Echo

Back from My World Work Tour

So my full-time job (aka, what I do during the day because I find the starving artist bit so trite) has ramped up my responsibilities and required more dedication and time than I’ve really ever been prepared to offer. Suddenly, it’s the high-maintenance mistress who’s decided she’s madly in love with me and wants to spend the rest of her life with me, at least until I’m 56 and can run away from her with my IRA to the Bahamas. Now I find myself spending 5 days out of the week sleeping in a hotel bed that I suspect would stink of certain unnamed bodily fluids if a housekeeper named Maria didn’t drench the linen with the sweet smell of clean. I kid you not. I think the housekeeper has been named Maria for every one of my hotels except one. Anyway, I digress.

The security trade show in San Diego was pretty cool because there were robot guns and bulletproof vehicles and lots of ex-cops named Chuck who wanted to debate the merits of the war. Plus, the new guy we hired used to live in San Diego so every night was a different bar and restaurant to visit.

NACS in Vegas was incredible. This was the trade for the National Association of Convenience Stores. You know those zombie movies where everyone’s looting from the supermarkets and AM PM’s because it’s the end of the world, and you’re sitting there like, look at all that shit. I want all that shit. I mean, were you one of those people who used to fantasize obsessively about how you would strategize and maximize your time if you won a shopping spree? Well, I was. And this was a fantasy come true.

Imagine 2 and a half Costcos filled with booths featuring candies, cookies, chips, beef jerky, energy drinks, coffee drinks, slushies, sodas, beer, liquor, condoms, cigarettes, cigars, blunt wrappers, pretzels, pizza, pizza rolls, hot dogs, subs, burritos…everything you can buy at a convenience store. Now imagine some mega-booths set up like mini convenience stores, complete with refrigerated displays, racks of edibles and porn magazines. Now imagine 1:30pm, the very end of the last day of the show, when no exhibitor wants to bring their shit home. Yes, 1:30pm that Wednesday was my dream come true. Suddenly people who were giving away samples by the crumble were throwing bulk boxes of their goods at you screaming, “Take it! Take as much as you want!” Those who flew in to attend the show could just stand and watch as those who drove there (in an SUV like us!) brought out our dolleys and started carting away cases of beer and energy drinks. At 1:30pm, people were running through the aisles, grabbing anything that wasn’t bolted down and stuffing them into ultra-large shopping bags provided by Coke with anything and everything, whether they really needed it or not (ie my 24-count display pack of tiny blue fake-Viagra. I have no idea what I’ll ever do with that). Thankfully, Reggie had driven in the night before so we could buy a display tub from one of the exhibitors for our lemonade, and he had plenty of room left in his truck for all of our booty. We got about 4 24-count cases of Sol, Tecate, Heineken, Dos Equis and a flat of Monster Energy Drink. We got entire bags of beef jerky, candy, chips, cookies, energy bars and flavored cigars. Overall, it was enough stuff to cover the entire floor of my bedroom. When we got back, threw a football party that looked like we robbed a 7-11.

It wasn’t so much about the stuff, since most of that junk, other than the invidual servings of soy milk and energy bars, I won’t touch on any given day. But it was just about fulfilling that shopping spree fantasy, of being able to run through a place filled with all this stuff, and being able to take whatever you wanted. It’s bizarre, but it was a really fulfilling high to have that experience. And I also won my coworker’s son a skateboard by lasso-ing a Snapelope at the Slim Jim booth so that was solid.

Last week found me on this crazy midwest tour that involved going to 5 states in 3 days to showcase our new technology. My boss and I left on the red-eye to Chicago on Sunday night, arrived at 5am and had 4 meetings back to back to back before leaving on the last flight out to Indianapolis. Of course, because we were leaving from O’Hare and it was storming, our flight got delayed by 3 and a half hours and we didn’t get into our hotel until 3am. We got up at 7 the next morning to head to our next meeting in Indianapolis, then drove to Dayton, Ohio for an afternoon meeting. We flew out to Iowa via Minneapolis where we got in just before 1am. I ended up going through my work email until 3am. I was given one of those handicap access rooms where the shower isn’t partitioned from the bathroom by a tub. Usually those shower floors slope towards the drain or have long curtains to contain the water, but apparently, the Marriott in Davenport didn’t consider these things. So at 7am, I turn on the shower, go into my room to grab some clothes, come back in to suddenly find myself wide awake and on the floor, having landed hard on my butt. In the minute that I was gone, the water from the shower had drenched the bathroom floor. This was pretty scary for me as, falling isn’t a sensation you expect when you’re half asleep, and I had fallen close enough to the toilet to slam my hand against the seat and then the floor below it. I was pretty grossed out by having touched a hotel toilet, but I was pretty scared at the thought of how, if I had landed just a little bit differently, I could have easily hit my head on the toilet and had a serious accident.

We headed out to our first meeting where the guy chose to completely ignore me and small talk with my boss despite the fact that I’m actually an executive in our company and I was making a one-on-one presentation to him. Caveman. We rushed to the airport straight from that meeting to catch a flight back to Minneapolis for 2 more afternoon meetings, before taking a late flight back to LA.

Highlights of the trip were: Pre-negotiating a big salary for next year; seeing the Mall of America; bonding with my boss.
Lowlights: You really can’t wash your hands enough after you’ve touched the underside of a hotel toilet.

I’ll tell you…there is nothing better than sleeping in your own bed after having been away for so long.

For anyone who’s going to be traveling any time soon, the new liquids that you can carry-on rules are somewhat tricky. Just know that if you’re going to carry on liquids or gels, the containers themselves have to be no more than 3 ounces, so even if you have a larger bottle but only filled half of it, it’s going to get taken away. You should either check your things in, or make sure you buy empty bottles whose capacity are clearly marked as being 3 oz or under and put your things in there. I had SO many things taken away because my boss insisted on not checking in luggage. What was weird was that no airport was consistent. At almost every airport, they found something else to take away.

Last week we had the screening from Pieces which went really well. Many thanks to everyone who came out and an apology to those who didn’t get the evite. Since I was traveling the week before, I didn’t realize that so many people hadn’t gotten the evite until about the day before and the day of. It turned out that most of the crew didn’t know about the screening which is pretty awful.

