There’s nothing like returning to a blogger you haven’t posted to in a while to make you realize how time flies the older you get. One minute you blink and you’re pushing 40 and you blink again and you’re getting the senior discount at the matinee. That’s a great Woody Allen line from Celebrity. I’m still a half decade from 40, but the way things are going it’s just around the corner.
The only people who seem to be reading this crap work are Canadians. Specifically a bunch of dorks who I work with at TRAPEZE.
The World Cup match schedule is going to fry my brain. This morning I woke up at 0400 to watch the USA squeek into the Round of 16, pleased with the result because Sunday evening’s game against Mexico should be a unique event . . . this is Los Angeles after all. There seemed to be a sudden profusion of Mexican flags today. Now we’re full on into the football. Off to the Ireland’s 32 pub tonight to see Ken O’Malley play and then it’s back in front of the boob tube at 1130pm to hopefully watch Paraguay kick some Deutsch ass. Then it’s all prepping for Sundays 2330 game against the Mexicans. Nothing much else to report these days. Just football, football, football. Okay, soccer. Whatever we’re calling it. At least the game doesn’t go on for hours (for anyone who attempted to sit through game 3 of the Stanley Cup).
Once again an entire brilliant post has gone into cyberspace somewhere. I hate trying to recreate work. Suffice to say that I’m going to go to Home Depot and pick up some paints to finish off a bookcase that I’ve been working on as part of getting my bedroom / office into shape. I need home improvement projects. They actually accomplish something and also provide a decent enough reason to not be sitting in front of the computer writing.
Grey skies this morning were the perfect match to my mood. If I hadn’t already had two cups of coffee, I’d probably be back in bed asleep. Instead I’m going to get some motivation and dedication and get my ass out of the house and away from the tele for a while.
I just lost an entire posting when my Mac crashed in the middle of trying to say that the only interesting news in the trades today was that shooting is delayed on Witchblade because the star has checked into alcohol rehab.
Speaking of alcohol, I have no plans for the holiday weekend. Other than picking up a friend of mine at the airport. I am getting digital cable installed this weekend so maybe I’ll just sit on my ass and watch television all weekend since there are a crapload of sports on. There will undoubtedly be some marathon of some sorts on some channel and I can spend my time in the brain numbing world of The Real World or something. I think I’m going to do my part for the looming world economic depression by staying home and not spending any money. I’ll also be avoiding areas with large crowds or anything else that may look even remotely attractive to human bombs hellbent on getting some CNN publicity.
Maybe I’ll work on the script. My brother had a falling out with his producer this week so he’s going to be needing some new material. We saw Attack of the Clones last night. Apparently Princess Leia’s mom comes from a planet that looks like a big douche commercial. Why is it that Mace Windu aka John Shaft can’t feel the disturbance in the Force? Why only Yoda aka Miss Piggy? And why would George Lucas, who can be a master of creating other worlds, have a scene with Obi Wan Kenobi that takes place in a 1950s diner complete with a robot on roller skates and a greasy spoon alien cook? Because he wanted to reference American Graffiti? The sound design is amazing, though. But I guess that is what Star Wars has really come to be: a showcase for Industrial Light and Magic and THX sound.
I’m going to Hawaii next month. I’ve had to tape up a map of Maui on my computer monitor so that won’t go insane. I need a reminder that I actually have something restful and relaxing to look forward to. It’s taped up next to a small article from the New York Times titled “How to Remain Calm When You Want to Explode.” It asks you to consider four questions when ‘you feel the bile start to rise.” My favorite is: “Is what I’m thinking and feeling appropriate?”
A writer/director/producer sent me a glass plaque with my name and a ‘thank you for making my movie a success’ engraved on it. I think it’s the only tangible recognition I’ve gotten from anyone in the three years I’ve been working here.
Hot off the wire . . .
(CNN) — A new study reveals frequent public admonishments to shun fatty foods and tobacco aren’t necessarily working.
That’s probably because most Americans aren’t sure what admonishment is and probably aren’t very aware of it when it’s happening. It’s hard to get the message to what your calorie consumption is out of control when you’re watching Outback Steakhouse commercials for blooming onions – perhaps the most revolting concept in all of chain restaurant dining – or have turned down the news radio channel to put in that order at the McDonald’s drive through. I’ve been living in New York or Los Angeles for almost the past decade, so my American fat awareness barometer isn’t on par with the rest of America. Now when I fly home to my little hometown in North Carolina, I take a look around at the airport boarding lounge when I’m changing planes in Charlotte and find myself thinking “all these Carolina pork butts are going to fit on these little commuter plane? Holy shit. In a water landing, the whole plane is a flotation device.”
I heard that a few years ago, SAS, the Scandinavian Airline, was charging fat passengers extra for the greater poundage they were contributing to the gross weight of the plane. I mean, if the plane has to consume more jet fuel to get your ass to Sweden, then why the hell not.
I was supposed to go to Moomba tonight for some country band party in town for the American Country Music awards or something. I couldn’t muster the energy to go out to the west side of town and eat coconut mango shrimp or whatever trend spigot of a chef has concocted. I should probably have gone for some kind of job networking reason, but these things always end up feeling much more like work and I can’t wait to escape. Plus I was not having much success finding someone to go with me. People seem strangely turned off by the idea of attending this Sony Nashville event even though the room would be filled with coconut mango shrimp and free booze so who would really notice, right? I had a date for coffee on Saturday morning with a girl who looked exactly like Sheryl Crow and who works on David E. Kelley productions. I thought since she was from Texas she might want to go so I invited her to go with me. She didn’t call. She didn’t write. She was probably thinking “oh god, this guy is into country music. I’m outta here.” See ya, Sheryl.
So tonight I ended up calling Amoeba music and found out they were open until 11pm so I hopped in the car to see if I could find some used cds to buy since it seemed much more proactive than sitting on my ass in front of the computer trying to download music off some porn drenched psychopath’s computer on Limewire. If you turn on the monitor in Limewire, you can watch the search keywords flow up the screen like Zero or Nero or whatever Keanu’s name was in The Matrix. It’s obscene bordering on the ridiculous the things people are hunting for on each other’s hard drives. I’m trying to find late 80s/early 90s college radio bands like The BoDeans and other people are hunting for porn involving dentistry and chickens. It’s too much.
So back to Amoeba. I bought Syd Straw’s first solo album, Surprise, a good buy from 1989 – I’ve had a crush on her ever since taking a road trip from Richmond to Charleston, West Virginia to see the taping of Mountain Stage that she was in. I remember that her guitar was the color of salmon. It’s funny the details you remember, considering that on that particular road trip I blacked out the entire experience getting there due to a brain erasing combination of valium and budweiser. I wasn’t driving, but I imagine the driver wasn’t in much better shape and on the way back we were all surprised to find out that there were actually toll booths we had passed through.
I’m listening to the album now. It’s sort of making me wish I were drunk.