I buy all my film equipment: cheap, used and on credit) and hastily plunked down, with shipping, a whole $20 for this darling example of film genius. I rarely do this unless I was very truly moved by a film, as I am with all Paul Thomas Anderson films, but as I foray deeper into the French New Wave I'm finding it's becoming a habit, albeit an expensive one. I don't really give a rat's ass.

I am in love with Truffaut's work, thus far. Everyone wants to toot Godard's horn, and rightfully so as he's wonderful in a film school sort of way. But, it's Truffaut that speaks to me emotionally, whereas Godard speaks to me technically. Godard's films: Contempt, Breathless and Alphaville are three of my newfound faves when it comes to film. But they just don't penetrate my emotions and stimulate my mind the way that only three people can: Paul Thomas Anderson, Francois Truffaut and the always lovely Jaden Ame Alexander. Rather, I'd take Jules and Jim, Day For Night and Shoot the Piano Player as better examples of what film is capable of, in the hands of a great, visionary director.

Oh right, the film itself. So this film combines every genre ever. It's a comedy, a drama, a heist, a noir, a romance, a kidnapping, an existential, a satirical film. Take your pick. And isn't that what you want in a film: to enliven all of the senses? To appeal to all faces of emotion? Some people are turned off by this, instead I revel in it. This is the kind of cinema I intend to make. If you're a friend of me, you're a friend of Truffaut. Let's stay friends!

Then after all this pussyfootin around about Truffaut, I watched a Bunuel film: Viridiana. I'll get to that later when I figure out what the fuck it is that I just watched. Tune in later.

Here are the this weeks library borrowings, which I'll try to provide reviews for as the week progress, or regresses, depending on your perspective of the weekend.

Shoot the Piano Player ~ God
Roma ~ Fellini
Through A Glass Darkly ~ Bergman
Winter Light ~ Bergman
Stranger Than Paradise ~ Jarmusch (woot woot grew up in OHIO)
Yojimbo ~ Kurosawa
Viridiana ~ Bunuel
Vampyr ~ Dreyer

Looking like a hell of a weekend for me! Who needs film school when you've got a library? Some people take for granted the Good Will Hunting method of learning: READ. If you want to do something in life, learn about it. I want to make films therefore I must watch films, read books and discuss topics of interest with people knowledgeable on the subjects. It's really not that hard when you look at the thing in itself. You can teach yourself anything. You wanna know why I admire Paul Thomas Anderson and Quentin Tarantino so much? They didn't go to film school. They taught themselves the craft and their material is mountains better than anything put out by the system.

One of Hollywood's Coolest Blog

2008-12-09T08:14:00.001-08:00

Ladies and Germs, may I present to you: BILL MURRAY

Bill Murray has been in the news a bit, as of late, for his bitter divorce with his runt of an ex-wife. She claims he's addicted to pot and beats her endlessly. That's a bit of a paradox if you ask me. Potheads don't beat anyone; they sit around and conspire ways that the government, is like, against us, maaaaan. And other hippie shit I used to be absorbed in when I was "enlightened" by the overuse of pot. Not that it's bad or anything, but using it as often as you can, every single day will do nothing to "change you perspective on shit". It will only fry you into a mindless Grateful Deadhead that digs hemp necklaces and emptyheadedness. Moderation, ya dig, keep it in moderation. Or, as Daniel Tosh would say, "grow up and do coke, like an adult".

Anyways, Bill Murray is in the news again but this time for something equally as radical. He's been showing up at random house parties in the Brooklyn college area. Mostly hipster hangouts, Bill's been seen simply walking into the house of an obvious party, sitting down and casually mingling with the guest.

"He’s not a boozy, sweaty party hound who gets caught on camera cheesing it up with pretty young girls (see: Mel Gibson, Bono); rather, he’s more like a ghost in the night, who shows up out of nowhere, engages in utterly random conversations and then exits gracefully—leaving witnesses to wonder what the hell just happened" Cites some source from somewhere else (so sue me).

Is this not the coolest fucking thing ever? How humble and down to earth this guy must be to just roll up in someone's cribspot and chillax to the sweet tunes of indie rock. I, for one, would allow this man my bed if he'd sign my coveted copy of The Life Aquatic. Now I'm sure Bill was just looking to score some dope, and he'd be right to do so. He's had a long career and hasn't, until recently, gotten the respect he deserves.