In other news, TR Knight (George O’Malley) got outed by a fight on the set of Grey’s Anatomy. For those who are not familiar with ChokeGate, Isaiah Washington got in a fight with Patrick Dempsey and made reference to a gay castmate. Easy deduction would lead to the conclusion that TR Knight was the cast member in question, which promptly led to his releasing a statement about his sexual orientation and his hoping that his sexual orientation wasn’t the most interesting t
hing about him. It’s pretty sad how things came about, how TR was forced to make an announcement that he wasn’t necessarily ready to make or wanted to make. But the big thing for me is that Isaiah Washington is quoted as calling TR a faggot, which I think is just as bad as if Patrick Dempsey had called Isaiah the N word. It’s incredibly offensive and ignorant, and as I write this, the show’s PR department is spinning its little heart out over this. But if a white actor had called a black actor the N word, there would be outrage and that actor would very likely be out of a job. Meanwhile, the F word and a cast member’s privacy violated gets buried. Sucks how things can turn out. Then again, I don’t claim to be close to the situation and to know the truth of it, but it is intriguing. I hope that TR’s role on the show doesn’t suffer, and that they let his character continue and evolve naturally the way he has so far, rather than letting the fact that he’s a gay actor affect it. George is one of the best, most endearing characters on TV right now, and I’d like to see him continue his development unhindered.

Lastly, Kaiser Permanente sucks. SUCKS. SUCKS SUCKS SUCKS SUCKS SUCKS. I want Blue Cross back.

SNL Makes Its Cuts

http://www.allheadlinenews.com/articles/70049401

Now, why would they cut Finesse and Horatio and leave Keenan? Keenan’s unfunniness and lack of any kind of versatility has been a thorn in SNL’s side, and was the biggest damper to SNL’s promising comeback season last year. Now, Chris Parnell I can understand because he’s not particular funny or comedically intuitive. And he’s been fired from the show before. But I can’t believe that they would cut Finesse before Keenan, and leave Keenan as Lorne’s token black member. I love SNL and I’ve been loyal to it for most of my life, but I would bring bland old Tim Meadows back before leaving Keenan on this show. Keenan, how do I put this eloquently…SUCKS.

In other news, good for Seth Meyers taking Tina Fey’s place on Weekend Update, though it was pretty clear that he would be her replacement after they announced he was promoted to head writer. The only downside is that he’s going to be in fewer skits with Weekend Update being his primary focus.

Set your Tivos… Dane Cook (w/The Killers) hosts SNL’s season premiere on Sept. 30th!

The saddest news this week is that Thode is moving Nerd Island to NY for a year. I still refuse to believe it’s true, and still have a couple of weeks to believe it’s not true. She claims she’s only going for a year and I secretly fear that it’s going to be more than a year. I just hope she comes back.

I talked to Rie on Sunday and she said that Eric, her husband, is looking for positions in hospitals on the west coast, mainly Seattle and Portland. I’m sure he’ll be looking into Ann Arbor, too, since he did most of his work there, and he’ll have a good shot at a position there, but it would be amazing to have them on the west coast and only a short flight away. I love Seattle and I’ve never been to Portland, but I feel like it would be a place I would really like. I just want them closer. That flight to Michigan is long, but I remember how devastated I was when she decided to move to NY for a few years. I was really worried she’d stay there. I think I’m worried about good friends living in NY because 1. It’s far. 2. It scares me and therefore, it makes me worry about the safety of my friends. I think I watched too many films set in dark alleys in NY when I was a kid.

We went fishing in the ocean this weekend and I caught a big grouper. Of course, no one has to believe me since I neglected to take any pictures, but we did eat the heck out of that thing…Reggie took half and cooked it in a wine-garlic sauce, and I braised my half in a Szechuan garlic sauce spicy enough to knock your nuts in the dirt. Brian was in Austin for the weekend so we did naughty things like, clean the counters, organize mail and watch the Roomba vacuum its way around the house.

Last week while I was having lunch at a cafe, I watched this uniformed cop, who had been eating at the table next to me, go up to this Persian girl who was really young, about 19-20 years old. He was about 40-something, lanky, bald, and kind of rough looking. She looked like a model in that she was tall, thin, and had one of those unconventional haircuts with straight hair down to below her ears and straight bangs right at her eyebrows. She was eating alone and he goes up to her and says, “I have to ask you..are you Italian?” She’s thrown off and shy. She says, no, she’s from France but she’s Persian. At first I thought, maybe he was just curious for cultural reasons (at least I hoped) but then he pushed on, telling her that she was really beautiful and asking her if she lived around here (that was when things started to get creepy). She was polite and vague, saying she worked in the area. Then he asked her where. She said, a restaurant, and then he asked her which one, making it clear he was digging for information. She told him and he said, oh yeah, I’ve driven by and have always wanted to go in. Is it good? At this point, he’s full on leaning over her and his hand is on my chair, to my chagrin. I look around for the cop he had been sitting with to figure out why this guy wasn’t reeling his slimy partner in, but the guy was gone..I figured, they had planned it out beforehand. So he says to her, “well, now I should definitely come in and try it out sometime.” She’s smiling really uncomfortably and says, oh yeah, let me give you the restaurant’s card. So she goes into her wallet to get it, and then he goes into his wallet and pulls out HIS card. They exchange cards and he says, “Call me if you need anything,” then leaves.

Okay, I don’t know what it was that creeped me out so much about this…that he was a uniformed cop hitting on a girl, or that he was an old uniform cop hitting on a really young girl so aggressively it made her uncomfortable. She held her smile and her eyes watching him intensely until he exited before she put the card under her plate and continued eating. She didn’t take it with her when she left. Her awkwardness while he plumbed for where he could find her made me feel really uncomfortable, like I was watching a predator. I really hate guys who use their power to try to seduce young girls whether they welcome that attention or not, and it felt even more slimy because it was a uniformed cop.

On a better note, we went to a club whose theme was Prom Night. We got all dressed up in our prom worse (me in a $3 pink thrift store dress and a can’s worth of AquaNet), and boogied down to…80’s music. Which was weird since when it was my prom, it was 90’s music. Where was Vanilla Ice and Boyz II Men and All 4 One? Yeah, that music was bad, but it would have made it AUTHENTIC. Speaking of, I heard Vanilla Ice is trying to make a comeback…by remixing his only song, Ice Ice Baby.