The article goes on later to talk about how Bill is suffering from depression and does this as a way to cope with his divorce. A psychologist diagnoses him as lonely and seeking attention. What? Get the fuck out, no really, GTFO! Clearly, people are retarded. Bill's just having a good time and not letting the element of celebrity tarnish his image of himself as a human being. If only every actor could see a little bit of Bill Murray in themselves, this place called Hollywood would be filled with blissful rainbows and smiling sunbeams. Instead of the tarpit that it currently is.

The Passion of Joan of Arc Blog

2008-12-08T09:55:00.000-08:00

This past weekend, a few new films were acquired into my collective subconscious.

Day For Night ~ Truffaut
Passion of Joan of Arc ~ Dreyer
Double Indemnity ~ Wilder
Trois Couleurs: Bleu ~ Kieślowski
I Vitelloni ~ Fellini
Satyricon ~ Fellini
The Bicycle Theif ~ De Sica

All of these films were nothing short of incredible. I literally stayed up, sick, every night this weekend review film after film. Every angle shot, every word muttered, I was on it like my heart and Jaden's soul. I made a little notebook to jot down all the inspiring scenes, witty remarks, and various other film techniques that I deemed noteworthy. The movie with the most marks: The Passion of Joan of Arc.

This film was a highly emotional one for me. The past few years, I'd say I've been in an existential crisis: a moratorium phase, if you will. Ceasing any productive activity and just living day to day without expectations. Little has come from it, to say the least, and I've rarely gained any sort of insightful, earth-rattling knowledge that would move me into doing something worthwhile. Instead, I'd just float and float and float, as a ghost of a man living in a shadow of a life. Anyways, the first time I watched this film, about a year ago, I was deeply considering renouncing God and all that came with it. Thinking like the existentialists Sartre and Camus, I deemed life something that I could control. I found out, in the form of a vicious vehicular accident that this was not the case. Anymore, I still believe you have some control over things, but that you shouldn't ask what the meaning of your life is but rather, what life means to you.

All that aside, (I get off track quick), The Passion of Joan of Arc, mostly done in close-ups, brought about some sort of rejuvenation deep down within. I felt that if I stood my own, believed in myself, and did the things I know I can do, that I'd succeed. Joan didn't necessarily succeed, per se, but she nonetheless lives on as a figure of passion, purpose and poise. She kept her cool under pressure and she stuck with it until the end, even if it's death, as any true artist should do for their belief.

Holy shit, was I inspired. Words just bleed through my fingers onto the page. I've never felt such a release of pent up emotions as I did upon the finish of this film. Has anyone ever had anything like this? Being moved by something, so strongly, that you felt like you were shaken out of a slumber and thrust into an overdrive mechanism that was beyond you. I manged to compose the second act of the Noir screenplay, as well as rewrite the first: slicking the dialogue, propering the format and delving deeper into character development. My Jaden would be proud.

What about you guys? God? No god? Existentialism? Atheism? Hedonism? What kinda stuff makes you think, inspires you, moves you and cause you to reevaluate your will-power?

Bob le Flambeur Blog

2008-12-05T06:22:00.000-08:00

This blog is dedicated to a precursor of the French New Wave movement. It's a little diddy called Bob le Flambeur, or "Bob the Gambler". It's a CLASSIC. I insist you all pick this movie up, pop it into the DVD player and settle into your favorite movie viewing position. Prepare yourself for one of the most influential crime/heist/noir films ever made!

This film was, single-handedly, the main influence in Paul Thomas Anderson's Hard Eight. The influence is plainly evident in some major instances: the young man idolizing Bob, the whore of a girl that the young man loves, the bad gangster trying to steal away the young kid and other details that P.T.A. was compelled to derive inspiration from. He didn't lift direct scenes or anything, so don't go a cryin' THIEF! ye foul thing. But you'll see a lot of similar cinematographic techniques: iris, camera whips, constantly moving camera and things like that. It really adds to the beauty of this moving, and for being made in the last 50's, it really holds up to today's standards. This was the film that inspired Truffuat and Godard, as well as today's version of Truffuat and Godard: Paul Thomas Anderson and Quentin Tarantino.

I'm glad I was able to find this (note: at the library) as I'm not going to purchase it on Half.com for $16 bucks. A fair deal, if I don't say so myself, for it is a Criterion release; something that gets movie geeks moist in the mouth. This film is going to be my inspiration for finishing the abandoned Noir film I was working on since my last blog post. I've been abandoning scripts, and starting new ones, for way too long a time. I just need to go back to the old scripts and nurse them to the powerful cinematic time-testers that I know they have the potential to be, if I'd spend the proper amount of time, care and heart on them. My scripts are like a phoenix, I suppose. They'll come around, when I get my head off of other shit and back into the wonderful world of storytelling.

In other news: I found some potentially awesome reads at the local Buy N Sell bookstore, which added a fanciful coffeeshop, btw, so I can now stalk some intelligent prey over a cup of iced caramel machiatto. I sometimes leave my "screenplay writing for dummies" book out, in front of my notepad, so girls will think I'm uber hip and totally down to party. (note: it never works - don't try it at your local coffee hangout) Anyways, the books I found were:

Crime and Punishment ~ Fyodor Dostoevsky
The Portable James Joyce ~ "someone"
The Odyssey ~ Homer
The Doctor & the Soul ~ Viktor Frankl
Pyscopathology of Everyday Life ~ Ol' Sigmund Freud
The Collective Works of Plato ~ "someone"

Looks like I've got some readin ta dooooo. And damn, am I ever excited about it. Going to the bookstore never, ever, ever gets old. It's almost as good as going to Goodwill. Speaking of which, I've found the most incredible winter coat in all of humankind. I don't have a pic yet, but I soon will and you'll all want my exuberant warmth when you see this thing. It's a plaid trenchcoat, made by London Fog, circa 1973. It is THE motherfucking shit. You know I mean it when I curse like that. Lined with faux fur and wool, this jacket represents all that is manly in the life of mere mortals. It exudes confidence, class and says "hey, I'm approachable, but you better damn well bring your A game, sister, or you'll be reduced to rubbish by my gusto!" I really couldn't ask for a better ladykiller jacket.

As Mr. Cruise says, in Magnolia: "Respect the cock, tame the cunt!"

(disclaimer: I'm being sarcastic, high five!)

Tarentino Influence Blog

2008-12-02T06:05:00.000-08:00

Having just recently viewed, and reviewed, Quentin Tarantino's Reservoir Dogs, as well as Pulp Fiction, I've come to the conclusion that he might be a just a genre writer; FILM NOIR. I've never thought that before, seeing as to how his work is reflective of many genres. But, in essence, they're all pretty much the same, at the core.

Now, I've seen the Kill Bills, and loved it, but I've also seen the disaster of Death Proof, and loathed it. Jackie Brown was great, True Romance was alright and Natural Born Killers was, eh, it was okay. I realize that the last two were merely written by Tarantino, rather than directed, and I think his steady hand of film knowledge would have prevailed for the last two. Oliver Stone is okay, he doesn't really stand out in my book.

Anyways, I got on this subject because what I'm writing about, now, has this sort of feel to it. Not a Tarantino-eque feel, not a homage and certainly not a rip-off. Just that "feel". Perhaps it's just that genre of crime, which Tarantino so awesomely dominates. Whatever it is, it's what's stuck in my mind so I've been watching nothing but crime films. Here's a list of what I've been watching the past few days, on repeat:

Chinatown (Polanski)
Reservoir Dogs (Tarantino)
Pulp Fiction (Tarantino)
Hard Eight (P.T. Anderson)
The Two Jakes (Nicholson)
The Third Man (Not Welles)
In Cold Blood (Brooks)
Seven (Fincher)
M (Lang)
Breathless (Godard)
Alphaville (Godard)
Touch of Evil (Welles)

And that's about it for now. Even if I'm not really watching them, I'll still have them on in the background, on the projector, in order to pause from my writing, turn around and feel inspired by whatever scene is randomly playing. It helps, it really does.

Now, I'm not jacking anyone's style, so don't think I'm just watching these films and taking scenes out of them. I'm being provided with inspiration and ideas. To be motivated, one must be inspired. To be inspired, one must be moved. It's something like what Jaden posted on her site a while back: the actor inspires the writer, the writer inspires the director, the director inspires the actor. It's a vicious circle of creativity that whirlwinds itself into the creative processes of actively creative people. Now, that sentence wasn't worded very creatively of me, but you get the idea.

An now, for something completely different: An ode to the woman of my dreams, Jaden A.