And by the way, the film is done. We finished the DVDs on Friday, and got everything in in time for Sundance.

Hmm…just saw this guy I used to date. I think he turned 30 this year. I wonder if, when he came out to LA to be an actor or whatever he felt he wanted to pursue that held the key to his fulfillment, if being a manager at Banana Republic at the age of 30 was a part of those plans. I highly doubt it.

I wonder how it is we get sidetracked from our lofty plans of youth that in truth, aren’t really lofty when time and time again, people throughout history have proven that no personal goal is necessarily too lofty or too ridiculous. I wonder at what point it starts, when that feeling in the back of your head starts tingling, taking over a larger and larger space in your head while you try to convince yourself that it’s a temporary situation. I wonder at what point, is the destiny set, that your life becomes completely stagnant even though there are superficial signs of movement. I think it’s the point when you give up, when you convince yourself you didn’t want those dreams in the first place.

Whenever I’ve had a job that I hated, I think the turning point when I decided I was going to quit and felt okay about it was when I could wake up one morning, see myself refusing to get up and go to work, and making peace with that feeling. You call in sick that day, to give yourself sometime to see if another part of you fights back and demands that you hang on. When you’ve convinced ever once of yourself that you are willing to take the consequences of quitting, you make the final, external decision.

I think it’s hard for us to declare a rejection of our dreams by saying bluntly, I will not be a dancer; I will not be a writer; I will not be rich and powerful; I will not find someone I truly love, etc. and be okay with that statement and all it implies. Because what we’re most afraid of admitting is, I’m afraid to be a dance, I’m afraid to be a writer, I’m afraid to pursue being rich and powerful, I’m afraid to find someone I truly love, etc. Instead, with each day, we let these dreams slide further and further away, until they look sillier and more far-fetched to us than our actual realities. Even if you’re talented and have won many awards (ie received validation for the pursuit of a dream), you let other realities seep in that prevent you from a true, focused pursuit until the original pursuit seems to hold no weight in actual reality. When we don’t pursue what we really want, I think we kill ourselves little by little each day, until later on down the line, when the window of opportunity has closed, we’re bitter at ourselves or the world for pidgeon-holing ourselves in a reality we don’t want.

I don’t think I wanted to be a director of marketing at a tech firm at 28. But on the other hand, I recognize that it pays me really good money that allows me to finance my filmmaking, in hopes that these initial efforts will attract financiers for the feature projects I want to work on. I also recognize I have to be patient. But on the other hand, I also recognize that at any point, if the money becomes so comfortable that the job becomes an excuse for me to avoid my creative work, that I have to be strong enough to admit I’m off track and force myself to face my fears. I think everyone has a strong reason for why they are afraid to pursue their dreams, and those rea
sons are universal, yet personal and unique to each individual. Some people spend their lives fighting other people’s demons as an excuse to keep from confronting their own, which are the very things standing in front of their path towards their own fulfillment. And I think those people end up blaming other people or lashing out at the external world for what they deep down know is their own weakness and their own fear of their own personal journey. It’s a good way to drown yourself, battling fake demons while the real ones pull you down. I think the key to avoiding bitterness later on in life, the key to a future predicament of realizing deep down that you created your own unwanted reality that your stuck with, is to really think about what you want, who you want to be and where you want to go, and stay focused on it. If you find yourself making excuses, figure out if they are out of practicality and prudence, or fear and then deal with them accordingly. I’ve found that whether your right or wrong, and life is set up for all of us to make plenty of mistakes in order to learn, it’s that forward momentum towards something you really want no matter if your current situation is difficult or not that is what leads to fulfillment and leads to a better sense of peace in your own custom reality. Whatever the universe gives us or tries to teach us, I really believe that we all have a strong hand in making our own beds.

This is fantastic:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1PwpcUawjK0

Also, don’t go see Wicker Man. We saw it last Friday and it may be in the top 3 of worst movies I’ve ever seen. The only decent part is when the audience finally realizes it’s awful and collectively laughs AT the film and jeers while Nicolas Cage starts punching and kicking women in the face for no apparent reason. I remember watching Nicolas Cage brutally yet comically (I say comically not because it’s funny to beat on women but because it’s so poorly and campily done, like a Steven Seagal movie) starts beating these women out of the blue. I remember leaning over to Reggie in disgust and saying, “This director hates women.”

And lo and behold, I check the credits after we leave and it’s Neil LaBute. Neil LaBute is the only director I can say I honestly hate. He thoroughly offends me, and consistently offends me. All of his movies consistently have a misogynistic theme, the I fear women–> I hate women –> I need to destroy women before they destroy me pattern that is his trademark. I’m, unfortunately, probably not strong enough in my defense of women’s rights sometimes, but LaBute is a bad, bad man when it comes to his work and as openminded as I can be about artistic expression, he just seems to spout anger and child-like fear in his movies. There’s no art to it but rather, thinly-veiled venom. And he’s pretty consistent…the women of his films are either victimized, innocent does, or cruel, manipulative whores. The guy has no respect for women, and his expression of it is that of an angry, rejected adolescent who doesn’t seem to know how to deal with his subversive feelings. I just can’t watch his movies without feeling disgusted at the artist.

So if you see Wicker Man, don’t say I didn’t warn you. It would be one of those bad, campy movies that’s funny for the wrong reasons but fun to make fun of, except for the fact that the movie takes itself way too seriously to be fun.

Watch this.

Perspective on 9/11.

I took Reggie to his first concert at the Hollywood Bowl last week to see Zero 7 w/ Sia. I had bought the tickets because I love Sia‘s solo album, Colour the Small Ones, but I ended up super disappointed that they didn’t play any of Sia’s songs from her album, though the one song they did with Jose Gonzalez on vocals was amazing. They left the stage and it was one of those things where it felt like being a kid and showing up at Disneyland to find out that it’d closed down. I had been so psyched about seeing Sia and wanting to hear her songs live, that when they said goodnight and walked off the stage, a part of me wanted it to be some joke.

I didn’t know anything about Gotan Project who was the headliner, other than the fact that Jason Bentley from KCRW described them as tango meets electronica. Seriously, their set made up for EVERYTHING.