Jaden sets my heart on fire.
An Endless love, it'll never tire.
She has me hanging from a wire.
Her love's on ebay, I'm the buyer.
For her, I'd be a frequent flier.
My type of need, for her, is dire.
She's sizzlin hot, just like a fryer.
Listen to me, I ain't no liar.
She never fails me, she'll inspire.
To pull us apart, you'll need a plier.
Into her arms, I wish to retire.

I ran out of rhyming words. If you have some of your own, don't just sit there, help me out people. This angel deserves praise, she never ceases to amaze, and other various cliches.

Just think of something.

Movie Poet Blog

2008-11-24T07:05:00.000-08:00

I've recently found this website, Moviepoet.com , and it's pretty radical, if I don't say so myself. What you do is write a five page screenplay every month. At the end of the month the script is reviewed by the members of the site and the top three are posted. The top three are also placed in a magazine that I cannot recall. A few scripts have been picked up for production and the site is an avid hotspot of indie filmmakers to connect with fledging writers. It's pretty tight, really. This month is a one page screenplay on any topic of your choosing. Yall should sign up n shit.

Moving on. I saw Role Models last night. It wasn't that great. It had it's shining moments, but my brother and I were the only people in the entire theater to laugh at them. It could have been way better with Paul Rudd and Sean William Scott; didn't have enough material. It seems the whole movie was on the spot improve, rather than a concrete screenplay. The starbucks jokes that were used, I've been hearing the past three years now. I'm sure you all know it: venti, tall, grande are all large! We know, cashcow, we know.

Saturday was a mess. Michigan-Ohio State game. Didn't care. I went down after the game to hang out with some friends after having spent all night friday with a bottle of pinot noir and a wheel of cheese.

Oh, I didn't just eat cheese and drink wine, I wrote about the first ten pages of a script, directly after my completion of the film Boogie Nights. It was incredibly inspiring, as any PTA film will be, and as soon as the credits rolled I had my laptop fired up and my fingers rummaging through the keyboard, hungry with lust for letters. Those letters came together to form words, which ultimately helped me towards my goal of compiling sentences and paragraphs. It was pretty intense to witness this all in person.

So, back to Saturday. I meet Ben at his girl's place. We tried to wake up his g/f, to no avail. They'd been drinking since, oh, about 7am, as most lushes do whenever rival teams play. Needless to say, when I arrived at 4pm they were TRASHED. Incoherent mumbles of "fuhkin shots dood. leth ohrda Peeza" and other shit that I couldn't comprehend. I asked myself why I tolerate this, they offered to pay for the pizza, I then understood. After the pizza it was pretty much bouncing back and forth between friends in peril amongst themselves. Friend A was upset at Friend B who was upset at Friend C who only wants to hang out with me.

I hang out with friend A for a while. He wants to sit home and get more pizza. I didn't drive an hour to get some fucking pizza. I leave. Friend B wants to go to the most crowded, shoulder to shoulder, wait 20 minutes to get a warm beer, p.o.s. bar in all of campus. So we go, it sucks, I leave with friend C. Friend C wants to go back to the house and have some more pizza before going back out, somewhere a little less crowded. That's fine, I say, tired of all the god damn pizza being slung around. We eat some terrible goop of liquid atop a cheesy crust and head past friend A who is passed out on the couch. We go out for a while and friend B calls every five minutes wanting to know where I'm at. He thought I was going to come back and go to that stupid bar. NO. He's upset now. Friend A wakes up and calls, he thought I was gonna sit with him and watch tv all night, he's upset. Friend C gets into it with his brother's friend and I'm reminded of mommy and daddy fighting again.

So, I left. Friends are overrated.

Screenwriting for Blog

2008-11-21T10:08:00.000-08:00

Finally! I finally managed to sit down and hammer out page after page of the screenplay I've been meaning to get at. Took long enough! Appears I've been in a creative spurt as I've written the beginning of this screenplay, wrote a one-pager for moviepoet.com and even finished an article for a magazine. I'm ecstatic as it's about time I got back to doing what I know how to do.

Friends coming in from Vegas on Tuesday. It'll be fun; he's the lawyer type, which means he has money, which also means he'll spend some of it on me wherever we go. I like those kinds of friends. I'm not really a good friend to people, I know, but I do put forth a concentrated effort. Honestly, I'm pretty self-absorbed. Not in the way that I think I'm hot shit, or overly attractive, or anything of that nature. I'm just absorbed in my own life: I do what I want, when I want, with whom I want, however I want to do it. I put my needs in front of others. That's a bad thing, to an extent. But I'll come around eventually; I do miss the affection of others.