If you’ve never heard of the Gotan Project, you need to get involved. Here’s a site where you can hear some of their tracks. Mi Confesion is my favorite, a blend of tango, electronica and hip hop. From what I’ve read, they’re 2 guys from Paris and one from Argentina. They were accompanied by an operatic female vocalist, 3 violinists, a cello player, a piano player and a hot bandoneonist (the bandoneon is an instrument like a smaller accordian), and these amazing french-experimental video clips playing in the background. Everyone was decked out in beautiful white suits and white gowns and as far as shows at the Hollywood Bowl go, it was the perfect venue for them to display their elegant and compelling synergy. People were up and dancing everywhere where there was room. Pick up their album, Lunatico, which has been playing nonstop at our house.

Michael was in town all last week. Reggie took him to a supermarket near me to pick up an application. It would be really great if they would hire him, because the place is a 5 minute walk from my house, so he would be able to walk to work and back. I really hope this works out because it would do wonders for his sense of independence and help him work on his personal responsibility. The goal was always to have him move in with me so that he could expand himself towards becoming independent, so this would be the perfect opportunity. I get scared though, worrying about him crossing the street by himself, worried about cars and strangers, and strangers in cars with candy…I think it’s really hard for a parent to let go and let their kids be independent. You become so aware of all the bad things that could happen to them. But at the end of the day, I would really like to see how much Michael can mature. He regresses when he’s living with my parents so I’m interested in seeing what living with me for a few months while being more or less responsible for himself will do to him.

The film is basically done. We are in the process of getting DVDs made in time for the Sundance deadline. With all the stress and attention required to get this thing done, I feel like I’m not gonna know what to do with myself once this thing is finished. I did have to drop all my classes (business law, Dreamweaver, Photoshop) because they all started last week and I had too much going on with the film and Michael being in town. I bought the books anyway so I hope I can figure everything out on my own.

I had a dream the other night where we were hiking and looking at houses, and saw this HUGE, beautiful house (like the size of a resort hotel). It turned out to belong to Doug Savant (Gay Matt from Melrose place) who invited us in for a tour. We went into the living room (we had to take off our shoes) and I became captivated with this snow globe he had that had real tiny fish that looked like they were made out of glass. I was holding the globe and thinking, rich people have really cool shit. Then he kicked us out because he had to go to work, speeding off in a Mercedes SUV. As we walked away, we passed a Cuban bakery. I said, that chocolate napolean looks good, and Reggie says, “You don’t want to waste the calories you just burned on this walk.” And then I woke up.

I have no idea what that dream was trying to say. Maybe I predict that Doug will be paid really well on Desperate Housewives? Or maybe I’m getting a little heavy in the love-handles region. Or maybe I want a big house that looks like a resort hotel from the outside. I think my only criteria right now is that I would love a house with a relaxing backyard featuring a pool. And a cabana boy to bring me ice tea while simultaneously fanning me with an imported palm frond.

In other news, I drove by the pumpkin-headed guy from Prison Break. The dude who plays Lincoln. I was stopped at a light on a residential street in Westwood. This Porsche makes a left turn to go in the lane next to me going the opposite direction. As he turns, I see the driver through the open window and I think, that looks like either a Mexican guy, or the dude from Prison Break. It became obvious it was the guy from Prison Break when he saw me looking, smirked, then just as he straightened out in the lane next to me, he looked me in the eye and gunned his engine, taking off. Kind of a big show of, Look At My Penis. Speaking of things that are inadequate, Prison Break makes no sense. It’s an awful show. Yet we keep watching it. What is it about this phenomenon, where we keep tuning into a show that makes absolutely no sense? Last week’s episode where the brothers hold up the FBI agent with a spray painted water pistol that they painted just MINUTES before…I would like to think an FBI agent would be able to tell the difference between a spray-painted water pistol pointed at his face from point blank range (1. There’s no opening for the bullet; 2. You would think there would be paint on the holder’s hands; 3. You would be able to smell the paint; 3. A water pistol DOES NOT look like a real gun even if it’s painted black if you are within 20 feet of it), yet the show went on like it’s entire logic wasn’t disugsting hokey. I don’t get it, even though my hate for this show doesn’t stop me from keeping it on my season manager for my Tivo.

I’m out, like John Travolta.

There’s been an arrest made in the JonBenet Ramsey case. Here is the suspect’s online teaching resume that I found. It’s kind of creepy to have a picture of the girl up on my homepage, staring out at me whenever I open up a browser. I wonder if the millions who watched Little Miss Sunshine in the last few weeks also secretly thought about JonBenet during the creepy beauty pageant scenes, like I did. Maybe it’s the power of things being on the verge of the collective conscious. Regardless, the whole situation was strange and tragic, and I just hope that this new development will give the family some closure.

I can’t believe that man has looked the same for the last 20 years.

Do you ever have dreams so vivid that years later, you can still look back as if they were memories and say, “Remember that? That was a cool dream.” I have a lot of dreams where I’ve moved into a new house and it’s huge with new secret rooms that I continually discover. Sometimes I’ll be driving and I’ll remember one of those dream houses and think, yeah, that was a great one…I wish I really owned that house. The ones that overlooked the ocean were the ones that still make me happy to remember.

I had a dream the night before last where I was competing in a stupid radio contest. It was like a potato sack race or something, but when I won, the prize turned out to be a one-bedroom condo. It wasn’t a great condo–it was an apartment building conversion and the scaffolding was still up outside for the remodeling; I figured its value was around 300K (inflated LA real estate value so it wasn’t anything grand). I kept gushing to anyone who would listen though, that I had been trying to save money to buy my brother a little condo close to me so he could be close and somewhat independent, and all of a sudden my dream had come true earlier than I thought it would. I was so unbelievably happy. Like I said, it wasn’t that nice of a place, but it was a place that fulfilled a major goal of mine and I was so happy that I could do this and have my brother close by that I seriously wouldn’t stop gushing. But then, there was this huge earthquake. I stood in the front doorway which was really solid, and I watched the scaffolding outside crumble. I realized my mom and my brother were in the back of the building and I didn’t know if the building would fall around them. I was terrified for a second, but then I remembered that I had control of the dream. It was weird because I was conscious of a choice–I could either turn this scenario tragic so I could experience the emotions of loss, or I could play it safe and erase the earthquake. I decided to erase the earthquake, but a part of me was very aware that I had cheated at something.

Do you ever get so devastated in a dream that you start sobbing so hard that you’re sobbing in real life? And when you wake up, it’s still heavy around you like ghosts crowded in that haven’t completely retreated back into their own dimension? I have those sometimes, too. As awful as the feeling is, it’s a high, the relief you feel when you realize all that sadness was part of a dream and that everything in reality is still intact. I guess it’s human…we all want to get close to death and devastation in order to experience it, but then also have the safety and high of a resurrection that allows us to truly feel blessed and alive, as exemplified by our search for heightened but controlled “near death” experiences such as roller coasters, skydiving, etc. I am terrified though, that these dreams will make me soft. That a day will come when it’s not a dream and the reality I wake up to is tragic, and that will be something I can’t change no matter how strong my will or determination.

I am and always will be terrified of when the phone rings in the middle of the night.

Appreciate your families, people, whether they are by blood or by companionship or by mutual positive regard. Because really, after all things trivial that make us anxious, sad, angry, jealous, irritated or resentful are overshadowed by something bigger, what is stronger or more valuable than the people you love and who love you? When you read about someone being murdered at random in the street and the only thing the devastated parents can say is, “I just wish I had given her a big hug before she had walked out that door,” at the end of the day, maybe that is the saddest, most devastating hindsight of all.

It’s That Time! The Time to See Who Got Fat.

Last week I got an email announcing that they’ve set a date for my ten year high school reunion. Now, this has always been the big young-adult milestone, where the successes are separated from the failures, where the millionaires are separated from the gas station attendants, where the future productive citizens of America are separated from the poster children of coulda-woulda-shoulda abortions. No, not really. But it is a opportunity to see who got fat.

I’ve always set my standards low. Yeah, I would have liked to have sold a script to a studio at this point, or be able to say that my next movie will star Johnny Depp or Julia Roberts or at the VERY least, Jessica Alba. I guess I can say I’ve written and directed things that have won awards and I did go to Sundance that one year for a tangential festival so things are slowly and steadily moving along, but the only true goal I set was just that I didn’t want to get fat by the time that 10 year mark rolls around.

During my first year in Los Angeles straight out of college, I ran into a high school classmate who was living out in LA. She had some cosmetic work done and was sporting contacts, a fashionable haircut and a wardrobe of revealing, sex-kitten clothes, but there was something very demanding about her personality that wasn’t there when we were in high school, like a desperate need to be acknowledged in a very specific way. I hung out with her out of sheer not knowing enough people in LA to do otherwise, and was soon overwhelmed by the chip on her shoulder that had visualized some master plan that all culminated SPECIFICALLY at our 10 year reunion. She claimed that she hated high school and all the people in it, and she had done all this work on herself because planned to go back to our 10 year reunion hot and vindictive. Keep in mind, this was in 1999. Now, I hated high school myself and never felt at home with the whole lot. I did hope to be successful enough or at least happy enough in my own life 10 years from our graduation date to not be bothered with what those people from my little hick town thought, but I sure didn’t have a focused 10 year plan for it. In fact, it sounded a little crazy to me. I looked at her and at her unspoken but open invitation to assure her that she was indeed hot and would blow people from our high school away in 2006, but in my eyes, she just looked like someone who had gotten contacts, cosmetic work, a new wardrobe and a newfound sense of determination and resentment, all of which just accentuated her insecurity and need to “show up” people who probably didn’t care in the first place. Myself, I just hoped I wouldn’t be fat.

I’m excited about the reunion because I’m always curious about the life experiences of people, and I want to see people and see where their life journeys are taking them. The advent of Myspace has done wonders for my curiosity as I can browse my high school, see how people have grown up, what their children look like, and theorize their contentment with their lives by the syntax of their profiles. But ultimately, I wonder if this experience is going to be one big dick measuring contest, where everyone is out to show how much more successful they are or how much more successful they can convince people they are, and we realize that no one was really friends with anyone else outside of wanting to keep their enemies (aka competitors) close. I hope that’s not the case. I hear 20 year reunions are much more civil and enjoyable in the intended atmosphere of reunions. I hope mine will be like Romy & Michele’s High School Reunion where old friends are reunited and it’s a joy to see where life has taken everyone within their evolution. Where I can be awarded for most successful in my class despite losing my top, where I can tell those mean girls from school that I hope their babies look like monkeys, where some nerd who was secretly in love with me will arrive a billionaire, and will whisk me (and Reggie) off in his private helicopter en route to funding our little boutique clothing store on Rodeo. I hope that billionaire ex-high schoolmate doesn’t mind foursomes, because I’m sure Digit Whit will be involved as well. All that would be really cool, especially if there’s also a cameo by Janeane Garafalo. But at the very least, between now and November 25, I just hope I don’t get fat.

In other news, Reggie is shooting a commercial with Leslie Nielson of Naked Gun fame tomorrow. I’m sure he’s going to have a full day of shooting and fart jokes.

There are only 2.5 reasons I watch the show Psych…for the 1.5 times it makes me chuckle slightly during each episode, and because this guy’s hot. He’s a big boy next door in uniform..you have to see him on the show. I wish I had skin like his.

I’m not much of a beach person. In fact, in the 6 years I’ve been living in Los Angeles, I can count the number of times I’ve been to the beach on two hands. I think a lot of it has to do with the fact that I have low tolerance of heat and sun, but also because I get a little OCD about being sticky or dirty, meaning that wet sand drives me crazy. However, I *love* napping. Last week, someone finally explained to me that people don’t go to beaches because they enjoy being hot and getting sunburnt…they aim for a nice (not overly hot) day with a cool breeze and the sun shining down to nap in peace, sometimes getting wet in the ocean and letting the sun dry them off. I realized that I may have completely missed the point of the beach, particularly the opportunity to nap with the sound of the ocean in the background, so I thought I would give it another try.