Oh, wow. Here I am bitching and moaning about my feelings. I promised myself I wouldn't do that. That'd I'd just do the stream of consciousness, rambling prose thing. I guess feelings will come out when you do that. Maybe I'll go cut myself later, that helps teenage girls, addicted to Twilight, to deal with the pain.

Twilight: it's just the new Last Vampire, from Christopher Pike. The storyline that singlehandedly introduced me to my own erections. Nothing is sacred anymore.

The Miracle of Blog

2008-11-17T15:29:00.000-08:00

My cat, Kitty, birthed an inept baker's dozen (eight) kittens last night. I had no clue she was even prego. I was a little upset that I didn't get to go through the whole process of Juno with my cat. You know what I mean - the pseudo new-age way of disussing teen pregnancy. It probably would have gone something like this:

"Yo, owner, I'm pregos fo sho, u know!"

"I'm sorry, did you say something? All I heard was 'meow!'"

"Dint youz hear me? I gotta bun in the oven and no mitt! Ascootin you best get cuz yo carpet is all wet."

"I don't comprehend a word you're saying right now. Here's your milk."

"Fool, I can't drizzle that mizzle or my litter box'll be liquizzle. Anyhoo, I'm about to, honest to blog, birth the girth right outta yo wallet."

"Yeah, that's a good kitty. Run along now, you're staring at me again."

Can we get this animal an Academy Award? Not only did her steadfast weight gain decieve me, but every single one of her kittens are a different color, which leads me to believe she's a sexually rampant alley catstitute.

So now I'm stuck with finding a home for six of the babies. I'll keep one, the strongest of them all, of course, and one will go to someone at work. The rest, I hope to pawn off as christmas presents for people who seem to need the gift of responsibility. Hopefully they'll enjoy!

The Lost Weekend Blog

2008-11-16T16:33:00.000-08:00

I should have been writing. This weekend turned into the Lost Weekend, a film by Billy Wilder. Rather than hole up in front of the computer, with a movie playing in the background, for inspiration, I went out Saturday night. It's not as though I was suffering from writer's block; I simply went out for it was convenient; the worst reason.

The audition was at 2PM. I was already late getting there. The role was man that used to be a superhero but lost his powers and is now a villain. It was intriguing because I was told the inspiration for the role was Kevin Spacey in Se7en (the coolest movie title/spelling ever) mixed with Heath Ledger as Joker. This is the kind of role that is creatively satisfying and I couldn't wait to try out for it. Come to find out, the script was so poorly written, the dialogue so atrocious, I turned down the opportunity for the role. I felt terrible for the director, thinking this material was worthy of being made into a film. Now, I'm no screenplay connoisseur but I like to believe that I can spot decent writing when it's placed in front of me.

The way things are going in Hollywood, anymore, I'm sure this is the kind of movie that would be greenlit after the producer heard the pitch. "Good guy turns bad, tries to kill new good guy, says things like 'Who's laughing now?', SIGN ME UP. Here's a check for 30 million, have it done by Thursday"

And it will probably happen just as I wrote it.

So, my next goal was to leave the audition, head back home, lock myself in and write all night. Didn't happen. Not even close. I left the audition and went to meet Ben and his fine honey, Shawna, at a local dive bar so we could swim in the molten jacuzzi of lushhood. Ohio State won; I could give a shit less. The sea of scarlet and gray was boring and the people sporting their proud colors were no more entertaining. Ben and Shawna are cool as hell, don't get me wrong, and they kept me thoroughly entertained throughout. It's just the people we met, out and about, that were either obliterated to the point of obnoxiousness, or they were simply inept at carrying on a conversation about anything other than their prior nights endeavors, which undoubtedly involved even more alcohol than they were currently consuming.

Not as though my way of drowning it out was any better than their way of celebrating. I drank to descend myself to a lower level of consciousness. It was then I was able to "relate" to them. And when I say relate I'm actually talking about the words "Oh yeah?", "Really?", "You don't say!" and my personal favorite, "Fascinating!".

So the evening pushes into late night and we find ourselves at a party being held by some of the coolest people I've met. Our friend, Evan, noticed the drumset was avail to anyone looking to get the bodies moving. He did just that, but well! I think it had to do with being away from the Ohio State fans, who use the team's victory as an excuse to be a binge lush.