I set out for the beach on Sunday morning, but since Reggie wanted me to drop by Houston’s for lunch, I decided to stay close to Santa Monica. I walked to the Pier, aiming for the crowded area just north of it that people seemed to enjoy. Right off the pier in the sand were rows and rows of small wooden crosses. On closer inspection, it was the Arlington West Memorial for the soldiers who have been killed in Iraq. There are thousands of crosses, some with pictures and handwritten notes from friends and family members. As you approach the memorial, there are large boards displaying pictures of the thousands of soldiers killed, like a massive laid-out yearbook. The sheer number of them is staggering, and the fact that some of them looked like they should have still been in high school was devastating. As I was looking out at the symbolic cemetary, a couple of Chinese tourists walked up next to me. One girl asked the other one in Chinese why the U.S. was fighting in this war. The other girl said, “It’s what they’re always doing. They like to fight wars.” The first girl asked, “Why do they keep fighting even when they can’t win. They just send all these people to die.” The other girl answered, “It’s in their nature. It doesn’t make any sense.”

On the left are postings of articles and pictures of soldiers who have been wounded. They say that they ship in the wounded soldiers in the cover of night, housing them in VA hospitals that are off limits to media. There are pictures of young men with missing arms and legs and eyes…one guy had burn marks on his face that so badly disfigured him, you couldn’t tell his age or ethnicity. Many of the pictures were accompanied by text detailing the soldier and his story. One soldier who lost a hand and suffered damage to his legs, describes a smoking object flying into his Humvee as he sat in the passenger seat. The object bounced off the windshield and landed on the driver side. Seeing that it was a live grenade, he picked it up to throw it back out of the window, but it slipped out of his hand and fell onto the floor between his legs. He picked it up again and everything disintegrated into a mist of blood. No one was killed by the grenade explosion so basically this guy saved everyone’s life, but he still has recurring nightmares of that moment, knowing that if he hadn’t dropped the grenade, he would still have his hand. I spent a good hour at the memorial reading the stories and looking at pictures including photos of devastated Iraqi’s, and when you see this kind of pain and devastation on individual, human levels, it’s hard to think that this level of violence makes any sense.

I ventured past the memorial to be reminded of one negative about the beach when the sun’s out–hot sand. I found a spot next to people I deemed superficially least likely to steal my things (an English woman wearing a straw hat and sun dress, an actress type listening to her iPod and a Hispanic family with small, adorable children) and set up camp. Since it was a hot day, wanted to go out into the water first so that the heat wouldn’t be intolerable. The water was about knee high for yards so I slowly waded out, only to find that the waves were deceptively strong with a monster one quickly going over my head and tumbling me under water. I surfaced to find myself halfway back to land in shallow water, with my nipple displayed for man, woman and child to see. (note to self: wear a more vigilant bikini if I have plans to play in the water).

I headed back to my towel and laid out, really enjoying the hot sun against the cool water against my skin. The sound of the ocean is really peaceful and I like falling asleep with people around…it feels cozy. I napped on and off until a group of Hispanic boys about 16 to 18 woke me up as they loudly declared that there was some girl in the water who was down for a gang bang or at least a threesome later, but one of them had to sacrifice and take her fat cousin. I listened into their negotiations (looked like their buddy they called “Midget” was gonna have to take her) and kind of wanted to wait to see who the girls were, but it was hot and I was hungry, so I took off.

It may have taken me six years, but I kind of think I can like the beach. I want to get one of those big umbrellas or tents so I don’t kill myself with a sunburn if I fall asleep, but it’s definitely very relaxing, and interesting for people watching.

If anyone wants to see a creepy but very well-done movie, check out The Night Listener with Robin Williams, who does a great job in a non-comedic role as usual. The style is subtle and the acting is great, and the story is riveting. It’s based on a novel by Armistead Maupin. I highly recommend it. I tried to see Little Miss Sunshine on Friday, but the only seats available by the time we got there were in the front row, so it’s next on my list. If anyone’s seen it already, let me know what you think!

In more news regarding this Mel Gibson drama, Gavin de Becker (intuitive author of The Gift of Fear), is my hero. Make sure to read his letter that was a paid 2-page ad in The Hollywood Reporter responding to Endeavor agent Ari Emanual’s impulsive cry for a boycott of Mel in Hollywood.

What do you say when you call a client, only to be told that he died last year? I’ll tell you, even if you’ve never met the person, your heart just sinks. I don’t know if it’s more because you feel like such an asshole for not knowing, or the fact that this person isn’t living anymore and you’ve gone on assuming he was alive and well when he wasn’t, but the worst part of it, is that you still have to communicate the business reason of why you called despite the news. It feels incredibly insensitive. So now I’m supposed to send this woman who’s obviously a relative some product information, when I didn’t even get her email and I’m really bummed by the news and by calling a year later asking for a dead guy. How do you not feel like an asshole?

Everything Mashed Potatoes

Last week I decided I wanted to make something different for dinner, and the only things I knew was that I wanted mashed potatoes, and I wanted some kind of sandwich. And then I wanted to make something with coconut milk. I went to the store and improvised, coming out with a bunch of random items. This is what I made:

I heated up some light coconut milk (even light coconut milk has 7 grams of fat per serving!) and added organic chicken broth. Once that heated up, I added some soy sauce, some bay leaves and thinly sliced red peppers (the tiny, hot ones, not the big ones). I added half a lime’s worth of juice, 3 cloves of chopped garlic, chopped basil and chopped cilantro, some salt and chopped chicken breast cutlets. I let it cook while I boiled fettucine. It came out like a coconut thai pasta that was pretty good, but the one thing I lamented was having forgotten to buy an onion.

Next, for something completely random, I made mash potatoes by mashing boiled potatoes with the chicken broth and salt. I put the mashed potatoes in the fridge to cool. Then I ripped up small chunks of sharp cheddar cheese and mixed them into the potatoes, and balled the mixture up about the size of an extra large falafel. I rolled them in panko (Japanese bread crumbs), then fried the balls in heated olive oil so they were very crispy on the outside. I put them in a poppy-seed french roll and ate it while it was hot. It’s like a hash brown sandwich, but smoother. I really wish I had something spicy to go with it in the sandwich, like maybe spicy buffalo chicken strips or pepperoni.

The next day, I had a roast beef sandwich with sharp cheddar cheese (you’ve gotta get it thinly sliced from your grocery store’s deli) and mash potatoes on top, stuffed inside the poppy-seed roll. It was amazing. Seriously, why isn’t mashed potatoes on everything?

In other news, I’ve bought a Roomba. I had a 20% off coupon to Bed, Bath & Beyond, and anyone who lives near a BB&B and gets these coupons in the mail knows that these coupons will make you buy anything. Well, with coupon at hand and looking to save so much money on this little gadget, plus with Reggie’s comment that his friend has one and thinks it’s the most amazing thing on earth, I had to buy it. I’ll tell you…the Roomba is amazing. It’s like a pet. I spent the first few days following around, watching it bump it’s way around the rooms, going under beds and grabbing every corner in the most random pattern. It does a good job of moving between hardwood floors and carpet, but if it gets tangled on anything (ie extension cords, sheets, etc), it tries to untangle itself then makes this sound that sounds like an electronic, “Uh Oh.” I never thought I would get so much pleasure from emptying a vacuum bin of lint. I probably ran it about 3-4 times a day the first few days, and was always amazed at how much stuff it would pick up, even after the place looked spotless after the first few times. It made me so proud to empty it and see how much it had picked up…kinda made me understand those parents who get really proud when their baby poops. Seriously, if you ever wanted a pet but didn’t want to deal with the responsibility, get a Roomba. It’ll clean for you and even dock itself to recharge when it’s done, and I know it sounds crazy, but when you find yourself spending hours following it around the house just mesmerized, don’t say I didn’t warn you.

In other news, I went to the premiere of John Tucker Must Die last Tuesday at Mann’s Chinese. I’ve never been in that theater so it was nice, but it was a motley crowd as there were the user Hollywood suits of agents, managers and studio execs, the minor stars (Eva Longoria looks she’s made out of paper. She looks like she’s about 45 lbs.) and the cast and crew, but Power 106, our local hip hop station, had run a contest inviting listeners to the premiere, so there were a lot of rowdy high school kids. But it was a decent teen flick with funny moments (watch Jesse throw a hissy fit…best part of the movie). I really hope this movie helps Jesse get bigger roles. We met Nelly at the after party who wasn’t that tall but was really nice, and 3 key lime martinis had me toasty. I had the bartender make Reggie a drink with Hennessy, Amaretto and a splash of Sprite which I made up on the fly but was pretty good. Afterwards, we were gonna meet Jesse and his friends at Hyde but randomly, we pulled up next to a couple of my coworkers who were driving on Sunset on their way to meet one of our other coworkers who had quit to move to Israel last year. We invited them over to hang out at Hyde with us, but the people at the door wouldn’t let them in because only Reggie and I were RSVP’d to Jesse’s group and there were more people meeting up with my coworkers. My coworkers decided to head over to someplace more chill to make sure that everyone meeting up with them could get in, and I got irritated about Hollywood bullshit and idiot doormen so we decided to go home instead. Overall, it was a good night out for a Tuesday. Can’t stand the Strip.

Saturday found the Michigan gang (Sareet, Thode, Rebecca, Kate & Plumb included) helping to build a house in Glendale for Habitat for Humanity. Considering that Los Angeles has been consistently working with 105+ degree heat, we were relieved to show up and find it overcast, gray and slightly misty at times. We were given the unskilled labor work that involved a lot of cleaning and hammering. I chose a hammering job that somehow turned into a pulling-out-bent-nails-without-heads that the people in a previous week had hammered down into the wood. It was a pretty hard and frustrating job because without the heads, you had to dig at the nail until you got some kind of area to grab onto with pliers, then twist and yank it until it broke off or came out. Sometimes I had to put my entire body into pulling a nail in the opposite directions, and if I slipped or if the nail suddenly came out, the force would send me flying. Luckily, I was on a lesser populated side of the construction so no one saw me fall on my ass. I think. It was a pretty fun day, and I got to learn a lot about my friends…mostly, how much those boys love their Rocky. It was really satisfying to use a hammer and get down and feel like you were building something, but the next day, I realized, all the work that the 20 of us did in an entire day, could have been something that two nail guns could have done in 2 hours. Oh well. I guess that program is as much about giving volunteers the satisfaction of contributing to a greater cause as it is about providing a need for the community. As Ben (who organized everything) said, the problem in the U.S. is that there’s a surplus of volunteers willing to help out, but not enough resources.

What are all the kids listening to these days, you ask?

We’ll, it depends on if you’ve fucked Alec Baldwin in his ass.

Big changes are coming…

http://msnbc.msn.com/id/13830825/?GT1=8307

Very, very cool.

Some Quick Reviews Before I Go To Bed (aka Recap of The Last Two Weeks):

NIN (Verizon Wireless Amphitheatre, Irvine):
Trent Reznor is a god amongst men. Trent Reznor is the sexiest fucking thing on this planet. Trent Reznor makes me wanna be a better man. I would pay big money to watch Trent Reznor drench his body in water and rip his emotional guts out in a dark steel-caged dungeon every day of the week. I heart Trent Reznor. If you’ve never seen him live…there are really no words to describe the passion and intensity that man brings. He makes cacaphony a living, breathing universe of discordance synchronized by the rhythms of a pulsing heartbeat. You don’t even have to love his music before you become mesmerized by him live. You’ll see…Trent Reznor is a sensory experience.

Superman:
…wears too much make-up. And apparently isn’t a very good actor because he didn’t have as many lines as you would expect from a lead actor, and they cut away a lot during his lines. But he does look a lot like Christopher Reeves, albeit Christopher Reeves wearing red squishy old-lady orthopedic boots. Kevin Spacey plays an excellent villain, but aren’t all gay great villains wonderfully catty? Bryan Singer has a quick sense of humor, injecting the scenes with funny little moments, and the kid who plays Jimmy Olsen is the same one from Not Another Teen Movie who sincerely and wholeheartedly promised to take a dump on a girl’s chest. I recommend seeing this film at the IMAX theater because there are approximately 20 minutes of footage in 3D.

X-Men:
Now this was a fun movie. I can’t remember much about it so it was pretty mindless, but it’s always fun to see the different characters match up with their different superpowers.

Unscripted (HBO):
Great acting, many episodes directed by George Clooney who now seems to rule Hollywood by the grace of his charm and magnetism. I think some of the comic moments are well set up but cut out too early, but the acting teacher is one of the best characters on TV. Actors should watch this show just for some great insight on the theory of acting. Good DVD choice for the cardio machines at the gym.