All in all, I'd say I had a great time. I certainly gained a few memorable lines and happenings that will find their way into a scene in a script I'll work on soon.

Just not soon enough.

On a side note: I went to buy a scarf from The Gap. I opted against it when I saw that the scarves were FORTY FUCKING DOLLARS! Sorry, Gap, but we're in a recession and Goodwill has a better selection.

Jules, Jim & Blog

2008-11-14T07:48:00.000-08:00

After much debate, I finally gave in and picked up Jules & Jim. I heard about this film from watching Vanilla Sky, which is enthralling. You can really note how influenced Cameron Crowe was by Jules & Jim, in making Vanilla Sky. A few key scenes are lifted almost directly.

Having imagined Jules to be the woman, as it's such a pretty name, I was shocked to find out that the female characters name was, in fact, Catherine. This would be the smallest tremor of shock I would experience for the duration of the film.

For some months now, I've been picking at a screenplay about an ex-girlfriend's free-spirited, nonchalance for the world. Her vile ways with numerous and various men, all the while up keeping a relationship with me. I'm not bitter, you can't be when you're ignorant to the ways of the floozy. I just thought it would make an interesting character study; going into the depths of what makes this girl the way she is. Soon, though, I came to the conclusion that searching for a reason "why" would be less entertaining than showing the actual results of the "why". I think it'd be more surreal to see her actions as they are committed, as a result of impulse, rather than due to years of Mommy hating. Whoa - getting off subject.

Jules & Jim, yeah. So basically, watching this movie brought to the forefront these memories of all my exes. Memories I had thought were repressed to my subconscious. This girl, and her relationship with these men, brought about an intercourse of loathe and love. I was actually drawn to her and wanted her to be apart of my life, if not me apart of hers. Certain scenes, though, frightened me in all her hostility and disdain towards her male subjects, particularly Jules.

I've already penned, in detail, the way I wanted certain scenes to play out. And here, right before my eyes, it was happening within a film crafted by the mind of someone else. The script I was working on now seemed to have already been done, and it had been, by Francois Truffaut. I'd say that's an admirable thing, but this is the only film from Truffaut that I've witnessed, as of yet. I dig the whole French New Wave thing; Godard is a new liking of mine. But I'm not some pretentious film snob; I merely pretend to be when I'm at the local art college. I do a lot of wine drinking and cheese eating whilst complaining about how "self-indulgent" Fellini was.

You see what happens when I start to talk about film. I get off subject quicker than my sex life does. This was one of the most profound nights I've had in recent history; here I am not able to think of a single, solitary thing, profound, to say. It's all minutia.

Well, anyways, my whole point was that viewing this film last night has brought about some sort of epiphany. I don't know what it is, just yet, but my intuitive side is telling me, tonight, to shut myself off from the objective world and hammer out a screenplay, John Henry style. If you don't know who John Henry is then you'll have to look up "folklore". He was one tough s.o.b. and he got it DONE.

Progress reports at a later time. Wine, Cigarettes and Coffee. Oh, and cheese.

A Later Time Blog

2008-11-13T16:06:00.000-08:00

So I'm off work now. It's sublime. Having recently finished dinner, I now stand on the verge of finding the willpower to finish the monumental feat of cleaning that I started yesterday. Cleaning is underrated; most people enjoy sloth. Me: I'm a neat-fucking-freak when it comes to the aesthetics of my humble apartment. That's a good thing, right? Right?

After the cleanliness portion of the night has passed, I intend to embark on a journey of rewriting a screenplay that I one day intend to direct. Where do I ever get the inspiration, you must wonder. I'll tell you; Paul Thomas Anderson.

If you haven't seen a P.T.A. movie then you're doing yourself a grand disservice. Immediately stop reading and head to your nearest Blockbuster. Upon arriving, go straight to the counter and ask for the Manager. When he comes to, promptly challenge him to tell you if that branch has Magnolia on the shelf. When he tells you, albeit sadly, that he does not; tell him how dissatisfied you are with their selection.

Then head to Hollywood Video. They have it.

A New Day For Blog

2008-11-13T09:29:00.000-08:00

Here is today's blog: I'm at work.

There, this blogging thing isn't as hard as everyone imagines it to be. I suppose people have problems with their feelings and whatnot; feeling the need to lament, to the world, their simple lives and impoverished emotions.

Thank you,
Shane