Getting Promoted:
More commitment to the office job, more time and effort spent at the office job, more money to spend outside of the office job (supposedly). And having to go out of town on more business trips. Will I come to resent Vegas and my constant presence there for trade shows? Not if it means being able to buy a condo for my brother in LA.

The Score:
Jonathan Kranz, composer extraordinaire, is in the final stages of completing our score for the short and now we’re just waiting for the sound designer to come back into town next week and finish the sound, and then we’ve just got the output to go. The music is pretty damn good…like the first season of Lost as requested but with his own signature. You can check out his music at: http://profile.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=user.viewprofile&friendID=20354239. He’s a really nice guy, a consummate professional, and incredibly talented and easy to work with. Talk to him if you need a good composer. I believe he did the music on the Da Vinci Code trailer. Oh holy shit, he’s got our music up on his myspace! Okay, cool…check out our score. ;) Pieces, that’s us. His score makes me jump every time.

Naet Treatment:
Michael was visiting me the week before last because he’s developed a constant throat-clearing habit that all the specialists up north can’t figure out. My neighbor recommended Naet treatment as a way to help distinguish and clear up mysterious allergies that was successful on her three young children. Incidentally, it has a good record with autism. They do a muscle strength test to test reactions to various substances and if the symptoms are very strong like in Michael’s case, they use a surrogate. So I got the treatment while holding Michael’s arm. It seemed strange, almost like going to a psychic’s office, albeit a psychic that knew her stuff about endocrinology and performed lab tests and acupuncture, but I suspect it was because I had no idea what she was doing. But at this point, we’re willing to try anything. Incidentally, I’ve never had allergies before but after the treatment, I suddenly had strong allergic reactions to being outdoors and developed an incessant cough. Probably a coincidence. Hopefully a coincidence. The program is long and Michael will continue it up north. It calls for testing and treatment for several individual substances (ie egg products, dairy, pollen, metals, etc.) and takes a while–they test and treat you for a particular substance, then you have to avoid it for 25 hours and they recheck you to see if you come back more tolerant. She did find a weakness to two of Michael’s medications though, so I would be interested to see if those meds or their current dosage levels are actually detrimental to him.

Calistoga Mud Baths:
Went to Napa for 4th of July weekend with the family, and my mom and I decided to try one of their famous mud baths. I think she and I were on the same wavelength in that we thought the mud would be the same stuff as the “mud” masks that you put on your face, this smooth clay (mine is infused with green tea!), but when we showed up, the tubs were filled with literally, what looked like something they had shoveled in from the side of the road then turned into a soupy substance with water. And it STINKS. My mom changed her mind and opted for the mineral bath while I decided to give it a try. You were supposed to get in, then sit down, then wiggle your butt until you sunk in. I wiggled until I could no longer bear the thought of mud in my nether regions, and lay there, noting how the mud kind of formed this quicksand like suction so you felt encased. I lasted about 5 minutes before the knowledge got to me that it was mud-mud, not clean, mud-mask clay mud, so I got out, showered everything off and got in the mineral bath, which is basically a jacuzzi bubble bath with mineral salts and your own individual rubber ducky.

Patrick O’Bryant:
WHY? Why would they do this to us??? Fuck the Warriors. Seriously, I hate you guys.

Grand Theft Auto: San Andreas
Anyone who says videogames aren’t an intense and debilitating psychological addiction is dead wrong. I have wasted entire days of my life. Today I was waiting at a light and I saw a low rider and who I thought was a guy wearing a green do-rag at the wheel, and my immediate thought was that I needed to go drag him out of his car. Video games rot the mind.

Ten Hours of Sleep:
The stuff of fantasies for me.

For Documentation and for You Guys to Share My Disgust

10:50pm – 11:27pm 6/26/06 Westwood

Went to Noodle Planet with Michael. Sat at the back booth against the wall opposite the cashier’s booth, with the emergency exit behind me. The waiter was the tallish Asian guy with pale skin and hair spiked up in the front. Very polite. Ordered the Noodle Planet Pho, asked for steak only (no flank). Ordered Chicken Satay Hand Rolls. Michael ordered the Chicken Tom Yum. We ordered Spicy Yakisoba for Reggie. Michael got a mango green tea drink for me and a boba drink for himself next door.

The food came and the Tom Yum and Pho came first. We started eating. Yakisoba came later and I let the waiter know that we never received the Hand Rolls. Had eaten a quarter of my bowl of pho when I saw something floating at the top of the bowl (located at about 11 o’clock) , brownish, about the size of an almond. I thought maybe it was a piece of fried garlic when I saw that it had long black, muscular legs. I thought it was a cockroach. I took a picture of it with my camera phone. The picture didn’t come out clear because there wasn’t good light and it’s a crappy camera phone.

I flagged the first employee who walked by and told him there was a cockroach in my soup. He was shocked and said, “A cockroach?” He looked in the bowl and said dismissively, “Oh, it’s just a June Bug.” He apologized and took the bowl and showed it to a guy who was standing at the cashier’s area. Later he came back and asked if I wanted another pho because they were already making it. I said, “No.” (Especially because I think they make a big kettle of the soup that sits all day, which means that everyone throughout the day was probably eating June Bug soup). He said okay, and walked away. I called my mom to tell her what happened. I was worried that I could get sick. I told her in Chinese that it was like a cockroach but bigger, but I didn’t know what the word for June Bug was in Chinese. She said knew what I was talking about, and that a June Bug is even worse than a cockroach. She told me to contact the health department tomorrow morning.

The employees kept coming by to clear the table because they were closing. Our waiter came by and said sorry and said not to worry about the check and to take our time. Shortly, another person came over to clear the table and tell us they were closing even though there were still other tables eating. I couldn’t get Reggie on the phone. Finally, the guy I had shown the bug to came over and asked if he could pack up Reggie’s noodles because we had to leave because they were closing (again there were 4 other tables there). I told him that I was grossed out about everything, and I didn’t want to bring the food home, but I wasn’t sure if Reggie would be mad if I didn’t so I was trying to reach him. He said he would box it up just in case because they were closing. He came back with the box and apologized again but had already turned his back and was walking away before he finished saying it. I was pretty angry about that. It seemed like other than our waiter, everyone was more interested in getting us out of there than the fact that they’d just served me a giant bug in my food.

I went home, threw up, then got a hold of Reggie, who is heading over there right now to get the name of a manager and the names of the servers.